Eric and I are blessed to be surrounded by lovely neighbors, in fact - since we've moved to our new home in Colorado, we consider most of our neighbors like family. There is a large Asian American family directly to our right; however, due to a language barrier it's difficult to connect with them. Now this is where my "naughty" explanation comes in.
I've made quite a few comments in past blogs about my serious disdain for noisy hoards of children (cough, sputter, choke...). I'm now shamefacedly admitting that these remarks were directed towards these neighbors and as of yesterday my new found knowledge of their nine children. Not only do these fine folks have a full baseball team of kiddos, but their live-in elderly parents babysit additional grandchildren during the week.
As I've repeatedly written in the past, I love kids but not screaming ones. I have two handfuls of joy right here at home. If I wanted to hear hollering, I could stand at the bottom of my staircase and listen to Austynn give me an earful on a bad day. Now that I understand there's an average of 13-14 children next door caterwauling about bumblebees at 9:00am, can anyone truly blame me for being a nervous wreck and in constant pursuit of my Valium?
I've explained my naughty side of the situation. This is where I'll try to write about my irreverent attempt at being a "do-gooder" with these folks.
Yesterday, while Eric and I were standing in our driveway, we noticed a van pull up directly in front of their house. The street was lined with cars so we knew they were having a large family get-together of some sort. As I happened to look over, I saw who I believed to be the grandmother being carefully assisted out of the van. Granny is normally a sprite little lady. Just a couple of days ago I waved to her over her fence. She looked terrific. Not yesterday. She was using a walker, barely functioning, and her face was drawn. It occured to me that she'd had a stroke. I felt AWFUL. She's the matriarch of that huge family. I knew they were gathered at the house for her.
At this point, my husband and I decided to walk over with some fresh flowers from our garden, a plate of homemade cookies, and our best wishes for a speedy recovery. I was going to write a little note, but I didn't have the appropriate stationary. I will also preface this story that I NEVER go next door. Usually it's Eric being the sweet neighborly dude; not me. I'm the bitchy, grumbly one leaving anonymous notes reminding them about weekend courtesy noise levels before 10:00am.
Imagine my shock and awe as I'm holding the feel-better fresh cut bouquet of flowers (Eric was quickly swiping at the ants I failed to wash off the bouquet now crawling up my arms) when the sprite little non-English speaking granny comes hopping up to the door to collect her BIRTHDAY presents from us. Either granny miraculously recovered from a debilitating stroke in the last half hour or I mistook the frail van passenger for granny. Hmm...must have been the latter.
With a translation from one of her grandchildren, "Happy Birthday! We know how much you love flowers soooo here you goooo!"
Thank God I didn't write that note. That would have made for an extremely awkward situation. Irreverent Do-Gooders; we really know how to put ourselves into it, don't we?