I have the weird house on the block

Posted in Mom Stuff
by Lorain County Moms

By Marla Jo Fisher, The Orange County Register

I moved into a suburban neighborhood three years ago after living in the ‘hood for a long time.

People on this street socialize together. They have block parties. They have progressive dinners every Christmas. Some of them (and I am not making this up) even bought RVs so they could all go camping at the lake together.

I thought I wanted to live in a neighborhood like this, but quickly discovered that it scares the heck out of me.

See, I can’t measure up.

When I first moved in, the people across the street who seem to always party in their front yard used to wave and invite me to come over, to join them at their patio table and have lemonade.

But I was always rushing around trying to get moved in, hauling the kids to one practice or another. Now, they never ask me anymore.

When neighbors come to my door for some reason, usually to return Buddy when he’s gotten loose, I never invite them in. See, my house always looks like a tsunami hit it.

Invariably, the kids have tossed all their junk into the entryway, and Buddy the Wonder Dog has deposited a torn pair of underwear on the front mat.

I know, I know, you’re saying, “Hey, Frumpy Mom, everyone’s house is messy. Don’t worry about it.”

But, seriously, it’s not true. I’ve been in their houses and they are frighteningly immaculate.

Cheetah Boy likes to play horrible violent video games with a kid down the street, and when I go to fetch him for dinner, every time I walk in the door, the house looks like the model home tour is going to start any minute.

I tell the mom, “Wow, your house is so clean,” and she always answers diffidently, “My housekeeper just left.”

So does her housekeeper have a room in the back? That’s not the kind of affluent neighborhood we live in, but this lady has two active boys, and if it were my house, it would be trashed in 15 minutes.

Another problem is, I never remember anybody’s name. I’ve always been hopeless with names. I call my kids by the wrong ones all the time.

Because they’re my intellectual superiors, the neighbors all remember my name, but I can usually only recall one name per household. So, if I go into a house where everyone is named Jeffrey, I’ll be doing just fine.

Sometimes I only know the dog’s name, since Curly Girl is intimately acquainted with every pooch within a five-mile radius. “Jack’s house,” for example, doesn’t refer to the owner, it refers to their golden retriever.

Plus, I don’t think the neighbors have any burning desire to get to know us better.
Our lawn looks like hillbilly heaven every day, littered with baseball bats, skateboards, ripsticks, scooters, bicycles, helmets, sweaters my kids have ripped off their bodies and soccer balls.

Then, there was the visit from the cops.

While I was in the hospital this summer, my mother was watching my kids for me. She decided to call the cops on them one night, because they wouldn’t mind her.

So, yeah, we’ve become that house on the block.

Later in the summer, one of my kids who shall remain nameless thought it would be fun to light candles in the back yard, next to a highly flammable cypress tree.

When the fire engine came, sirens blasting, all the neighbors came out on the lawn, but none of them came over to ask what happened.

They just figured, I’m sure, that it’s only the latest installment in the black eye we’re giving the neighborhood.

Sometimes I wonder if we can still turn this around.

Maybe we can bake cookies for everyone on the street. Or, maybe it’s just time to move. I heard Canada is nice this time of year.

Marla Jo Fisher was a workaholic before she adopted two foster kids several years ago. Now she juggles work and single parenting, while being exhorted from everywhere to be thinner, smarter, sexier, healthier, more frugal, a better mom, better dressed and a tidier housekeeper. Contact her at mfisher@ocregister.com. Read her blog at http://themomblog.freedomblogging.com/category/frumpy-middleaged-mom-marla-jo-fisher/.