I can’t help but wonder what my neighbors think is going on in my backyard. They hear things like, “No, don’t do that! It’s dangerous!” Or “Stop, someone is going to get hurt, that’s dangerous!” Or sometimes the very short variation of ”That’s dangerous, stop now!!”
Are they wondering what type of explosives or machinery I’m hiding behind my wood plank fence, that makes everythings so dangerous?!. Do they wonder if things are safe on my side of the divider? Who knows. Maybe they even peek through the slats of the fence when I am not looking to see what is going on. After all, my kids love to stick their little noses through the fence and ask the neighbors what they’re doing, while they are just trying to enjoy their life of retirement.
Truthfully, I have an inkling of what they do think…
It was about 6 weeks after my baby was born, and 8 weeks after moving into our new house a number of years ago; it was a typical hectic morning, the type where you can’t hear yourself think and somehow I heard an unexpected knocking on the front door. I peeked through the peep whole (moments like those were definitely what these things were made for) and I saw a grumbling middle aged woman I didn’t recognize. I looked around at the very lively scene behind me, played with the thought of pretending I wasn’t home, but gave in and opened the door. And that was how I met my first neighbor; baby on my shoulder, two kids holding onto my skirt, 1 sneaking out ahead of me, and two peering from behind.
“Your kids threw this over the fence,” she unsmilingly told me, and handed me some random toys. “They landed in our pool.”
I apologized profusely and thanked her multiple times for bringing this to my attention. “Yes, it’s completely unacceptable. I will do whatever I can to make sure they don’t do that. Ever. Absolutely.” Maybe install an 18 feet gate? I also had a feeling of premonition that returning toys thrown over the fence was going to be an occurrence that would happen more often than I’d like.
She muttered something about when her kids were young but I chose not to understand her muttering because I wasn’t convinced they were going to help me be a better mother at that moment.
I closed the door, not quite sure we’d ever be friends. And I was kind of right. Especially when we got chickens for a couple of months and one of them turned out to be a rooster. It also turns out that roosters crow at all hours, not just 6am. My neighbor made sure to let us know the city rules on roosters, tacking a note to our door at the crack of dawn. That didn’t help the friendship either.
I often wonder, do the neighbors only hear the times the kids are at odds with each other or do they hear their fun and exciting creative games? Their imagination running wild, their cheering for each other on the trampoline or their pushing each other off their favorite bikes “that they were about to ride on!”
Do they hear me talking on the phone while my kids play or do they hear the times I sit and chat with the kids while they play?
Do they hear the kids plotting their mischief or do they hear them singing songs?
Do they hear the sounds of my three year old’s earsplitting overreacting cry or my kids telling each other jokes that don’t make sense and they laugh hysterically anyway?
Do they think that all these sounds are that of a bunch of cranky kids or a cheerful, energetic bunch?
I know what I want them to think but truthfully it matters more what I think. I think that here lives a happy, loving authentic family. And I’m proud of it.
Little Yellow Notepad 