At 5AM we sprang from our bed by a peculiar alarm clock. Gun shots ...from two distinct guns...on our corner. We live on the corner. Welcome to my neighborhood. I'm ready to move.
We couldn't see any action from our window. I think I'm thankful I couldn't see anything. I wish we had kept a log of all the times we've called the police since living here. For gun shots alone, we've called at least four times in two years.
On a completely different neighborhood note, my knight in shining armor saved the day. Well, he tried. One 8 year-old boy, I'll call Romeo, needed a new inner tube in his bike. Hubby said he would teach him how to fix it.
While Hubby went to the store to get the tube, I played soccer with Mr. Intensity and Romeo in the court yard. The other neighborhood boys avoid Romeo like the plague. Romeo has lived a hard life (with little parental supervision). Romeo picks fights and gets the other boys in trouble.
Romeo also stinks. Like poop. It breaks my heart.
At one point, Mr. Intensity says very loudly, "Momma, he stinks."
I tried to ignore it. Romeo even said, "He just said I stink."
Lost for words I just stared like I didn't hear or understand. Romeo you do stink. Of course I didn't say it. I didn't know what else to say, either. What would you have said?
Tonight at dinner, I asked Mr. Intensity "How would you feel if Romeo said you were stinky?"
He said with a smile, "But Momma, he is stinky." Implying that he thought it was just gas. In our family, we laugh at gas - a lot!
So, Hubby tried to explain that the reason that Romeo stinks is that he needs to take a bath and that it's not kind to tell someone they stink. But I wonder if he really got it, or if we were just muddying the waters for him.