Some Ketchup with my Foot, please!!

We have some neighbors. No, really, we do. Quite a few actually. But we have some next door neighbors. They have two little girls, ages 5 and 3. My girls, ages 2 and almost 4 love to play with them. If it were up to all of these girls, they would play with eachother every waking (and non waking for that matter) hour. This is great, in my opinion. Play, play, play to your hearts content and wear yourselves out real good by bed time. But here is the thing: Most of the time I feel like I have 5 kids instead of just 3.

I'll explain my neighbors a little bit for you. I call them Barbie and Ken (not to their knowledge of course). Barbie is just that: a Barbie. 25 years old, long blonde hair, big (fake) boobs, and a year round tan. Her hair and tan are fake, too though, but nonetheless, the result is the same. Barbie likes to talk on the phone. All.the.time. I never see this woman without a phone attached to her ear. NEVER. I think she should just have it surgically implanted onto her ear. It'd probably make life easier for her. Barbie spends most of her non phone hours either tanning or working out at the gym. She puts her girls in the "daycare" at both places while she self-indulges.

Ken looks like, well....Ken. Handsome, built, winning smile, the whole nine yards. Ken owns his own business. I still to this day do not exactly know what he does, but whatever it is seems to earn them a pretty good chunk of change because Barbie doesn't work; she's too busy on the phone to work. Ken spends copious amounts of time on his yard. Barbie spends equal amounts of time on the inside of the house. The house (inside and out) looks like it belongs in Better Homes & Gardens.

Their little girls are absolutely adorable. Sun-kissed blonde hair, bright blue eyes and sweet little demeanors. They are very well behaved. I can always count on seeing one or both of these sweet little faces at my door when I hear the doorbell ring first thing in the morning before Care Bear or Feisty (I just found out I've been spelling Feisty wrong all this time) have even had a chance to bathe or get dressed. Most of the time when they show up, they are still in their pajamas. At some point during the morning, Barbie must realize they have gone and herds them back in to quickly to clean them up and send them on their way again...back over to my house. (side note: one day last week, I was on the phone with Barbie....shocker; on the phone...and she told me that when she was in the shower that morning her girls had escaped when the dog got out and walked themselves to the park. She couldn't find them....she even called the cops. She's also had Animal Protection called on her several times and gotten several tickets for her cat and her dogs getting out. She had to go to court last week....this is all to say, she doesn't keep very good track of anything or anyone she is responsible for.)

The girls all have a great time together, all day every day playing everything imaginable. 90% of their time is spent in either my house, or my yard. I don't mind. Those girls obviously feel more comfortable playing at my house or in my yard where they don't have to be concerned with getting a footprint on the floor, or leaving a plate on a table. I am preparing, however, to start asking for money for my babysitting services, or perhaps claiming them on next years taxes. I do, after all, feed them lunch and snacks half the time. They, in fact, feel so comfortable with us and our family that the younger of the two girls actually refer to my parents as Grandma and Grandpa. What does that tell ya??

Every now and then, once dinner time and bed time rolls around, I do begin to get a little frustrated wondering if their parents are ever going to retrieve their offspring, or if they even care. Should I draw a bath for these girls? Should I set them a place at our dinner table? Should I find the sleeping bags?? It can get a little hard when I'm trying to fix dinner and I have 10 little feet underneath me asking for food, or whatever other question happens to cross the mind of a child that age. Eventually, the door bell does ring. They do remember they have kids! Miracle of all miracles! Then the cycle begins the next morning. It's all good. Until "neighbor of the year" (that would be me) sticks her size 7.5 foot in her mouth in an unsuspecting moment:

It was two nights ago. It was 7:00. Dinner had come and gone. The girls were still at our house. Feisty was unbelievably cranky and tired. I wanted her to go to bed and was not having much success what with the chaos inhabiting my home. She wasn't havin' it. In a moment of frustration I walk down the stairs into the kitchen and express my frustration to hubby. "Are those kids ever going home?!" Hubby gets a look on his face and gestures towards the door (which can't be seen from the kitchen but is in close proximity). I hadn't heard the doorbell ring. Apparently, either Barbie or Ken had shown up and were picking up the girls and may or may not have heard my oh-so sweet comment. My heart immediately plunged in to the bowels of my stomach and I wanted to sink into the floor right at that moment.

I still don't know if Barbie and/or Ken heard my comment. But yesterday when their girls showed up at our house in their jammies, within minutes I heard Barbie yelling for them to come back home and they didn't come back the rest of the day. Who knows what today holds. I could just be paranoid. Maybe they didn't hear me, but I wouldn't doubt they did. I will feel so rotten if I ruined my kids' relationship with their friends because of one comment made out of frustration.

My foot isn't tasting too good right now!

(Fridays award will be awarded early next week. Haven't been too creative with the cooking this week. Been using old standbys because after the big bash on Saturday, I didn't have the energy or desire to be creative. So look for the award early next week. I know you are all sooo bummed.)