Walking up the driveway to my front door, arms laden with groceries mumbling under my breath at the injustice of having to buy groceries for my family yet haul them all up our steep driveway all by myself because my car parking is located at the bottom of said steep driveway and no one else is home, I catch a glimpse of bright orange. There, lying on our doormat is a bouquet of orange flowers.
Immediately breaking into the kind of smile that only a pretty bouquet can invoke, I dump my groceries inside the door, grab my flowers, and deposit them into a small cup on the dining table.
No longer feeling sorry for myself, I admire the way the flowers look a little limp like they are not the picking kind of flower, but rather are meant to shine bright in a garden and then fade away as nature intended. It is the kind of bouquet that a small child might pick or…
Two small children.
Next door to our house live two little boys. Every day we go outside and alert them to our presence by the noise our cars or our dogs make. When a bark or a beep of an alarm is heard, these two boys dash out onto their patio and update us on everything that has happened in their world since the last time they saw us.
Referring to me as Mrs Jane, they show me their latest wound, how the youngest made the older one mad, how the youngest did something mischievous and lost some sort of privilege, or what they next plan to purchase with their allowance. They are delightful little humans and are at that wonderful age when a listening ear and a few questions make up the foundation of a solid relationship…I could probably learn something here.
Anyway, the next level of our friendship appears to be the giving of flowers occasionally for which I thank them profusely each time.
Upon receipt of the orange bouquet though, I decided it was time to up the ante. I wanted to give them a gift in return and ended up buying them some Skittles and attaching a poem of which I was quite proud…managing to fit in words like great dentition, being good neighbors, and sharing with your brother.
The next day, one of my kids came in and stated, ”There are more flowers for you by the door.” This time, multiple bouquets with a picture accompanying graced the doormat…apparently, one bouquet was for my husband who was definitely their favorite out of the two of us…until the candy.
I laughed at the effectiveness of my candy gift and then was greatly amused again when they greeted me enthusiastically a few days later when taking my dogs for a walk.
“Did you get our flowers and picture, Mrs Jane?!”
“Yes!” I replied. “They’re beautiful! I have another gift for you, but I just have to prep it for you and will give it to you later.”
An hour later the doorbell rang, and our two little neighbors were on the doorstep. Completely forgetting our earlier conversation, we made some awkward small talk until the youngest cut to the chase as the youngest sibling is prone to do.
“Mrs Jane, did you have something for us?”
Forget writing a poem or turning the treat into a creative bouquet of candy, I just handed them the bag of chewy candies and told them they needed to share. They ran off delighted and fighting with each other as usual.
My son who was behind me commented with a smile, “You shouldn’t really do that. You’re teaching them bad things and spoiling them.”
After taking his comment into careful consideration because I sincerely do not want to play a role in spoiling these two good-hearted boys and setting them on a life of entitlement through overindulging them, I thought about it for the rest of the day, and while cleaning my kitchen had an epiphany (why do they always happen when doing mundane work?).
I have raised three outstanding children who are imperfectly thoughtful, kind, and only occasionally entitled through a series of many noes, lots of well-timed yesses, and much worrying about their character. I feel confident that I hold the skills and the wisdom to continue to raise imperfectly unspoiled children.
And I’m done.
I am done worrying about anyone else’s character except my own…which to be honest doesn’t particularly trouble me as much as it should.
I am embracing the next phase of my life which is now Candy Lady, and I am perfectly comfortable with that role provided you bring me flowers and call me Mrs Jane.
I am so good at my role that our youngest neighbor pulled me aside yesterday and whispered that his mom thought they were asking me for candy. I whispered back that they were not asking, it was just something nice I did for them because I liked getting flowers, and I figured more candies meant more flowers. He grinned conspiratorily and then said with a slight lisp that there were more flowers at the door.
Now gracing my table, I have a massive stalk of seeding hyacinth in a vase and the assurance that we are truly the best neighbors…in writing.
In an ideal world, it takes a village to raise a child, but even a village needs a candy store.
Kindness is like sugar, it makes life taste a little sweeter.
- Carla Yerovl