We have lived in our home for six years and we have had six sets of next door neighbors (yes, that’s six sets of people who moved in and out of the home to the right of us within six years). While we were between neighbors number five and six, handsome hubby and I chatted about how
lame unfriendly our last neighbors were. In the middle of our snarkfest, we had an epiphany. The common denominator of this complicated moving equation is, well – us. They always move in because we live in a great neighborhood, they probably move out because we are the 3 Bros Flying Circus.
Have you ever been to a circus? Do you remember the smells, the freak shows and daredevil stunts? Alright – freeze the sights, sounds and smells and you’ve got a “smell-o-vision” version of our home. My three boys and the rest of their wolf pack transformed a boycave (for which we paid darn good money) into a stinky, nerf artillery strewn animal cave. And yes, they opt to leave the garage door up so that everyone who chooses not to look away, has a ringside view of the mess!
While driving up to my house a couple of days ago I was accosted by two boys running towards my minivan in the middle of our street along with three boys and one awesome girl standing on the sidewalk in front of my drive way. Apparently they had been staking out the joint for quite a while waiting for my three sons to arrive. Right after I shared the tragic news that my boys were not with me and would not be coming home for another hour, two boys, previously unseen by me performed a tandem death drop out of the tree in my front yard.
There is usually a trail of scooters, helmets, homemade tomahawks, swords, daggers, basketballs, lacrosse poles, footballs, bikes, skate boards and one pogo stick that begins at our front door and meanders down both sides of the street. They remain there until we call the boys in for the day. Our backyard trampoline with the basketball hoop positioned perfectly for slam dunking inspires high flying preteen machismo antics (which of course, is witnessed by whomever lives next door as the top half of the youngsters bodies appear over the fence that divides our property.) Each dunk is followed by the emphatic “DUDE THAT’S SICK!” and “Ohhhhh, WHAT NOW!”
Thinking of the mayhem that would inevitably ensue, handsome hubby decided to be proactive and go over to introduce himself to our newest neighbors. He humbly led with, “I just want to apologize in advance for the noise and the nerf bullets, tomahawks and frisbees you are going to find in your front yard and for the overall level of noise that emanates from our household.” Imagine his surprise when when our new neighbor replied, “oh no, THIS IS AWESOME! We have three boys and this is exactly what we’ve been looking for!
One person’s nightmare on Elm Street is another person’s Dream Street! (get it Dream Street is the American boy band formed in 1999). Ok, I am very corny but what do you expect from a nightmare neighbor.
I would love to hear some of your nightmare neighbor stories in the comments below (especially if you are “that neighbor”…
Until next time…Fly high and dazzle ’em!
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