Saturday, May 19, 2012


The neighborhood we live in is one big circle, closed in by a gate at the front. Somehow, we have 4 different streets in this small third of a mile length of road. It seems to me it would be easier to just make it one big circle or court, but that has nothing to do with this story.

When we first looked at this neighborhood it was no where near complete. There were empty lots and long strips of land with no sidewalks. Since then, which was just August 2011, a new house has been started almost every single month. Which means lots of construction, lots of large trucks and loud noises, and an audience if I decide to mow the yard. (Which also has nothing to do with this story, but is still extremely annoying. If I wanted to be stared at while sweating I'd go to a gym...or a pool.)

For reference:

The weekend we bought our land.

(Please forgive my blurry pictures. I'm not the best with photoshop, which I don't even own.)

The red X is our land.
What a difference!

So all of that setup is to tell a funny story about Brenden. His friends from across the street often play in the yard next door, which is a house that is almost completed. I don't let the kids play over there in case there are any nails or other construction debris that could be harmful. I know that makes me over protective and helicopter parent-ish, and even a little bit selfish since it's only because I don't want to have to deal with the insanity of taking a child to the ER on the off chance that they do get hurt. It's a constant fight that I will be very happy to end when the new family moves in.

We were driving home from school and Brenden was drilling me, as usual, about what he was allowed to do when we got home. "Can I go outside?" "Can I ride my bike?" "Can I play with Grant and Conor?" "Can I play in the front yard?" "Can I play in the dirt?"

That last question is what started our entire debate. He would ask if he could play in the dirt, I would repeat that no, I did not want him stepping on a nail or getting hurt. He would cry and whine and flail and then ask again. Repeat for what felt like hours. Finally, he decided he was done with the conversation and said,

"You're mean! You're not my mommy anymore! I'm gonna live with GRANDMA!"

I couldn't help it...I laughed. He said it with such force and he meant it. He glared at me from the backseat and I could see his brain working to decide what to say next. Finally, he made his decision.

"I'm gonna live with grandma Ginger. You're mean! I'm gonna TELL YOUR MOM!"

Yes, he threatened to tell my mom on me. You can imagine the look I got when I busted out laughing again. I'm totally against laughing at my kids when they are upset, or whining at them when they are whining, but I just couldn't help it.

And mom, if you're reading this, thanks for telling Brenden you supported my decision. I think he forgave us. :)

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