So Frenemy Neighbor Up and Moved

Why is this woman smiling?

After various false starts over the years--putting her house on the market, taking it off again when nobody offered her astronomical sums, lots of dubious DIY projects aimed at increasing resale--Frenemy Neighbor sold her house and they are gone.

By the time this was underway, we had not spoken in a long, long time. Maybe like two years had passed since our last meaningful contact, except when I ran into her in the grocery store once or we waved half-heartedly from our minivans. Our girls haven't sought each other out in a long time, so there was no reason for us to do so. And I was long tired of her crap, even for the story-value it might provide. I think she felt that I broke up with her because she is a Republican. But it was because she is a Crazy Person.

The other night I was reading this post about the bar of soap birthday party, and I hadn't thought of it in so long, I was like, "Oh my God, this woman was real! I didn't make her up!" Go read it, refresh your memory.

So since the last time they'd tried to sell, the market has come back a bit around here, and in particular, houses in our neighborhood seem to sell fast, because the new high school over here has become very sought-after. I think Frenemy finally got her price.

Don't look at me like you're not all over Zillow all the time.

Sidebar: One part of the house listing Frenemy wrote said, "Prettiest roof in the neighborhood!" Um what okay.

Several weeks ago it became evident that they were packing up and really leaving this time, and I was very curious. Very very curious. Just not curious enough to contact Frenemy in any way to ask. I mean, the one question on everyone's mind was, are they moving up, down, or sideways? Right? But I did ask K(C)athy, who asked Miss Terry the possum lady, and she reported that they'd sold to a family with four little girls. She said they were moving farther up into the county. They always had a couple of rental properties, and it seemed that they might be going to one of those for a while.

Normal Neighbor goes, "They lived here for years and not one of us even said goodbye." And I was like, yeah. And we shrugged. It's not that we're unfriendly or grudging people; it's a measure of how alienating it could feel to know Frenemy. There were people across the street who lived here for eighteen months, and when they left, we had a farewell party.

On Halloween night, I was sitting with one of the K(C)athies, and she mentioned something FN had put on facebook. And I was seized with regret at having unfriended her years ago, because if I hadn't, I could keep tabs and see what she is up to. So K(C)athy pulled up her facebook and I began eagerly to scroll, then I saw something she said about that lady who fainted at our Kenyan president's press conference the other day and how that was all staged, and I was like, oh yeah, that's why I did that.

And I wanted to unfriend her so hard, just like it was the first time.

God, she used to drive me so crazy. Long time readers, any favorite Frenemy moments you recall?

So I met the new family and they're adorable. The neighborhood just got a little less crazy. Except not because there's all kinds of other crap, but November is a long month. Be faithful, I will attend.

xoxoxo

That Does Not Sound Like A Party to Me

A couple of nights ago I got an email from my Frenemy Neighbor:

Would you and Laura like to attend a Miss America beauty party hosted by P and I? After the party for the girls, we will have an anti-aging demo and video for the Moms while the girls play. We are thinking about Sunday afternoon in two weeks. 

Oof.  Reader, do you have a policy on these parties where the hostess wants you to buy stuff?  I have heard people say they enjoy those Pampered Chef parties, for example, and I guess if a close friend had a party, I would go.  But the invites that come my way from the broader circle of my acquaintances, like people on the tennis team or Laura's classmates' moms, I just ignore.

My first thought on getting this email, after "CRAP NO," was, "How am I going to get out of this?"  This beauty product stuff is part of her multi-level marketing thing.  She and her husband have been big into it all the time we've lived here.  But go to her house and watch a video about beauty products?  All couched as some kind of mothers and daughters thing?  I would rather take a beating.

She has invited me to marketing junk before but it was always when I was genuinely out of town.  Once she invited Normal Neighbor and me to some kind of beauty "expo" she was putting on up at the clubhouse, a party that had a cover charge of five bucks.

I wouldn't kid you about something like this. 

So I was envisioning being unable to come up with an excuse and then going and being miserable.  I slumped into Matt's office, slumped into a chair, and slumped around with the slumping. 

He said, "You should not go to that.  And you do not owe her an excuse.  You do not have that kind of relationship."

Then I let it sit for a day, while I thought about what to tell her.  I didn't want to say that I had a time conflict because I feared she would change the time to accommodate me.  So I wrote back:

This isn't going to work for us.  Our weekends are so crazy this month, and it's not really my kind of thing anyway.  But thank you for thinking of me!

There, that wasn't so hard.  And there was no push back from her, I felt relieved.  And "it's not really my kind of thing" is the absolute truth.  No weasely excuses needed.  Being an adult has its moments.

Then, Laura and I were walking past a beauty supply store and she said, "P's mom took us in there with her one day while she bought a spray can of something called 'Stiff Beauty.'"

I allowed myself a single guffaw. 

Laura must have realized she had a laugh line on her hands, because later she told Matt that story.  He made a noise that was kind of like a chuckle, only it had some snorting in it.

That Bar of Soap Birthday Party

Well, sometimes you start a story and life intervenes and then it's a week later. Thanks, Amy, for popping in to post while I was in California. More about that trip in the next post. (Ha, see what I did there?)

When last we were together, Laura had just returned from a Frenemy family birthday party with a full sized bar of Ivory soap in her goody bag. This was a source of great entertainment in my house. My mother-in-law's eyebrows went up into her hairline, and I thought (for the eleventy hundredth time), "Thank the SWEET LORD I have a blog."

You guys were geniuses at coming up with party themes for which the bar of soap would be fitting: scrimshaw party, bath products party, green party, etc. But I knew that the real theme of the party was Absolutely Last Minute and Cheap as Hell. Check it out.

Now, the party was a Sunday afternoon. That Thursday night, I had gotten a text from Frenemy. Obviously she had sent it to a group. It said:

Would ur daughter be avail 4 a surprise bd party 4 P? Either Fri afternoon or Sun aftnoon? About 1 hr. Thxs.

Yes, this was Thursday night. You may recall (if you are a very, very attentive reader of this blog), that last year Laura missed P's birthday entirely because Frenemy texted us Friday night to plan a Saturday afternoon pool party, and we had gone to the mountains. It was a bummer, they are good friends.

So I texted back and said Sunday afternoon would work better. Then she texted back on Saturday morning:

Hey Moms! The surprise party will be 2:30 Sun @ my house. I'll hav door unlocked. When we arrive jump out with "SURPRISE."

Okay, so this was a sort of self-service surprise party. Then she left me a long voice mail asking if I would show up and go in with the kids and supervise them until they got there. I texted her back and said I would be happy to. It was just going to be Laura and two other little girls from our street, because P doesn't have any friends, because FN will barely let her breathe.

So at 2:20 on Sunday we were all ready. I'd pulled a cute present out of the gift stash (hurray gift stash! I don't know how I'd kept my own kids from finding those Zhu-Zhu Pets) and Laura decorated the wrapping paper. We set out and took Hank with us because Hank makes a party. On the walk up there, Normal Neighbor texted me. She said, "What is the deal with this weird plan? Should I come over there?" I said, "Yes, please do." She said, "Do you think FN will be late? I don't want to sit in their house for 30 minutes." I told her I was sure they'd be on time.

