The Best Mother's Day Present

We've been in our home for almost eight years now and I love our neighborhood. We have this nice couple on one side who walk their dogs every day and never seem to get tired of throwing my boys' baseballs back over the fence when there's a wild pitch during a game.

Cain still lives across the street though we don't see him as much since his mom remarried and opened a bakery in midtown (if you've missed the introduction to Cain you can get updated here, here, here and here) but he rings our doorbell every so often to fill us in on his busy life.

But last fall the house on the other side of us went up for sale and after making it through the tough housing market finally sold and I'm guessing I'm going to be able to find quite a few blog posts from the family that moved in.

The parents are very nice and they have three boys and these kids are total boys. While child psychologists warn us that children are spending too much time indoors in front of the television these guys are out stomping in the water running in the gutter past my driveway. Dressed at Batman and wielding medieval weaponry.

Lillian and David are thrilled to have some new kids to play with and every day this spring they've been hanging out with their new friends, running after each other and playing games or taking turns jumping on the neighborhood trampolines. Usually with enough noise to be heard from space. I love living in such a family-friendly neighborhood with parents that actually allow their kids to play.

But Saturday David came home from jumping at their house with this horrified look on his face. I was in the middle of transplanting my kiwi vine and prize peony so I was having a hard time giving him my full attention but the gist of the story was this:

"It all started with the cranberry juice," David said, which right there tells you the story is going to be good--how many stories can attribute plot to fruit products? It's been our quote of the weekend around here.

Apparently our three little neighbor boys were drinking juice and jumping on the trampoline when one of them got the bright idea to start removing clothing. All of it. Of course you have to remember that it's only about 50 degrees outside but we're talking boys here and apparently it seemed like a good idea at the time. From time to time I've looked up from my work at the kitchen sink to notice they seem to favor underwear-style jumping in even colder temperatures and have chuckled to myself.

Anyway, clothes began coming off and pretty soon the cranberry juice was gone so what do three naked boys do when they're on a trampoline in the spring sunshine with empty cups in their hands, full bladders, and total freedom from social repression?

Of course. They fill their cups. To the top. And not with cranberry juice.

Can you tell I'm trying to be delicate here? This is the point in the story when I stopped my spring transplanting and turned around to give my full attention to this highly entertaining story and my son who for all his ten years was utterly and completely shocked like some elderly New England school marm.

So pretty soon these naked boys--much to David's dismay--started jumping around with their cups full of "mystery" liquid and you can imagine how well gravity took to the idea. Pretty soon they were watering the trampoline, the pads, nearby bushes, anything within range of their sloshing cups and David at this point decided that the party was no longer for him and he started to take off in a panic run. Home, that is. Not his clothes. He's kind of past that point though there was a time when he probably would have joined in the fun.

It was at this point that their mother happened to look up--and I so feel for her, I swear I've been in that spot before when you glance up from your work only to realize that things have suddenly gone very very wrong and your children are possessed--and she noticed her naked sons enjoying their freedom and new-found irrigation talents and ran outside to stop the madness.

She stopped David from running away to get the full story from him but he was really not in the mood. He's now a very manly little 10 year-old and had no interest in reliving the horror of the moment by putting into words the scene he'd been forced to witness.

"But she made me tell her what happened!" He said in this shocked voice as if she'd waterboarded him or something.

He waited for me to mirror the horror he felt once his story was complete but instead I sat on the steps and laughed. It was one of those moments when I completely remember what it felt like to have your child naked in the middle of the grocery store or streak through the picnic because they were sure they needed more sunblock (another true story that the child in question won't allow me to print) and I'm sure on her end it was mortifying but I have to say it gave me my entertainment for the day and for that I'm grateful.

The boys have since apologized and scrubbed down the trampoline (though David seems to be rather skeptical of it all) but it all kind of feels like a suburban reenactment of Lord of the Flies with cranberry juice and a trampoline instead of a pig hunt.

So to our wonderful new neighbors, thanks for the chance to remember and enjoy those funny embarrassing moments that I don't seem to get any more now that my own kids are so darn mature. And hey, better you than me right?