Good Neighbor/Bad Neighbor

Ah Neighbors. We've had many. I'm pretty much a wave as I drive by neighbor. Here in Virginia Beach we live in a real neighborhood of ranch houses built 40 years ago. Our block has several original owners, two rentals, a few childless couples around my age, and a few families including young children or teenagers (ours is, of course, the only family with both). I am a good neighbor in the sense that I clean up my yard, don't play loud music, put away my trash cans, usually bring in my newspaper, and NEVER park any of our four cars on the grass.

I'm not so great in that I know the names of exactly three of the families on my block. I know the first names of two other women. And I've forgotton the name of the very nice woman who introduced herself to me at the high school graduation in June (she lives across the street and two doors down - I recognized her immediately because the day they put new mulch down their 16 year old son threw a cigarette out his bedroom window and it ignited - PC ran to the assistance of her very irate husband).

I'm busy. I know I'm not the only one.

Good Neighbor Points: When my friend across the street had a baby in June I was on vacation, when I got back I was sick, the first day I felt completely well I bought his present and took it to her. I explained I'd been too sick to come over before and she seemed to understand and appreciate it. I've never complained about the next door neighbor's band. Probably because I like it. I used to dance on the deck with the Pumpkin when he was a baby and now we run around the yard like wild things during practice.

Bad Neighbor Points: I don't pay attention to them. My dogs bark A LOT (if they bark at night I do lock them in the house). My husband built a new wood fence, using the posts of the neighbors existing chain link fences for support. Their side isn't very attractive (in my defense I was extremely opposed to the fence). I sometimes let the baby hold the car keys and the red button that sets off the alarm is his favorite.


Which brings me to a funny story. I've noticed that my blog is a complete downer house of gloom and doom. I actually consider myself sort of funny (the Pumpkin always agrees, PC not so much). One of my good points is that I am never too vain to tell a terrible story about myself if it is funny. Don't worry, this all wraps up into the baby setting off the car alarm thing....


Ever since T (the 18 year old) was born, I have had slight to moderate bladder control issues. Heavy sigh. My friend who is a doctor frequently tells me that "it's never too late to build a muscle" and I kegel away for a couple of days and then I lose interest. So anyway, by the time I get home in the afternoon I am frequently RUSHING to get to the bathroom. One day a few months ago was such a day. So I pull to a screeching halt in front of the house, race around the car, wrench the Pumpkin from his carseat, and haul ass to the front door. So far I have placed stress on my very full bladder when halting, racing, wrenching, and carrying... So I fling the door open, leaving the keys in it and race off to the bathroom. The pumpkin, left alone in the entryway, is delighted that he can just reach the keys. I get to the bathroom and discover that - oh no! - not only did I not quite make it - it wasn't only my bladder that was full. I know, TMI, but how else can I get the point across. So I'm trapped in the bathroom... finishing up, cleaning up, finding clean play clothes etc. In the meantime, I hear the car horn occasionally honking, the alarm going off then stopping, the beeps of the car being locked and unlocked and I'm just not paying that much attention to it. Then, just as I struggle into clean undies, I hear the car alarm go off and it doesn't stop. Not good. So I race to the entryway in my underwear to discover that all of the neighbors across the street (three or four houses worth) are on their porches or in their driveways approaching my house to see what the ruckus is about... And there I am to fix it all IN MY UNDERWEAR.


As gracefully as possible while crouching in a ridiculous position to try to hide the fact that I'm wearing only underwear, I removed the keys, slammed and locked the door, and tried to explain to the pumpkin that he should NEVER hit the red button. Oh the shame and horror.


Another bad neighbor point: I am occasionally seen in my underwear. Ugh.