Oh ho! Normal Neighbor is no dummy.

Fast forward to 2:45. The four kids are in their places, having scoped out the best spot to hide. I text Frenemy, "We are ready!" She texts back:

We are running 15 minutes late. Thxs, it took us a little long @ lunch because we went 2 different restaurant. Thxs.

They were already fifteen minutes late, so I wasn't sure what this did to their ETA. I told Frenemy to give us a two-minute warning and I told the kids to stand down. I considered browsing in the fridge.

At 3:00, they roll up. We've now been waiting the exact half hour that Normal Neighbor predicted, and Hank has practiced yelling SURPRISE one hundred dozen times. But we hid, we waited until P walked in the door, and then we yelled "SURPRISE" one more time. She was really surprised and delighted, so I felt that it was time well-spent.

Then came the bar of soap.

Hank and I had stayed a few minutes more, long enough for Hank to have cake, and then we went home. When Laura came home later, she was clutching a recycled plastic bag from Justice. It contained the bar of Ivory soap, a little yellow highlighter pen, a pair of Halloween socks, a pencil, and a ring pop. And friends, it wasn't even a pristine bar of soap. You know how you get the big multi-packs of eight or so soaps, and then the ones in the middle have their wrappers all messed up from being stuck to the other bars?

It was like that.

So I asked the natural question: Did everyone get a bar of soap?

No. The story developed that Laura had actually traded to get that bar of soap. The other bags featured, as their centerpieces:

• a pair of Christmas earrings
• a fishing lure shaped like a rubber fish
• a wooden ruler inscribed with the Golden Rule and the name of a local Baptist church

Laura's first bag had contained the fishing lure, and she horse traded her way to the soap. My girl! And at this moment the soap is being used in the kids' bathroom.

So obviously, this has to be the most half-assed attempt at goody bags ever, as it seems to have involved Frenemy cleaning out the junk drawer in her office. The thing is, there is no law that says you have to do goody bags at all. A little cake and ice cream, a few games, and they're good. So why cobble together this collection of crap? It is classic Frenemy, that's all I can say about it.

And the last-minute nature of the party actually hurt my feelings a little bit on her daughter's behalf. I don't know why she couldn't plan something ahead of time? She has one child and she knows when her birthday is. Yes, I am sure she is busy, but other people are too. Everyone is busy. I don't get it, my kids talk about their upcoming birthdays for months, doesn't her child? P is eleven; she knows when her birthday is too, I'm guessing. And I'm no Power Mom, but I can manage to pick a day and time and invite other children a couple of weeks in advance. We had Hank's fourth birthday on my last day of chemotherapy and it was great. So how busy is she?

Not to get all busier-than-thou.

So THAT is the story of the bar of Ivory soap and how it was the perfect accompaniment to the whole thrown-together party. I mean, what the chuck?

I really wished you all lived here so we could have this conversation in person, with hand gestures and shrugging.

I Raced Right in To Tell You

Laura just came home from Frenemy Neighbor's daughter's birthday party. Her goody bag contained a full-sized bar of Ivory soap. Discuss.

I'll be back to tell you the whole story of this party later but right now I'm laughing too hard.

Cats and Dogs Living Together

A couple of nights ago, Matt said, "You should tell your blog readers how Conspiracy Guy helped us out." Matt is like this blog's Jiminy Cricket. He doesn't want the impression of CG as a one-hundred-percent crazy neighbor to go unchallenged in the face of recent events.

Remember the other day when the giant tree fell across our driveway for no reason? Well, not only did Conspiracy Guy lend Matt his chainsaw, he did some of the cutting to get the driveway clear. THEN, after I was gone to the mountains, he came over one day while Matt was working and cut all the big pieces into manageable logs and stacked them neatly. Then THEN, he hooked us up with a guy who wanted to haul away the wood. The morning after we got back from vacation, there was a dude with a trailer in our driveway, loading up the wood. None of this cost us a cent.

So Conspiracy Guy, we may not agree on the events of 9/11 or on whether microwave cooking poisons food, but thank you for being a good neighbor.

Of course, we need to thank him in some way that he will actually see, since he doesn't read my blog.

Furthermore, earlier that same day, I'd needed to go to physical therapy, and I needed someone to watch the kids. I decided to ask Frenemy Neighbor for a favor, since I've watched her daughter a lot, so she came over to my house and sat with the kids for a while. And then, when I got back, I didn't want to seem like I was dismissing her, so we sat on the couch and chatted for an hour. It was perfectly pleasant.

Truly this is a sign of the end times.

The Woman Has A Case of Crazymouth

Matt's mom Betty is visiting us, and she had a close encounter of the Frenemy kind this evening. I eagerly collect stories of other people meeting Frenemy Neighbor and thinking she's as strange as I do. Like, "Look world, it's not me, it's her, RIGHT?" Anyway, Betty took Hank up to the pool to swim before supper, and Laura was already up there swimming with Frenemy's daughter P.

Betty, because she has the social skills that we expect from adults, engaged Frenemy in conversation, asking her if P was on the neighborhood swim team. This should have been a perfectly safe conversation starter, as it is not demanding and it enables Frenemy to talk about her kid. This would normally lead into both parties saying, yes, how nice that these neighborhoods have swim teams, what a great opportunity for the kids, how fun for them, Laura and P are such lively and accomplished girls, blah blah blah. I mean "blah blah blah" in the nicest possible way, as I regard such bread-and-butter smalltalk as the actual glue of actual civilization.

But it did not go down that way. No my friends. Here's how it did go down:

Betty: So is P on the swim team with Laura?

FN: No, we don't do aggressive.

OMG. Pause. "We don't do aggressive?" What in the sweet fancy hecks? But here's where I love my mother-in-law. Whereas I have a congenital need to always appear to understand the utter nonsense that is coming out of someone's face, Betty is completely willing to play dumb when needed. I think this is where Matt gets it. We have a game we run on my doctors that we call Smart Cop, Dumb Cop. That's a whole 'nother post. Anywah . . . let's wade back into our scene, where Frenemy has just said that P doesn't do swim team because they don't do aggressive.

Betty [squinting]: Are you saying that swimming is aggressive?

FN: Yes, and it's all about winning, and the parents get so competitive and aggressive. We don't care about winning and losing.

Betty [all astonishment]: Do you think that Becky gets competitive and aggressive??

FN: Well . . . no.

At this point in the conversation, Betty said that Frenemy "began mumbling something about golf." Her daughter P, she explained, plays golf. Because apparently golf is a model-in-miniature of Utopian social relations and how they could burst into full flower if we would all only control our aggressive impulses and vain strivings for personal glory. Also, while playing golf, the ten year-old P is unlikely to encounter poor people. Or persons of color. Not so fast, Tiger.

