Several years ago, our next door neighbor’s house went for sale. We had two young girls and hadn’t had many neighbors with young kids on our block. “I really hope someone with younger kids move in,” I told my husband. I prayed and really wanted my kids to have someone to play with.
I always thought it would be neat to have really great next door neighbors. Ones that you could literally ask to borrow a cup of sugar from or ones that would pop in. Ones that you see on 80s and 90s family sitcoms. Ones that become familiar like they were part of the main plot, part of the family.
One day, I noticed a car outside at a showing. “There was a car seat in there,” I updated my husband. Not long later, the “For Sale” sign was gone and a familiar face pulled up: my parents’ neighbor from the old neighborhood. The neighborhood I grew up in. “My daughter bought this house,” she said. And the daughter, who is more than a decade younger than me, has a daughter close to my girls’ age.
Over the next couple of years, we spent a lot of time outside, while the kids played. “Will you guys be out tomorrow?” And just like that, convenient play dates that kept the kids occupied with fun in the sun were scheduled.
We had days of watching our kids run in the sprinkler, afternoons of watching the kids jump in piles of leaves, evenings watching the kids catch lightning bugs, and nights of roasting marshmallows.
And soon there was a new puppy next door, whom our dog became acquainted with. The boys became best buds, running to each others’ yards and sneaking into each others’ houses.
Soon, we added another girl to our home. I would hold her while I watched my older girls play with the neighbor girl outside.
In the winter months, we would see less of each other. When spring came, we would re-emerge with our kids. One early spring morning, I told my husband that I had a dream that I walked outside and noticed that Mrs. Neighbor was pregnant. And sure enough, I saw her outside, and she had some news to share with me. Later that summer, they had a baby boy.
When kids bond with each other, there’s an opportunity for parents to get to know each other, too. We shared stories about growing up and funny antics. We shared a love for The Office, true crime, coffee, and Jesus. We shared dinners, game nights, walks, car pools, and group texts. When Covid hit, we found ways to connect and have conversation through windows and across our yards.
We’ve also shared funny antics. Like the time Mr. Neighbor was stuck on the roof, and we had to bring our ladder over. I think there was a time with their very tall tree, too.
Or the time we had them over for a murder mystery dinner. “There’s been a murrderrr.” I had even convinced them to dress the part. I went through all the planning and prep only to read the wrong line and totally blow the ending. Ooops!
There’s even a shared birthday in there. Somehow, it took us a few years to figure it out. And, somehow, we forgot a few years in a row after that.
“Is my kid over there?” and “are you sure it’s ok?” became routine texts as the kids got older. Spontaneous sleep overs and hang outs on a whim were something our kids lived for. It became the regular for their kids to just come on in and make themselves at home. My house and yard were filled with laughter, games of tag, a pretend wedding, cheer routines, and a play we never saw. I never minded. My kids were happier when they were around.
We got to know each others’ families and had a lot of conversations with each others’ parents. We became friends that our families knew well, and we were friends that invited each other to family birthday parties. “Those are for the kids to talk to each other from their houses,” an aunt said, while the neighbor boy opened his new walkie-talkies.
The Mrs. and I shared a love for the old neighborhood. “I never got over my parents selling the house I grew up in,” I told her. We talked about possibly moving one day and being neighbors again, possibly in the old neighborhood.
As neighbors, we’ve relied on each other. They became one of my supports while my husband was working the road on midnights. There were surprise treats when I was worried about my husband at work the summer of Covid. We’ve watered each others’ plants while the other was out of town. Our swing set became theirs. There’s been borrowed tools, advice, taco shells, and even a cup of vinegar. “That dude helped me load so many pieces of furniture,” my husband said about Mr. Neighbor. In a pinch, in a bind, in an emergency, we there for each other.
“That’s how neighbors were when I was growing up”, my dad said when I was talking to him about our neighbors. Well, you know what they say, they don’t make things like they used to. But every once in awhile, God creates something really special. God can gift neighbors that become part of the main plot, part of the family.
Today, our neighbors are moving back to the old neighborhood. I had felt something brewing for a bit. It’s strange how God prepares your heart for transitions. It’s a interesting mix of sadness of an end of an era but happiness for a new beginning for them. When you have neighbors that are more like family, you rejoice for their wins. They say you can’t choose your neighbors, but I believe God can. And when He does it, it’s pretty memorable. Immeasurable.
Dear Neighbors,
Thank you for giving us the the best years on the block. This neighborship was an unexpected blessing. There’s so many more moments and memories, but how do you sum up your kids’ childhoods in just one story. I know my kids are going to look back on these last several years and remember them as the good ol’ days. And so will we.
We love you guys, and we will miss you guys. You guys are family to us now. Our door is always open, we’re just a knock away.
Maybe, we’ll see you back in the old neighborhood…
Love,
Your Son’s Future In-Laws
Love's Progress Notes 