Family Friendly Neighborhood - October 19, 2007

Our most recent Royal Monkey Family move brought us to a neighborhood of two-story homes, one that is described as “family friendly” in real estate code.

What this means in reality, is kids. Lots of kids. Lots and lots and lots of kids.

Now, given that I have three screaming monkeys of my own, living in a neighborhood with lots of kids is not a bad thing. If we were the only young family in a neighborhood filled with aging boomers, I’m sure I’d be getting lots of dirty looks from the locals given that my back yard is a museum honoring faded Little Tikes toys and Aging Swingsets, and the flower beds in my front yard are testaments to the power of one little dandelion seed.

But here’s the thing that you discover along the mommying road: everyone parents differently.

For some of us, that means supervising our preschool-aged children while they’re outside playing, especially if they’re out in the front yard adjacent to a very busy through-street. For others, this is not so much a priority. Or so I am left to assume after observing and being subject to the roaming four-year-olds on my street.

Does every neighborhood have the “stalker” kid? You know what I mean; the stalker kid is the kid who waits at their window for the sight of a familiar van turning the corner onto the street and BOOM! - they’re flying out the door and ringing your doorbell before you’ve even closed the garage. I’ve seen them before in other neighborhoods where we’ve lived, but never quite so young.

So, dear readers, what do you do when your doorbell is being rung over and over and over again by a neighbor’s child, a neighbor you barely know, and one you never see when you peer up and down the street wondering, “Where is so-and-so’s mother?”

Alas, I’m still figuring this one out. Luckily, I have an almost daily opportunity to practice around five o’clock, as I’m trying to 1) throw together an edible meal ; 2) keep the Royal Monkeys from either killing each other or joining forces to launch a coup d’etat on yours truly; and, 3) stop our new puppy from eating the carpet, the shoes, the old dog’s ear, the fill-in-the-blank. As I hear my doorbell chiming seven or eight times in a row, I smile, grit my teeth, and chant under my breath, “Love thy neighbor, love thy neighbor!”

WM