So there you have it. First, let me explain. Here are three things: shit, shinola, and what goes on in swim team. These are three things that Frenemy has no idea how distinguish between. She doesn't have the first notion of what swim team is like. P has never been on swim team, despite the fact that Frenemy has spent money on one-on-one lessons for her. I remember that P has, in the past, even expressed a desire to do swim team. I think FN probably said no for two reasons:

One, for the five or six weeks that the swim season is in full swing, it takes a lot of time. Practice every day and meets every Thursday night.

Two, when one is swimming with a large crowd, especially with children from other neighborhoods, one is immersed in fluids with people whose church home may be unknown to you.

But the fact that Frenemy has been steering P into golf ever since she pulled her out of school to home school her is the perfect emblem of that child's isolation. And also an emblem of her mother's striving for class security. I'm sure P goes to play golf or hit golf balls with her mother, and NOT with other ten year-old children. I can guaran-damn-tee you that. (Oh I said "tee"! Titter titter!)

Lord, why am I such a bitch? Oh yeah, it's the dexamethasone. And come on, you love it. I just cannot stand when people talk nonsense and get all smug about their nonsense, ESPECIALLY when it is in response to politeness, like, "Oh you thought you would ask me a nice question and boy did I make you sorry! But listen to this important Thing! That I Think! I Thinked a Very Important Parenting Policy Thing!"

In conclusion, moments like that are why I think my mother-in-law is so awesome. She will not suffer your bullshit, your total frenemizing bullshit.

In further conclusion, my fourth and last chemotherapy infusion is tomorrow. By which I mean, Wednesday the 23rd. Waiter, may I please get a "Woot"? Raise the roof y'all.

And in an epic example of awesomely great planning, I am also having Hank's 4th birthday party tomorrow afternoon, after the chemo. It just worked out this way, and I'll be feeling fine, but I may be making goody bags while they're hooking up my IV. Also the air conditioner guys are coming some time between 12 and 6. I like that window. Like, "We are coming some time between the Treaty of Versailles and the release of the iPhone 4. We'll call thirty minutes out."

It's all good.

Anyhoo, that's what cooking in Crazytown.

Gossip Helps Us Define and Enforce Norms of Group Behavior

When Normal Neighbor came to drop her daughter off for Laura's slumber party on Friday, she stayed for a beer and a chat. The previous Friday, some of these same little girls, Laura included, had been at a slumber party around the corner, hosted by another friend of ours for her daughter. This mom has six kids. (I've never quite come up with a blog name for her but I really like her, and she is a part of the whole scene. Maybe Mellow Mama?) Her little girl and Normal Neighbor's girl and Laura are all good buddies. Anyway.

So Frenemy Neighbor's daughter P was also invited, but the hostess was told she'd be arriving later because her parents were busy and she was at her grandmother's for the evening. Frenemy told Mellow Mama she'd go get P and bring her to the slumber party by 8:00.

Normal Neighbor said that around 10:30, the hostess figured that P wasn't coming, turned off the porch light, and went to bed. At 11:30 the doorbell rang. Mellow Ma had been asleep, as were half of the party guests. It was Frenemy wanting to drop off P at the party. So drop her off she did, and then picked her up again at 9am.

Normal Neighbor and I exchanged grimaces over this episode, and then I told Pretty Neighbor about it too. It's just a typical page from the Frenemy parenting playbook. They take P with them everywhere while they conduct adult business, so she misses out on a lot of things, then they control her time so rigidly that she misses out on some more stuff. She is home schooled, but they aren't the networking type of home schoolers. P seems isolated to me, very isolated.

I just don't think that girl has enough fun or enough kid time.

This afternoon was another characteristic episode. I texted FN at about 2:00:

Me: Hey, Matt is going to take Laura to the climbing wall at the gym, would P like to go?

FN: Yes but we r eating right now. We need to work on the rental house today, P would need to stay whole afternoon with u. What do u think.

Me: Well, the climbing closes at 5 so they would prob be there until then anyway. We are having lunch too but we are almost finished. Y'all?

FN: We are just sitting down, would u be up 2 her staying with u the rest of the day???

Me: We would be great with that part, but it sounds like they might not have enough time if y'all are starting lunch. Maybe a different day? Climbing is open til 8 on the weekdays.

FN: Ok, if you want P for playing we will prob leave in 15 or 20 minutes and back this evening. Thxs.

With that last message, I didn't feel that she had gotten my drift at all, and I also felt that if we didn't take P with us, I was condemning her to spend several hours sitting in her parents' empty rental house. Because I know that, to Frenemy, "the whole afternoon" doesn't mean until 5 or 6, it means until 7 or 8. But I didn't think we were communicating well, so I called her. I learned that they were having lunch at their house, not a restaurant, and P would be available soon. And I learned that I was right about the 7 or 8. Frenemy asked if "7 or 8" was okay, and I, remembering her penchant for lateness, said, "That's fine. 8:00 is when I start getting the kids ready for bed." That must have worked, because they rolled up at 8:20. Improvement. And the girls had a good time climbing, and then P helped Laura clean her room.

Whatever! I guess I'm telling you this because I tell you everything. I am a magpie, and here is another bit of shiny thread.

Whatever, Facebook, It's Fine, Really

The much-discussed Facebook redesign finally arrived on my home page a couple days ago, and I was kind of like, hmm, it looks pretty much like the old one. Except it seems like there is no longer that distinction between "News Feed" and "Live Feed," which I'd never really figured out anyway.

Also, some of the people I'd hidden were now unhidden. Weird. That is a whole other topic, why we would friend someone on Facebook and then hide them from view. You know how it goes. I'm lookin' at you, guy from college who wanted to talk about nothing but Ayn Rand.

I did check in on my privacy settings to make sure they hadn't "defaulted" to a setting where my bank account information is now being shared with distressed Nigerian princes. Also it had dawned on me that there's another word for the category "friends of friends," who Facebook is always trying to get you to be visible to. That word is "strangers." So everything looked kosher in there.

Then I noticed that several of my friends had joined one of those "let's get a million people to join in support of same sex marriage" groups. Now, I think this is all great and fun, even though I'm not really sure it's effective political speech. I mean, the first group I ever joined was "If a Million People Join, My Girlfriend Will Let Me Turn Our House Into a Pirate Ship." But, it is more of a fun social-networking thing, and also I support same sex marriage, so I joined the same sex marriage group. As I did it, I said to Matt, "I'm going to see if I can get Frenemy Neighbor to finally unfriend me." Ever since she friended me last year, it's been like When Worlds Collide on there. And she was one of those people who campaigned in favor of Prop 8 even though she doesn't live in California. Anyway.

So last night I logged onto Facebook, and lo and behold, I HAD lost a friend. But it wasn't Frenemy. Son of a monkey! So who was it? Of course, there's no way to know, because it's not like I can look at the huge list of friends and tell who is missing. But that stings, anonymous former friend! What about all those times we had/may have had? What about those school days we shared ten/twenty/thirty years ago?!? And what will that mutual friend/relation of ours think when he/she sees us estranged this way? I don't think you've thought this through, former friend! Come back and I will start a game of scrabble with you and NOT abandon it after a couple of turns. And I will NOT send you Jonas Brothers flair and I will NOT invite you to take purity pledges with me all the time. I promise! Just please reconsider. If only you would reconsider.

