Girl Next Door

When we moved to our new house, the kids immediately started to ask about our neighbors.


And by kids, mean Joseph.

And by neighbors, I mean those under the age of fifty. Preferably under the age of 8.

At the time, they were the only kids within two houses in all directions. There are children three houses down, but when one is six, three houses down with a paranoid mother might as well be miles.

So when a little girls with long black braids popped her head over the fence between her house and ours, he was in heaven. Finally he had a real neighbor.

While our little neighbor girl is sweet and plays well with the kids, I’ve discovered the not-so-fun part of neighbors who just pop over.


First is the heart failure every time she climbs the fence. I tell her to use the gate, but she smiles a wide grin, shrugs her shoulders and pops back over the way she showed up.

Then, there’s the fact that while she entertains the kids, she’s also been known to pick unripe apples, trample on my corn, and stay while I’m trying to serve the kids dinner. Which was, actually, awkward.

I’m not quite sure what the protocol is for feeding children when I don’t their parents.

As odd as it may sound, I’m new to this old thing called “neighborhood kids”. I’m stumbling around and learning as I go. I’ve relaxed my stance on the fence. After all, I remember climbing fences. And I remember scampering across the roof with our neighbor boys. As for feeding her, I sent her home with a squash for her mom and gave her a couple cookies, keeping my fingers crossed she wasn’t allergic to anything.

What’s your neighborhood situation like?