We live across the street from a halfway house, whose residents have never, ever bothered us. Until the other day when one started talking (yelling, really) nonsensical words at the top of his lungs. Drew called from NYC and complained and the operators of the house were extremely apologetic and said there are plans to move this man to another facility.
He started up again today, and I told Rachel to hush so I could listen.
"Probably not a good idea to yell," she said at first, chuckling. "Don't yell in Mommy house."
Then she started getting concerned, and then scared. On the changing table she started crying. "The man yelling at me," she said.
I looked at her directly, hugged her close and said urgently, "No, Rachel, the man's not yelling at you. And he can't get into the house. Mommy and Craig are here. No one will come in."
(Craig is the name of my most excellent new tenant. Really, he's a great guy and so far a great tenant).
Rachel will learn the vagaries of living in a city soon enough, but there are times I wish we lived just one block over.
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