That Neighborhood Party: People

When we went to the progressive dinner last weekend, Matt's mother and brothers were in town visiting us, so we did not intend to stay out a long time. Normal Neighbor's house was to be the last stop of the night, so I told her at the beginning of the evening, "We're not going to stay super late, we've got a houseful of company." In the South, saying you have a houseful of company is understood to excuse any behavior, any lapse, or any absence. It could get you out of going to your own funeral. As the mourners stood around the empty casket, someone would say, "Well, I bet they have a houseful of company."

So yeah, we weren't going to stay late. Normal Neighbor and her husband laughed and repeated those words to me as we tripped gaily down their frozen sidewalk at 3 o'clock in the morning. That party sort of took off. Everyone was just so darn convivial. It was a nice mix of people we already knew and people we'd never met. I wanted to file a few reports on the people you've come to know here on SubMat.

Normal Neighbor: I really love that woman, she of the beer koozies with grosgrain ribbon around them. She is one of those women--and I don't know if this is particular to the South, but I see it a lot here--who really knows how to use her voice. I mean, her speaking pitch is really dynamic, and she uses it to great advantage. She is pleasant to listen to, and can give you a hug with her voice, or convey intense amusement, outrage, whatever. This is not to be underestimated. Also, she has never failed to be nice and normal. Her husband, a golf pro, is among the professionally gregarious. Those two like to party, if we're using "party" as a verb. They certainly do it like it's a verb.

Frenemy Neighbor: Frenemy arrived alone because her husband was "having symptoms." I was like, "Oh no, symptoms of what?" Then she said he had a cold. I was like, who talks like this? I steered clear of her in general, though I did get a lot of enjoyment out of a moment when another woman's husband was trying to hug her. I missed why this hug was occurring--it was a little aggressive on his part probably, like forced merriment--but she acted like he was covered with poisonous spines. Another friend from up the street--she has six kids so we'll call her Mother of Many for the time being--was complaining to me that Frenemy has been trying to recruit her husband into their multilevel marketing scheme. We shared an eye roll. Also, Frenemy was wearing a bright orange, really hairy scarf. She looked like she was being choked by a Fraggle.

The Mystery People: Okay, here's where I sound kind of weird. I spent a while with the Mystery Lady, sitting next to her at dinner and chatting. Even given her quirks and abrasiveness, I would far rather spend time with Frenemy than with this lady. Her husband seems just garden-variety creepy to me, but she left me kind of unsettled, with a cold feeling.  I mean, Frenemy has a recognizable personality, with recognizable human emotions, however awkwardly they are expressed. Mystery Lady seemed to me like someone completely turned inward, moving through a world of objects, trying to wrest her desires from the material world. My intuition is that the people in her life are objects to her too, with different purposes, in a utilitarian array around her.

She can make normal chit-chat, sort of, and smile when appropriate, but there is no animating spirit behind it. Really strange. They have had a series of au pairs in their house, so she told me a little about the au pair program, and about how you can try to bend the rules to get more than the allowed amount of work out of your au pair. Then she told me about how she and her husband met online, and their courtship, and I felt like I was talking to one of those automated customer service robots who simulates human interaction. The thing is, from seeing her daughters, I think that she has no idea how needy they are. It's clear that there is some kind of nourishment they aren't getting from her. Yet she looks pretty, her house is pulled together, and she's going around having an adult life. 

That's a lot to take from a dinner conversation, huh? Maybe I'm the weird one. I'll say more if I can figure out how to articulate it. I was just uncomfortable with her, in a deep way.

So we are all up at the mountain house, playing in the snow, which explains my blog slacking this week. I hope you are all managing to stay warm. Back soon!

That Neighborhood Party: Houses

These people are all so comfortable. That's what I kept thinking Saturday night at the progressive dinner on our street. For those who don't know, a progressive dinner is like a potluck, only you move to a different house for each course of the meal. Three stops is a good number. It's kind of a hassle if you have to drive from place to place, but if you're just walking in your neighborhood, it's great, even in 20 degree weather.

So this meant going into three different big houses with three different finished basements. And I'm not talking about some paneling-and-carpet-remnant basements. These were big, fully-tricked out spaces with kitchens, bars, gyms, pool tables, you name it. Our basement is unfinished, so having another kitchen in your basement is still a novelty to me. And to a woman, every hostess told me some variant of, "We never come down here." I was like, this is a 1000 or 1500 square-foot space that you never use? It's bigger than anywhere Matt and I ever lived before we moved here. Like a little house underneath your house. Amazing, really.

I mean, we live in this place now, but I don't feel that we're really of this place, you know? I have fresh memories of living in small apartment after small apartment, and especially of raising a baby and then a small child in something under a thousand square feet. Of never, never having a washing machine actually in my living space. Of no storage. Of never having a dishwasher or more than one small bathroom. Our first apartment in California had the bathroom in the kitchen, which was itself the converted back porch of a hundred year-old house. Oy, that apartment deserves its own post someday.

Three and a half years after moving into our big-but-not-huge house, I still enjoy the space we have and am thankful for it everyday. If we were to finish our basement, this place would be huge, maybe too much for just the four of us. Anyway, what struck me about our neighbors and their places was that this is all normal for them. Nothing special. Normal and expected to have 4,000 square feet of living space, plus an actual room in your house that you can park your car in. I know, the garage thing still seems amazing. California real estate did this to me. I digress.

The other thing that struck me about the three houses we visited was that they all look basically the same inside. Like everyone shops for furniture and decorations at the same place, or put their rooms together with the same idea in mind. Not all of my neighbors adhere to this decorating philosophy, but it seems to be the majority. A while ago, I tried to characterize this style of interior decorating, and the best I could come up with was: "extreme matching, a reverence for a quasi-Tuscan look, and safe, idea-free interiors. Think burgundy and hotel art." That's pretty much it, though I would add that the overall effect is absolutely ponderous--dark colors, dark wood. Remember the whole red or maroon dining room fad? I don't remember when that was, but my neighborhood is still firmly in its grip. When not carried off competently, this look goes from bland to outright depressing. "Hotel art" isn't quite right either, because hotel paintings are usually representations of something--beaches, landscapes, people, places, you know, nouns.

Not one of my actual neighbors' houses.

What goes as artwork in my neighbors' houses is not, for the most part, pictures, or figural, representational images but more like other things stuck on the wall. Like geometric things or wrought iron bits of stuff. I would call them "wall sculptures" but that would suggest that they have more of a point of view than they really do. Pardon me if I sound like a total snob right now. But don't you know what I mean? I swear it's that, in their calculations, an actual picture of something is too risky. It might not be right or someone might not like it. There are no books on view either, so truly, an idea-free interior. It's a shame, because these are fun, smart, busy people. I don't want them to be so afraid. At this point we could reference Paul Fussell's essential and totally fun book, Class, and his claim that the middle class is the anxious class. They don't want to put themselves out there--their likes, habits, and obsessions in full view, because it might not be right, like is it really okay to have a shelf full of paperback novels in the living room? And, if I hang this drawing of a horse in my dining room, then that amounts to my aesthetic endorsement of it, does it not, and what if my judgement is not correct?

