We live on what is quite possibly the friendliest block in this village of twenty thousand people. We had barely opened the first PODS last summer before neighbors were coming by to introduce themselves. With the exception of the one dude across the street who keeps cutting through our backyard, everyone here is awesome. Especially the kids.
Our neighborhood in CO had a gazillion kids, but I’m convinced we lived on the one kid-less block in the whole subdivision. The kids were all around the corner or on the next block; the boys could never look out the front window to see who was outside playing. It’s very different here. Lots of kids on the street, and the boys are always out playing. One thing, however. They’re all girls. Yes, my dear boys are the only specks of testosterone on this block. It’s not an issue right now, they’re all still young and get along, we’ll see in a year or so. The girls range in age from 7-11, and are all beautiful inside and out. I’m hoping they teach my boys a thing or two get your mind out of the gutter. My boys need females other than me smacking them upside the metaphorical head.
This afternoon A and I walked down to meet J at the bus. He bounded off, followed by the five girls. Four of them stopped dead, dropped their heads to their knees to grab a handful of hair in a ponytail, and cried out, “A! Watch this! 3…2…1…UNICORN!” They popped up with a unicorn-like handful of hair grasped at the top of their heads.
The boys just stared at them with that look dogs use when they’re just so confused because they don’t know if you’ve thrown the ball or where it went or please just give me a treat rub my belly. Me? Laughing hysterically. When I could finally breathe, I had to ask if they were rainbow farting unicorns. They all affirmed that they were, indeed, unicorns of the rainbow farting variety.
I live on a block with rainbow farting unicorns. Life is good.
Of course I had to show them the lock screen of my iPhone:
I love my block.