So our neighbours are moving. The sign went up yesterday and I have officially positioned myself in full on stalker mode to spy on any prospective new neighbours to see who’s coming into the ‘hood. My plan is fairly simple: if they look like they might be late night pool partiers (there’s a rather lovely pool there) or like the type to let their dogs poo on my lawn, I promptly send the children outside to fight, scream, cry and have time outs very publicly to ensure the prospects are prepared to know that they might want to party hard, but we time-out hard. And early in the morning. So watch yourselves.
If, on the other hand, they look like the type that would fulfill my ultimate dream of having well-behaved kids our kids age that go to the same school, are social but not smothering and will agree that removing the fence between our yards so the kids and adults can roam freely and cook community meals together is the greatest thing since the book of Acts, I will immediately shuttle the children indoors and to the TV to ensure that our true identity is not fully unveiled until well after the ink on their mortgage papers is dry. Then I will start obsessively baking so I can woo them with pinterest-worthy dainties as a pre-cursor to the many apologies for our barbaric animal house that will haunt them for the coming years until my kids are broody teenagers who never leave their rooms.
I think my plan is good. Borderline brilliant actually. I’d post the link for all you prospective buyers (and after that informative monologue about life on our side of the fence, I bet you’d be lining up for a viewing) but internet safety stuff aside, I’d be utterly mortified if you decided to pop in to say hi to me after viewing the house only to discover that I’ve been wearing the same clothes since my last shower, 5 days ago. Can’t go ruining my image now, can we?