This explains what was going on the time Frenemy Neighbor came into my house and saw a portrait that a friend's mother gave us when we got married. She's an outsider/naïve painter, and she painted us a picture of a bride and groom. They're kinda funny-looking but we've had them with us a long time. Anyway, Frenemy saw it and said, "That is really. . .personal." Yes, it is, I suppose. But what she meant by "personal" was "wrong and not appropriate." A different day, she saw a little picture of a duck on my mantel, painted by the same lady. Frenemy said, as I think I've reported here before, "Did someone you really love give you that?" She herself collects porcelain roses and also any piece of artwork that depicts roses, which she can hang over the porcelain roses to reinforce, you know, the whole rose concept.

Meow.

But you know where this rule of artistic safety does not apply for my neighbors? In their basements! That's where you see kids' artwork, pub signs, sports pennants, all the stuff that the people are really into. It is really funny. Down there their obsessions and pastimes are on display. I'm like, "Dude, get that autographed picture of you wearing a kilt and standing next to Jack Nicklaus upstairs where it can breathe!" Upstairs I'm like, "Where is your stack of Us Weeklies and your Nora Roberts books?" Downstairs, there they are, thank God! And it's a double shame if they really never go down there!

Was I raving?

If you are one of the people still reading, i.e., one of my blood relations, I appreciate your scrolling. In order to not make this post even longer, I will tell you about the actual people at the party tomorrow. xoxox--B

Tuesday is for Lovers

Lovers of randomness, that is. Please come in and cop a squat, because there are a few things on my mind.

When I first got caught up on this whole Tiger Woods situation, the most surprising thing about it to me was that he lives in Orlando. No slight to Orlando, it's nice enough I guess, but dude can live anywhere he likes. Anywhere. Like he could probably live at Hogwarts if he wanted to. So, Orlando? Maybe Tiger and fam love visiting the big mouse.

I just did the shred for the first time since Friday. Pardon me while I pop this lung back inside. Skipping one day seems to have no effect, but I noticed a definite loss of cardio stamina after skipping three or four. After shredding through Thanksgiving, I've been letting my cold and sinus headache keep me from working out the last few days. But it's funny, in the middle of a set of plank jacks, I don't notice my face hurting. So there's some more fear leaving my body. One thing that inspired me to hop to it was that Pretty Neighbor has started level 3. Must catch up. And as crap as I feel right at this moment, that workout is still only twenty minutes. And now I'm covered in the perspiration of righteousness.

Yesterday I gave Normal Neighbor's daughter a ride home from the bus stop, because it was raining. Normal Neighbor asked me if I had gotten a call from Frenemy on Saturday. I told her that FN had texted me on Friday, asking if we were back home from the mountains. I had told her that we wouldn't be home until Sunday, and she'd wished us a nice time. Then, she texted me on Saturday, asking me if we were home yet, and I ignored her. Normal Neighbor told me that FN had called her on Saturday, when the Normal family had just returned from a week in Florida, and asked if Mrs. Normal could keep FN's daughter from 5-8 that night so they could go to a wedding reception. Normal told me that they begged off because they were exhausted from their trip. Then we exchanged a shrug and a head shake. I mean, you know well in advance that you're going to a wedding reception, right? Kind of like you know that your anniversary is coming up. So get a babysitter. Yes, I am being a bitch right now, but I think I'm in respiratory distress from my shred.

Looks like Dooce is giving away 5 Xboxes. I wish I could be that awesome, and I wish we didn't already have an Xbox, or I would totally win one of hers, but she's inspired me to do a little giveaway of my own. I won't spill the secret just yet, but the item rhymes with "schmea schmowel." I have some super sweet ones I've been hoarding since Australia. So please get very excited. And stay tuned.

At Laura's ortho appointment today, she was told she didn't have to wear her nighttime headgear anymore. Woohoo! She said it was the best day of her life, but she also says that if I let her make a cake from a box. In January she'll get braces on her top and bottom front teeth. I know that a geometrically, mathematically perfect bite is right around the corner, if we just stretch out our arms farther, and run faster. Oh, and the orthodontist told me that my chin is crooked, and that Laura probably got it from me. Watch it, buster.

And check out more randomization at Keely's place. She is such a doll face to host this business every week.

Some Whatever-Happened To's

Lawsee me! I am behind on some wedding posts, having now attended two out-of-town nuptials these past two weekends. I want to thank my sister for such awesome guest posting, and for not wrecking the place. Also, her post is proof that the suspension I received in high school really is on my permanent record. When I think of that now, I remember that the day I spent at home, in disgrace, besides being my 16th birthday, was the day I found out I was a National Merit finalist. It took the sting out. I skipped Chemistry to pull off that caper, and it was the beginning and end of my life of crime. But alright, so only actual seniors are supposed to be in the senior picture. I see that now, Society.

Wedding-y travel posts are forthcoming, but I wanted to duck in and offer a few updates on matters that may be of interest.

1) My relationship with my housecleaner Fabienne: it's an alternate Tuesday once again, so Fabienne came today, even though I didn't know she was coming until she appeared at the door. We got back from Boston really late last night, so I neither remembered that it was her day, nor straightened in preparation. Anyway, she broke my Red Wing console bowl today. She was vacuuming and she knocked a little table over. You can see the bowl behind Laura in this picture.

She came upstairs and found me to tell me the bad news, but the funny thing is, I had just heard the noise, and I knew exactly what it was. So I had a moment to process this fact, grieve, and compose myself before she poked her head in the doorway. She offered to pay for me to replace it, or to look on ebay for one herself, but I couldn't see making a thing out of it. Accidents happen.

And anyway, how do you put a replacement value on something that you found, and liked, but which isn't rare or precious? The bowl was from around 1955, and designed by Charles Murphy, who did a lot of Red Wing. RW was mass-produced; there's a brown one like this on ebay right now that would cost only $30 shipped. So it's not a monetary loss, really. I just liked this happy green color. I told Fabienne, "Don't even worry about it. Not a big deal. It will give me a reason to hunt for something else." Mild bummer, but I must admit that the Machiavellian in me thought, "Not making a big deal out of this will pay much higher dividends than the cost of that bowl. She may even feel indebted to me. She'll be more careful and will think of me as magnanimous, without my having actually been magnanimous." Wheels within wheels, people. That's my jam.

2) My pumpkin-stained table: I emailed Crate & Barrel about it, and they contacted someone at corporate, who said, "Yep, you're gonna want to sand that down and rewax it." I presume I need to sand the whole table top, so the finish will look uniform. I haven't decided yet whether I could do that myself or if I should go pro.

3) My Frenemy and Me: This isn't closing an open loop, but it made me laugh. Yesterday, as we were traveling home, Frenemy emailed me and said,

"I have a friend who has about a hundred pairs of brand new women's shoes he wants to sell. Would you be willing to help him sell them on ebay? He just moved back to town and is a good friend of mine."

