I've been trying to see things from my neighbor's perspective lately. Put myself in his shoes, so to speak.
I'm talking about that one neighbor that somehow always happens to be walking his dog in front of our house at the most inconvenient times. Like when I'm waging battle against a thorny rosebush, or throwing a tantrum in the middle of shoveling snow.
Last week as he approached our house, he couldn't have failed to notice the two small children struggling to make their way across our front yard. The boy had an easy enough time of it, holding two small trash bags, but the girl- she was half-carrying, half-dragging a trash sack as big as she was. I'm sure he also witnessed the mom opening the window and yelling, "You can't drag it like that- you'll break open the bag! Pick it up! OH PLEASE. It's not THAT heavy, Adelaide!"
Once the two kids made it to the trash bin that sits on the edge of our yard, I hope he noticed that those two kids were getting a valuable lesson in teamwork- the girl reached up to flip open the lid for her shorter brother, who threw the bags up in the air and inside the bin. The two children then heaved and pushed, wrestling the larger, unwieldy and smelly bag up, over their heads, and after what looked like some major effort on both their parts, managed to tip it into the plastic bin. Mission accomplished.
And perhaps he was more interested in our mums than in the sight that greeted those two children when their mother opened the front door. "Good job, guys! Now go take these boxes out. Don't worry, I already flattened them for you. Oh, Adelaide, stop. It's not that cold out- just wait 'til I make you do this in the middle of winter! Now that will be miserable!"
No wonder he never wants to talk to me.