The Hood

I reside in a cute little community of San Jose, called Willow Glen. Envision a million families with 2 - 2.5 kids, a boatload of golden retrievers, and more parks than you could ever shake a stick at, and you've got "The Glen". Lush green lawns, shady side streets named after fruits, and tire swings beckoning any child who walks by to come and play. Yep, this is my town.

As cultish as the Glen is in some ways, (ie: Christmas trees lined up for dozens of streets at a time...will someone PLEASE be original?), I really do love living here. Our neighbors ROCK. They support our Lemonade stands. They endure my girls never-ending high pitched screaming and singing projections from the tip top of our Magnolia tree. And when our fourteen year old dog, Bear, wanders out of our front yard, and forgets where the hell he is due to doggie dementia, they kindly lead him home.

It's the kind of place where on a Friday afternoon, most of us are out front, enjoying the beginning of the weekend, the celebration of no homework, and longer lingering days...and don't forget the wine.

One of my favorite neighbors, Sharon, lives right next door. Sharon is about my age, a total fox, and just happens to be in a wheelchair. This has never stopped my kids from running up to her, and wrapping their little arms around her neck to give a hug, though. I will never forget one day, when we were chatting over the fence, and one of the girls asked Sharon, "Have you tried to walk today?" Sharon replied, "No honey, I can't walk." My daughter continued, "Well you just need to try harder. Try to walk." I wanted to disappear, to melt into the pavement and become one with my driveway. But when I heard Sharon start to laugh out loud, that gave me permission to do the same. Kids...love 'em or kill 'em...it's a fine line.

Our neighbors on the other side, Andrew and Liz, are an extremely cute couple. When they first moved in, we referred to them as the DINKS: Double Income, No Kids. They are in their late 20's, and have since had two little girls. I'm always amazed that their kids are extremely clean, hair styled with cute barrettes or headbands, and dressed in the most stylish of outfits. I guess I was kind of like that too...once. Two additional kids later, and my girls are lucky if they are wearing clean underwear.

I lovingly refer to our neighbor a few doors down as, "Granola". She is a tree-hugging, garden-planting, compost loving, chicken raising, Earth Mama. She had her son, right before I had the twins. I discovered almost immediately that our ways of mothering were similar, but different. Example: if the babies were due for shots, teething, or just plain crabby, my remedy was Infant Tylenol (bought at Costco in a 6 pack). Granola's remedy was an herbal relief remedy from her garden.

One day, while we were hanging out, my girls became fussy because it was time to eat. Granola and I were both nursing at the time, so as I reached for one baby to get her to my breast, Granola reached for my other baby, and started to pull up her shirt. OMG...I thought. She is going to try to nurse my daughter! I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the phrase, "It takes a village..." as much as everyone...IN THEORY.

I tried to speak, but no words came out; I sat in horror watching this shocking event like a train wreck in slow motion. Telepathically, I screamed to Abigail, "DON'T LATCH ON...FOREIGN BOOBIE, DON'T LATCH ON! INTRUDER!!" Thank God, Abby continued to fuss, and that's when Granola handed her to me. Two boobs, two babies; I got this, but thanks for your help, Granola.

On a late afternoon, about a year ago, my family was preparing to go over to a friend's home for a BBQ. Being a glorious spring day, I decided to ride bikes over with the three bigger girls, while my husband would walk over with our youngest, pulling our wagon full of the necessary goods: tortilla chips, and mojitos.

As I mounted my bike, I hollered to my husband that I was leaving, and that Cosette was out front. He mumbled something about "changing a light bulb," but he would see my shortly.

The big girls and I arrived at our friends home, and I sat down, to catch up with my girlfriend and enjoy a much needed cocktail. The BBQ was cranking, the kids were playing, it was all good. Until about thirty minutes later when Tom arrived...without our youngest child. The conversation went as follows:

Me (calmly, but questioning): Honey, where is Cosette?

Tom: I thought you had her.

Me (any sort of sensibility starting to leave my body): WHAT?! She isn't here! I rode my bike, and YOU were supposed to walk over with her.

Tom: Well, when I walked out after changing the light bulb, the wagon was gone and so was Cosette, so I just assumed you had her.

Many (our dear friend, caught in this extremely awkward moment): What's going on guys?

Warning: strong language to follow.

Me (starting to morph into a complete psycho Mama Bear): TOM FUCKING LEFT COSETTE AT OUR HOUSE! WE NEED TO GET IN THE CAR NOW!! I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE MY BABY IS OUT THERE!! YOU LEFT HER TOM...OH MY GOD, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HER...WHILE YOU CHANGED A FUCKING LIGHT BULB, OUR BABY DISAPPEARED!"

Manny (remaining totally calm, but seeing that a homicide may ensue shortly) Okay, I will drive, let's go.

While I screamed obscenities at my husband in the car, I tried to comprehend the incomprehensible: my THREE year old had been left behind! She has been by herself for over thirty minutes. Oh my God...what if someone takes her? What if she gets hit by a car? Oh my God...

As Many approached our home, I literally jumped out of the vehicle while it was still moving. I started frantically banging on the neighbors doors, wildly running from one home to the next screaming, "We are missing Cosette! Please look for her! Have you seen Cosette?! We can't find Cosette!"

I entered our home through the front door, praying to God I would find her. Playing with Lego's. Stacking Lincoln Logs. Coloring on the walls with permanent markers. Anything would have been okay, as long as she was safe. Nothing. Quiet filled our home. I started to become totally unglued.

The neighbors had started to gather, and look for her. Unbeknownst to me, during this time, Many had dropped Tom off at the park down the street, while he had driven around the block to look for her. He pulled up. "Michelle, I found her. Your neighbors on the other side have her. She's okay."

I wanted be WITH my daughter in that moment. Many couldn't drive that short distance fast enough. Tom got into the truck, and we pulled up to find a couple sitting with our daughter, along with a police officer standing on their front lawn. I immediately ran up to the woman, and embraced her, as I sobbed like a blubbering idiot, "Thank you so much, thank you so much," I kept repeating.

The officer looked at me, and said, "Soooo, you left your three year out front, huh?" Through clenched teeth, I said, "Talk to him ," pointing to Tom.

It took me about three days to recover from that incident. I have never felt such a mixture of raw emotion in my life, and I NEVER want to endure something like that again.

It took about the same amount of time for me to speak to my husband, without using a four letter word. By the time Sunday approached, we were able to discuss how we would make sure this would NEVER happen again. It wasn't easy, but through loving communication, we were able to each admit our own faults in the situation: me, leaving Cosette out front while he was inside the house. Him, changing a FING light bulb, when it wasn't really necessary. I mean, it IS a two way street.

As tears fell onto a piece of paper, I wrote a letter to Ray and Virgina, the couple who found Cosette. I poured out my gratitude for what they had given back to us. Something that could have so easily been taken away if they hadn't been there. I also gave them a small statue of a child with angel wings, which to me, symbolized how they had protected our daughter. Upon delivering the letter and gift, Virgina, broke into tears as we embraced. Both, Ray and Virgina, admitted they were a bit confused when they had seen this cute little girl walking around the block with a wagon full of mojitos. I explained that I could never repay what they did for us.

"Who are the people in your neighborhood?" Mister Rogers encourages us to find out. And you know what? It is SO worth finding out! As we all go about our busy day, rushing off to work, bringing kids home from school, unloading our groceries, let's take notice of the people who live right next to us. Think good thoughts for them. Try not to curse them when they remodel. And maybe, if you're feeling the love, even say a little prayer for them.