I couldn't decide whether to go with, "I would rather take a beating" as a response, or the simpler, "Oh, HELL no." She knows that in the past, I've sold stuff online. So I just thanked her for thinking of me and told her that no, I couldn't take that on right now. But I'm thinking, who is this guy who just moved to town with a hundred pairs of new women's shoes? And what is his history with Frenemy? And is there anything about that proposal that could be less appealing?

I may submit this post to Keely's Random Tuesday Thoughts, as it is somewhat lacking in a strong narrative thread. But that's what I've got going on today. Just trying to get back in the groove. Here's some love from me to you.

Mysterious Movements in the Frenesphere

Okay, I just made up a word. But obviously, the "frenesphere" is the entire physical, social, and mental environment surrounding my Frenemy Neighbor, truths about her that are both reality-based and imagined only by me, in the past, present, and future. All of these intersecting dimensions constitute the frenesphere. Walk with me a moment.

Earlier this week, Hank's preschool sent home a class directory, listing the contact info and addresses for each family. So naturally, tonight, I spent a few moments Zillowing all of their houses. What, aren't we all doing this? If it surprises you that I will go out of my way to find out what someone's house is worth, then helloooo, please allow me to introduce myself. I'm Becky, and I am that person.

Well, I spent a moment looking up our address, and when you look up a house, the website shows you an aerial Google map of all the houses in your neighborhood, with their "zestimate," or estimated fair market value, pasted right on top of them. Definitely a fun website. Don't judge me.

And guess what I found out on that aerial view of my neighborhood? Frenemy Neighbor has her house on the market. Understand that I can go outside and walk up our hill and see her house. She has no sign in her yard, and she hasn't said a word about this. But there it is, listed with a glowing description that I recognize as her signature style, and twelve photos of the house's various charms.

So what the hecks? Is Frenemy Neighbor wanting to move? Based on her listing price (it's for sale by owner), they won't be leaving anytime soon. It's listed for fully 70k more than I think they could realistically get. And she seems to know this, because in her listing she says, defensively, "Neighborhood comps might not include all the updates/upgrades this house has got!" Hmm, well, if you call a serious commitment to DIY tile work an "upgrade," that may be true. No kidding, five of the twelve photos seem intended to showcase her kitchen backsplash. Okay, I am starting to sound like a total bitch. Maybe I just want her husband to come down to MY house and work his tile magic, his grout groove, his mystical, mosaical way with a trowel.

So that is what I have for you. To review: I like to gossip, and I want to find out what your house is worth. Get to know me!

Grrumph

Sigh. Sometimes I break my own rule of not saying "yes" when I want to say "no." This afternoon about 6 I was having a brief period of reclining on the couch. I may have been resting my eyes. My phone chimed with an incoming text message. It was from Frenemy Neighbor:

Would u be open 2 P coming over from 7 to 8:30 pm 2ni so Jim & I can hav an anniv dinner out? If doesn't work, NP, thxs.

I thought, no, I don't have a problem with it, if 8:30 really means 8:30. But unlike FN's daughter, my child is not homeschooled, and has to go to bed by 9 in order to get up at 6:30 to catch the bus. And the previous time that we had P here for her parents to go do something at night, they did not return on time. And last week Normal Neighbor watched P in the evening with the same result. But since we were home, and L loves to play with P, and there was no real obstacle to our having her, I said, "Sure, bring her down. Happy Anniversary!" I could not think of a possible way to tell another adult that she needed to be back by 8:30. I just did not want to go there. If it had been me, I would have killed myself getting back here when I said I would. I might have resented being reminded I had a curfew.

So P got dropped off at 7:15. She and L played happily. Everything was fine. At 8:30 I started making noises to Laura about how she needed to go ahead and be ready for bed. She naturally resisted, because her friend was here. I told her to go ahead and brush her teeth, and I let them be. At 9:00 I got another text from FN.

We r on the way back, should be 10 min or less, sorry to go over time. Thxs

I didn't respond to that one. I knew that their next move would be to either call P's cellphone when they pulled up, or to text me or call me and ask me to send P outside. I put my phone on silent. I didn't want to play fast-food drive thru person anymore and just pass their order through the window. I marched into Matt's office and told him, "I'm going to make them get out of their car. It is my silent protest. It is little, but it is mine."

So they did. At 9:15 Frenemy Neighbor came to the door. She saw Laura and Hank in the sunroom and said, "Oh, well we didn't mean to keep everybody up." I just smiled. Then I told her she looked pretty. Then they left, and the kids went straight to bed. So why am I so annoyed?

The heretofore unblogged context for this event is that the Frenemy family has had a rough time lately. I haven't been telling this story, but a month ago, late one night, Laura had another friend sleeping over. Matt was gone up to D.C. to fetch the dog from her summer camp at my brother's house. About one in the morning, I was going to bed, and Frenemy called me. She sounded upset. She said, "I need to take Jim to the ER, can you come up here and sit with P?" Her husband was having an irregular heartbeat and was really uncomfortable. I said that Matt was out of town and I couldn't leave, but to bring P down here. So she did. P came in and I put her to bed in my room, on a spare mattress. I felt that I needed to stay up, plus I wasn't exactly sleepy anymore. At 4:30 she texted me again and said that Jim was having atrial fibrillation, but was being medicated and would be okay. P's grandma would come fetch her in the morning, she said, so I went to bed. Frenemy's mother came at 8. I told her to call me if she needed anything.

The next day, FN called me at 9 to ask if I would go up the hill and show her mother how to light her gas stove, which made me chuckle. I went, of course. After another day, Jim got better and came home from the hospital.

Then two weeks ago, a phone call at 7 am. Jim was having a kidney stone attack, and could she bring P over? Of course. Geez, that poor guy!

This story is already too long, but all this is to say that, I feel genuinely glad when I can help someone out. And even more glad, in these cases, because I have realized that FN doesn't have many (any?) close friends. Nobody she can call upon. And they have all been shaken up by their run of bad luck. I was glad to help and would have taken P in as much as needed. It's not any trouble, and neighbors need to help each other, right?

I was glad to help in those cases, but somehow this simple request to have P over to play with Laura this evening rubbed me the wrong way. On their anniversary, for Pete's sake. Maybe it also has to do with her communication style? I don't know, I am a mystery even to myself.

Now you're up to date on what's going on with the Frenemizer.

Well, Nevermind

Yesterday I told you about my assumption that Frenemy Neighbor had straightened my living room when she came in to check on my house. It didn't seem that crazy to think that--it's the kind of thing I might do. So today FN and I were exchanging texts about getting the girls together. I had written to her to tell her we were back, and I said, "Thank you for straightening up the living room! You didn't have to do that." And she texted back:

I don't move people's things around--just in case something is in a spot for a reason, unless I'm asked or tell that I did.

Okay then. So I either misremembered how cluttered we left the house, or there really is a Good Fairy of Tidying. But I guess this means I don't owe Frenemy Neighbor a cake.

Mitch the Shy Landscaper, Returned!

