Why Are My Kids So Damn Friendly?

So, our neighbors across the street are moving out and there is a U-Haul parked in their driveway. I was sitting on the steps in my garage, feeling particularly ugly and moody, which is a bad combination when confronting the prospect of chatting with your neighbors. My 18-month-old Maeve spotted the U-Haul instantly. She stood at the top of the driveway, very still and observant. Then, the extroverted social creature that I somehow created in my introverted hermit womb pointed her finger at the U-Haul and said, "Look a truck! A truck! A TRUCK!!"




She instantly started running down our driveway towards the road, which meant that I had to get my ass up and run after her despite that I was wearing my husband Robert's boxers and a maternity tank top. (**No, I'm not pregnant, but I just started my period and felt particularly ugly and moody, so I dressed accordingly.**) The fact that I even grappled with this decision proves that I'm probably missing a key mothering gene, which I'm sure I'll discuss later. But don't worry, I chose good over evil and ran after her, cursing under my breath every time I stepped on an acorn or broken stick, which triggered me to add "blowing off driveway" to my never ending mental to do list for Robert.

"Maeve, stop! Danger! Stop!" I shouted. She didn't stop, so then I let her know the consequences, "If you don't stop, you will get squashed by a car!" She still didn't stop. So then I started to plead, bargain, and beg. "Maeve if you stop, you can have mama's shoes. And this stick! And this cool piece of... pink chalk!" I quickly bent over and retrieved these objects from by my feet. Maybe I shouldn't get Robert to blow off the driveway after all. And, it worked! She stopped, turned around, and toddled towards me, "I want shoe," she said. Until...

She saw old man next door neighbor #1 walking toward his old man car. My shoes, sticks, and bits of chalk were no match for a real, living person so she ran across our yard into his and this time, seeing no imminent threats of her being squashed, I ducked back into our garage. I know what you are thinking, that I'm the worst mother in the world AND the worst neighbor in the world too! But old man next door neighbor #1 likes to talk about his wife's broken hip, when they are going to their beach house next, and what sort of outdoorsy project he is contemplating, and all of these things make me feel like gagging and barfing and running in the opposite direction with my hands over my ears. The one nice thing about old man next door neighbor #1 is that he is hard of hearing and is not particularly observant of small children people. This meant that I still had a chance.

"Maeve!" I whisper yelled. "Come here NOW! I have chocolate!" This was a lie. So now I'm a lying, antisocial, and poorly dressed mother. But I knew if I could just get her back in the garage, I could snatch her up and retreat into the sanctuary of our house, free of neighborly chatting. Perhaps I could even hunt for some chocolate (under the couch cushions is the best place to start).

Maeve stopped, about ten feet away from old man neighbor #1 (who was thankfully looking down at his shuffling old man feet), and cocked her head at me. "I want candy! I want candy," she yelled.

"Shhhhh! I have candy right here. Mama has candy," I whisper in the loudest but most alluring way I could. I was hiding in the garage with my body concealed from view, just my head peeking out at Maeve and old man neighbor #1.

Maeve looked from me to old man neighbor #1, back and forth. I had the promise of candy. He had the promise of long-winded conversation, of making mama feel horribly uncomfortable. And... she went with throw mama under the bus option two. Shit, shit, shit, I thought to myself. Okay, maybe I said it out loud.

Then something miraculous happened. Old man next door neighbor #1 turned around and headed back towards his house. Maybe he had forgotten something. Maybe he needed to ask his old lady wife about her hip. Or maybe, just maybe, he was actually like me and wanted to avoid us and our shoes, sticks, chalk, and candy. Maybe he thought I was boring or snobby or rude. For a moment, this thought deeply offended me, but then I realized that I was projecting (damn those years of therapy), and knew that this was my only chance.

I sprinted over to Maeve. She flapped her hands at me and shouted, "No, no, no!" I picked her up, clutched her to my body, and ran back toward the garage, imagining that I was in a burning building and had to save my child quickly. I even held my breath for effect. I tend to dramatize things, if you hadn't noticed already.

I flung open the door, got us safely inside, then collapsed to the floor, panting wildly. Maeve touched my face, "Okay, mama?" This touched me deeply. What was I doing to my child? What was I teaching her? What was she feeling: fear, confusion, worry? I thought for a moment and then responded in the only way I knew how. "Yes, Maeve. Mama's okay. Now that we got away from that babbling neighbor." Don't worry, she didn't really understand. But maybe she did a little.

She pointed at the door, stared me down, and said, "outside, go outside!" It felt like a threat, my heart rate increased. I shook my head. Then she smiled, very plotting in nature, walked over to the pantry and said, "I want candy!"

I gave her four pieces. So now I'm also guilty of manipulating my baby, ruining her dinner, and causing potential tooth decay. Then I ate candy, way more than four pieces. And I got dressed. Well, yoga pants anyway.

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