“Uh, okay,” I respond, watching my son dart out into the yard, eager to explore the patch of woods that separates our houses.
“Just don’t be a nuisance!” I shout after him, realizing he probably has no idea what that even means. His little brother follows closely behind.
I quickly text my friend Lisa: “The boys are over. If they’re too wild, feel free to send them back.” She replies with a reassuring, “No problem.” Still, I can’t shake the worry.
I genuinely adore my neighbors. It feels like a blessing—some cosmic force has granted us the joy of fantastic neighbors, and I’m terrified that my family might ruin it.
You see, seven years ago, before we had kids, my husband Matt and I built our dream home in a serene, wooded area of Pennsylvania. Living in the countryside means enjoying more space. We have neighbors, but with lots over an acre, they’re not exactly right next door.
When our house was being built, a lovely couple named Judy and Tom moved in next to us. They were warm and friendly but preferred their privacy. Across the street lived another great family, although their kids were older than mine, who were just infants at the time. Then last December, boom! Both families moved away in the same week.
“Don’t worry,” friends said. “Maybe a family with kids will move in.” Yeah, right, I thought.
“We’re all alone now,” I told Matt. “I don’t like it.”
After a dismal winter where the snow hung around until April, I saw a moving truck next door. I ran outside, practically buzzing with excitement. A mover unloaded colorful plastic toys into the yard and two energetic dogs bounded around.
“They have kids! And dogs!” I exclaimed. But then doubts crept in. What if they let their dogs bark all night? What if they blared their music? What if they were just terrible neighbors? Maybe living isolated was better.
I tiptoed to the property line and peered through the trees. I waved and shouted, “Welcome!” as I introduced myself to Jake and Mia. They were from Ohio—yes, Midwestern hospitality!
I quickly invited them to my daughter’s first birthday party. “It’ll be in our backyard, with Mexican food and a piñata!”
“Stop trying to sell them on it,” Matt chuckled. “They’ll come.”
“They could have moved anywhere, and they chose to be next to us. Their kids are the same age as ours—how lucky are we?”
And lucky we were! Our kids adore playing together, and Mia and Jake are incredible. Mia, a former teacher like myself, and Jake, a grill master and sports fanatic, hit it off with Matt over craft beers and football talk. We’ve had Memorial Day barbecues and spontaneous Friday night cookouts. They even cleared a path through the brush so the kids could run back and forth without crossing the street! My boys are so excited to see their neighbors; they’re practically jumping to put on their shoes before breakfast even gets served.
I wander over to chat with Mia, and time slips away. Hours later, Matt comes home, and he and Jake dive into driveway paving plans over a Tuesday beer. Who needs weekends to hang out with friends when they’re right next door?
Still, I can’t help but worry. It’s not the carefree ’80s anymore. I stress over whether my kids are being too loud or if my youngest is throwing a tantrum. Should I call them home? Should I intervene? I don’t want Mia to feel obligated to entertain me. I suggest she send the kids to our yard for a break, but they’re having too much fun to budge. So here I am, sitting in my kitchen, writing this piece and feeling a tad guilty.
The boys return soon, ready for their swimsuits. They want to jump through the neighbor’s sprinkler, and I hope they aren’t causing too much trouble.
Did my mom ever wonder if I was overstaying my welcome? Most times, she didn’t even know where I was playing until she called my name from the door. She’d kick me out with strict orders not to come back for an hour. I’d usually find a friend swinging nearby or riding their bike. Those were the summer days of my childhood—no plans, just wandering the neighborhood until I found someone to play with, returning home dirty and happy.
But now, in 2023, we live in a world where playdates are meticulously scheduled, and kids seldom roam free without supervision. In our rural area, I have to drive twenty minutes for playdates. I’m always nearby, more present than my mom ever was.
I know Mia feels the same. She just texted an apology because the boys came home covered in dirt.
“Are you kidding?” I replied. “They’re just enjoying life in the sprinkler on a hot summer day.”
Life doesn’t get much better than this!
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In summary, while it can be nerve-wracking to navigate the dynamics of neighborhood relations in today’s world, the joy of having great neighbors and children who embrace the outdoors makes it all worthwhile. Embrace the mess, the noise, and the laughter that come with it!