Speaking of returned, we rolled up to our house this morning at 2am, after 27 hours of travel from Sydney. Somewhere around hour 18, I realized that other people, smarter people, break up these kinds of itineraries. Like, after our transpacific flight, we could have spent the night in LA, then come on to ATL the next day. But maybe that just means longer in-transit time and not a more restful experience overall. Whatever, we're tough. Matt sat awake for the entire 12-hour flight from Auckland to LA, holding a sleeping Hank. And I actually watched Dragonball: Evolution, and even enjoyed part of it. Take that, air travel! Is that all you got? Next time, try kryptonite.

So as we were approaching the house, I said, "I wonder what our grass looks like?" I was thinking it hadn't been mowed in four weeks, and would now be a knee-high refuge for possums, or even could have sprouted a Trans-Am up on blocks. Imagine my surprise and wonderment when we rounded the corner and saw that it was neatly cut. And edged! And the laurel bushes were clipped! What Good Fairy of Lawn Care did I have to thank for this? My first thought was, believe it or not, of Frenemy Neighbor. I had left a key with her, because none of my non-frenemized peeps were going to be home this whole time, and at one point I asked her to go in the house and have a look around. So when I saw the grass cut, I thought maybe she had arranged for it to be done in the name of neighborhood beautification or just plain kindness. Then, I got into the house and saw that she must have straightened up our living room when she came in. We had left it somewhat cycloned on our way out the door, but it was now plumped and neatened. This confirmed my hunch that she'd arranged for grass cutting, and my heart filled with appreciation for her. I felt like such an ungrateful wretch, making blog sport of her character eccentricities! Such a kind and thoughtful neighbor! Oh reader, in the dark of night, humbled and travel-weary, I vowed to be a better person and a kinder blogger!

Then, we all woke up very late today and found that the mail lady had delivered a crate of withheld mail. In it was an invoice from Mitch the Disappearing Mowing Dude! The invoice bills us for that time he mowed-and-ran, and claims that he did our yard three times while we were gone. Fascinating! I am happy to pay him, of course, and I'm happy that the yard didn't return to jungle while we were gone, but it's funny, because there was nothing in our interaction that one time that suggested we were agreeing to a weekly relationship, AND he didn't come the week right before we left, but apparently came each week we were gone. So, hmm. He didn't know we were about to leave town, though, so I don't think it's some kind of fiendish plot to get rich by only mowing our yard twice instead of four times.

So Frenemy apparently did not cut our grass, though she did straighten the living room, which was very sweet. When Matt and I were heading from Sydney to Vanuatu, I emailed her and asked her to go into the house and check things out. When we got back to email, I had a note from her that said only this:

We checked on your house & everything looked fine. A bee entered when the front door was open so be aware.

Is she not kind of adorable? I laughed so hard when I got that. It seemed like such a world away from everything we were doing. We had recently stood on the rim of a volcano that was shooting lava into the air. Just so incongruous. And we weren't due back for over a week, but she thought she'd better let us know about that bee. When we got in last night, I sent a "we're back" text message to Amy, and I added, "There's a huge bee in here! Why didn't somebody warn us?"

What was that about being a kinder blogger? I do owe her a big thank-you. And we are glad to be home, even jet lagged, and glad the crape myrtle is still blooming, and glad the grass is cut, and glad to have had a wonderful trip. You'll be hearing more about Australia, I'm afraid, and Vanuatu, because I've got a backlog of stories to tell and photos to share. I hope y'all are having a wonderful summer. I'm looking forward to coming by everyone's blog and getting caught up.

Awesomely Awkward, Part II: It's the Heat

Sorry to vanish like that. We've been entertaining our friend who's visiting. Matt is working extr-y hard, and I've been keep our domestic life on the rails. Oh, and also, it is hot as hell. This has been happening since, like, Wednesday. I walked out my front door, and instead of stepping into the soft embrace of early summer, I felt a wave of heat travel up from the sidewalk and hit me in the crotch. Then my eyelids started to sweat. Those two sensations combined make it really hard for a girl to keep her composure.

It is well known that heat waves cause psychological stress, and even an increase in violent crime. When I lived in California, my friend David and I used to be in the habit of blaming our moments of cattiness or bad behavior on the heat, which in Santa Cruz, meant that any day that the thermometer climbed above 76, you could be nasty as you wanna be. But this place, this South, this Hotlanta. . .well, it's amazing that any of us speak civilly from June to October. I'm going to blame the temperature for the way I let Frenemy Neighbor get my goat the other day.

Remember how last week I treated her to a view of my giant Obama face t-shirt, and she looked horrified? We met up at the pool after that for the kids to swim, and after a brief chat about nothing, she asked, "Have you been keeping up with this Judge Sonya story?" Judge Sonya, kind of like Judge Judy. I said, "Sure, I just saw that Laura Bush likes her." Frenemy Neighbor said, "I like that she's a woman, but I would really hate for us to get a justice with a political ax to grind." We were quiet for a moment. But I said, "Yes, a politicized Supreme Court is not what anyone wants. Like, look at Gore v. Bush--I think we still don't fully know what a travesty of justice that was." We were quiet for a moment. She said, "I don't like that Judge Sonya belongs to that Hispanic separatist group." I said, "What group are you talking about?" She said, "Oh, I don't know the Spanish name, but they want to create a Spanish-speaking nation inside America and exclude white people." I said, "Frenemy, I am one hundred percent sure that that is not true." She kind of laughed and said, "I hope you're riggghht. . ."

Then, fortunately, the pizza we'd ordered for the kids arrived. She reached over and squirted some Purel on Hank's palm. He said, "What the HECKS?" Which is exactly how I was feeling.

We left not long after that, and didn't really see each other until this past Wednesday afternoon. Her little girl was here playing with Laura, and FN came to pick her up. She has a history of making snotty remarks about my decor, so I should not have been surprised when she locked her eyes on a new pendant lamp I have. Oh, why it's this one right here. She said, "Did you get a new light?" She almost shouted it. And I don't know if FN knows that we here in the world can see her facial expressions, but she made a grimace, and held it, in kind of a rictus of pain. It reminded me of those frozen wide mouths you see on ancient Greek masks. I said, "Yes, we never liked the other one we had up there." I am not kidding, y'all, it was actually funny: FN's eyes were really wide, like her eyelids were pinned open and she was being forced to watch something horrible. Remember that scene in Clockwork Orange? She looked like that.

FN said, "But wasn't it BRASS?" I said, "Yeah, but it was tacky." She said, "Did that come from Ikea?" Only she kind of spat the word "Ikea," as though it were a curse. It was starting to get hilarious. I said, "It's okay, Frenemy, you don't have to like it!"

Then, then, something weird happened. She looked really irritated. Her mouth became a tight line, and her eyes got frowny. She said, kind of in a huff, "I do like it." And I kind of lost it, for me, because I said, "Then why do you look like you just ate a bug?" And then I waited a beat and laughed, "AH HA HA HA HA," insert more raucous laughter here. I thought if I laughed, it would soften the moment. Because yeah, that always works, the forced laughter thing. It brings people together. But she wasn't finished, and said, "You could have asked me, and I would have had Jim (her husband) rewire the old chandelier." Then I blacked out from the rage.

