Insummerty

Summer makes me crazy in our neighborhood.

This year, Damien (one of the Damiens moved over the winter) has moved from the Barstools' home to the house immediately near my front yard.

The kids, generally, play various kinds of ball games across 3 front yards. A certain number of balls into the street is expected, and with few exceptions, the children understand that they are not to enter the street to get them. (It's a section of Rt 219 in PA, and at our house, the cars fly up a hill immediately before entering our residential 'hood.)

One of the smallest children, Cutie of the Wolf Clan, has yet to figure out that all the rules that apply to the taller, older children also apply to him. He is, apparently, under the impression that he is 6 ft tall and baseball bat proof. Today, he tried to retrieve a swiftly disappearing into the intersection ball from the road.

The loveliest part of this summer is that Damien's mother and her boyfriend allow Damien and sundry children to turn on the water to Damien's sprinkler water fountain. The fountain sits in my yard (their yard consists of a strip of green weediness about 3 ft wide.) Not really a problem, except that I end up being the supervision for the next generation at the fountain, AND my front yard where the fountain sits is now, literally, a mud hole. As in, HOLES dug into the lawn.

I don't think I'm so wrong in thinking that I should not have to babysit a child whose proper adult supervision is sitting inside, with the AC on, doing God-knows-what-and-I-don't-want-to-imagine (although, I do imagine that they are practicing at making more Damiens. Ewwwww.)

Damien Mama needs to bring her perky 34Bs & tight 22 year old heiney out into the sunshine and supervise her own child--and sundry others she allows to have access to gallons of water. I'm not getting paid for this gig, and I'm very soon (as in already today) not going to do it any longer.