The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Thursday, February 05, 2009


Good Neighbors Are Ones That Stay

I learn a lot about my inner landscape by mapping my endearingly out of proportion overreactions to other people’s behavior. I have the practiced calm exterior, but I boil and pitch with abandon in my head. This week, the object of undeserved wrath is the family across the street. They have two wonderful daughters my kids adore, just older than my girls in a way that will keep their status as cool forever.

Well, they have been spring cleaning way too much. They are sprucing up the front yard, power washing the exterior, making trips to Goodwill. From my vantage point across the cul-de-sac, it’s clear that they are doing these things with singular purpose and great efficiency.

Saturday, their older daughter spilled the beans, validating my dark fears. Rather than build the addition they had planned, they are probably opting to sell their house. We are being left by THE same-age kids on the street that fuse with my kids into a giggling feminine mob, roaming between houses, playing dress up, eating pizza, making a boring Sunday hilarious as they trade secrets and songs about butt cracks and poop.

I feel personally betrayed. How dare they make their own decisions and take away one cornerstone of my hometown, brotherly feeling that makes me love our block. How could they turn their backs on how I want things to be! So what if I absolutely agree it’s a better decision. They didn’t consult with us! My older daughter is going to be crushed. The younger one will, too. Okay, so she just started walking and mostly points at their house and drools, but I know she’ll feel abandoned, too. I graciously feel the pain for them. Now, my hello wave is tainted with bitterness. I become a petulant, sulking middle-schooler when I see them arrive home.

Hah! They’re probably meeting with another realtor, I say to myself. They’re going to find new neighbors. People with nicer houses, who effortlessly cook gourmet feasts with better backyard setups than ours and probably work with the blind after a long day at the brokerage firm.

Here I sit. . . the scorned neighbor.

When my daughter shrieked at me tonight about bedtime, “No, you need to do it MY way!!!” I act mature and consistent, but inside my head, she’d be amazed at how the same sentiment is thumping in my head too.

By Avvy Mar

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Put so well, we all are really 8 years old inside anyway?
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