I'm telling you, it's the heat. But later we had a perfectly nice conversation about cleaning ladies. In my next post, I'll tell you about my search for (and finding of) a cleaning person. Two more things: it was really hard not to title this post, "Awesomely Awkward Part II: Electric Boogaloo," for some reason. And my little mowing dude never has come back to get his money. What the hecks?

I hope that you are all doing well and beating the heat.

Awesomely Awkward

I just answered my door for Frenemy Neighbor wearing my t-shirt with Obama's giant face on it.

She did not know where to look. Her face was kind of horrified, like you might appear if you walked in on your neighbor kicking his dog, or having sex with a couple of Mexican midget wrestlers. It was awesome. I think we might be the only family of Democrats she knows. And based on the emails she used to send me, she thinks Barack is the devil.

Oh well, we're still meeting up at the pool in ten minutes for the kids to swim and eat pizza. I had better go make some flashcard conversation starters, and prepare to serve as the representative of All Liberals Everywhere.

The Week in Frenemy Playdates

Before Laura got out for Spring Break last week, I happened to run into Frenemy Neighbor, and I said, "So, are you guys taking a spring break next week?" As you may recall, her daughter P is homeschooled now, except for the couple of days a week she spends at a homeschool center (it's a lot like a school). She said they were, so I thought, "Great, L loves to play with P, and surely if they're on spring break too, we'll fit into their carefully-managed schedule somewhere." So then. . .

Monday: I text Frenemy Neighbor. She likes for me to text her rather than call her, as she explained, because if I call her, her daughter will know that Laura's mom called and that she has been invited to play, and if a playdate doesn't fit in with FN's plans, P will have to be told no, which creates a problem. Alright. So I texted her, "Would P like to get together and play?" She texts back, "Maybe later. P has to finish some schoolwork." I text back, "Oh, thought y'all were on break." She texted, "We are, but we still have schoolwork." Um. . . ??? Later that afternoon, Laura did go up to their house for some basement karaoke, which staved off her imminent death from boredom, so that was a good outcome.

Tuesday: Frenemy Neighbor texts to ask if P can play at our house while she runs some errands. Certainly, I said. While the two girls are playing, Pretty Neighbor drops by with her daughter and preschooler son. She settles her pregnant self on my couch, and we dig into a nice chat. Hank and her little boy dig into Legos. Now the three girls are playing together, except P doesn't really like to play in groups, and she keeps devising ways to pull Laura away from her other friend, F. When they propose all getting on Webkinz, with Laura and P in one room and Pretty Neighbor's daughter in another, I decide to do some parenting: "Nope, no computers. I want all three of you to go play out back." Laura and F happily agree, and P says, and I quote, "My mother won't allow me to play outside, because it's too cold."

Okay, it was chilly, it was probably in the low 40's and sunny. But I am of the opinion that if a child wants to play outside and will dress appropriately, it is never too cold. I mean, this is Atlanta--we're not going to be pulling her out of a snowbank. If they really get too cold, they'll come inside, right? Do you have a policy on this?

So I said, "Alright, but no computers. Find something to do." So they played hotel, with F and P as guests in separate bedrooms, and Laura as the overworked chambermaid.

Wednesday: A painful death from boredom looms over Laura again, and all of her other playmates are busy. The weather is also warmer. So I text Frenemy Neighbor, and lo, P comes over, carrying, as she always does, her own water bottle and her cell phone. The girls play happily. A couple of hours later, Frenemy is knocking on my door. When I greet her, she says, with annoyance, "I called P's cell phone to tell her I was coming but she didn't answer!" I shrug. P's phone is on my dining room table, and nobody has heard it ring. I imagine that P will be reprimanded for not having her phone on her person, because I've seen this happen before.

There you have it. Oh, and in addition to Pretty Neighbor's daughter, L played with a couple of other friends here and there with no friction and no weirdness. Frenemy Neighbor is the epicenter of the weirdness.

Sure, this is all kind of trivial, but you know me well enough now to know that that's just the stuff I like to tell you about.

Have a great weekend, y'all! The weather here is gorgeous, I'm cleaning up my back porch for company, and the hydrangeas are blooming. I love that hydrangea bush so much that I want to make out with it, but it's kind of polleny.

I Should've Liveblogged That Children's Party

It was a target-rich environment, there at the skating rink yesterday. We celebrated Laura's 8th birthday, and several characters from my blog--Frenemy Neighbor, my kooky Co-Room Mom, Normal Neighbor--were all together in one place. My only thought was of you, my Reader, when from across the room, I saw Frenemy deep in conversation with Jan the co-room mom. I wished fervently that I had miked everyone. I knew what they were saying, though, because Frenemy has stayed at Laura's parties for the past two years, where she picks one of my acquaintances, first quizzing her about where they go to church, then how her children are schooled, and finally moving into a more probing interrogation designed to determine whether this family would be open to involvement in a multi-level marketing scheme. Last year I apologized, later, to the mom she'd had in her talons. I think that Jan, though, probably gave crazy as good as she got. Party time!

And does this scene bring back memories for you?

It does for me. The skating rink scene has not changed a wink in 25 years. I had SO many skating parties as a kid, but the old me who could skate fast, then spin around and skate backwards. . .she is gone. The new me Hokey-Pokeys a little too exuberantly, then falls down on some kids. That's what it's all about.

The whole birthday party felt retro to me, not just because of the setting, but because of how little I stressed out over it (and how CHEAP it was). I know this isn't the mommyblogger fashion, but I kinda outsourced the whole thing. Nothing was carefully handmade, is what I'm saying. Two years ago, I made fancy finger sandwiches and set a pretty table with punch and teacups. Last year, Laura and I had a gorgeous bakery cake made, and this year, wait for it. . .the night before the party, we went to Target, and Laura picked out a little sheet cake that was sitting there, and they wrote her name on it. The cake woman was like, "I used the wrong tip for 'Happy,' so it looks different from the other words." And I said, "Looks great to me." The kids seemed to enjoy it. And the skating rink served pizza and Sprite. I mean, Sprite! Do you get what I'm saying about the retro? Love it!

I looked at these little girls and thought how beautiful they all are, each in her different way. I love trying to imagine what they'll look like as grown women. Mister Hank had a mighty nice time with all the ladies.

He even skated some, on the carpet. Hank skating on the wood floor was not something that worked.

Other things of note: Jan the co-room mom, who is actually pretty fun when you're not trying to accomplish anything with her, brought a big, fake ponytail for Laura. She also skated like a champ and flirted with the teenage boys who were working there. One of them offered her some of his gum. She's a party-enhancer. And here's that glamour hair.

And lastly, my own dear Frenemy Neighbor. When last we spoke, it was up in the air whether we would drive her daughter to the party with us. She never got back to me, so I filled our van with three other little girls. Then Frenemy and her daughter arrived an hour late, so P didn't really get to skate very much.

And AND, I was wearing this shirt, from Garnet Hill:

And Frenemy Neighbor asked me if I was pregnant. Oh yes she did. I thought that everyone on the planet had gotten the memo: you do not do that unless you actually see the baby's head coming out. But no.

It was a perfect Frenemy Neighbor moment.