Not long ago, you called out to me from your side of the fence that separates our yards. I realized that despite living in our home for over a year, I wouldn’t recognize you at the grocery store. You never took the time to welcome us to the neighborhood or inquire about my children’s names. Our only previous exchange involved your unsolicited advice about adding mulch to my garden beds. Thanks for that, I guess.
Now, during our second encounter, you asked me to quiet my kids, explaining that your evenings with your husband were disrupted by their laughter and play, forcing you to retreat indoors with your wine. I was taken aback; I quickly apologized and ushered my children inside on a beautiful May evening at 5 p.m. In an instant, they burst into tears.
Instincts kicked in; I couldn’t let this go. I stepped outside, channeling my inner Mama Bear, and expressed how your request had affected my children. With my face flushed and my ponytail disheveled, I firmly stated that I would not silence them. You responded that their noise was bothersome, to which I countered, “But they’re just kids!”
Then you delivered your verdict, with a tone that felt all too familiar: years ago, when your children got “out of hand,” you would simply shush them. Why couldn’t I do the same? You insisted that children must learn to behave.
I tried to explain that my kids can act appropriately in restaurants and sit quietly during Mass. They made it through the entire reading of the Passion of the Christ without a peep. I described how they are considerate and understanding individuals at school. You narrowed your eyes, seemingly unconvinced that my lively kids could ever behave well. But I assure you, they truly are wonderful kids. Yet, they are not mini-adults. They need the freedom to be loud, to get muddy, to be wild—to be free.
Unfortunately, my reasoning fell on deaf ears, leaving us divided by that fence.
In the days that followed our confrontation, I found myself constantly anxious about my kids’ noise levels, and they began to doubt themselves. We all felt disheartened. But as I observed them playing, I listened to their joyful games and songs. Here’s what you missed out on when your discomfort drove you indoors:
- They found a bumblebee making a nest in our swing set. Though all three are scared of bees, they called for me, worried the bee was in trouble. It was a pivotal moment for them.
- Once reassured that the bee was safe, they joyfully pumped on the swings, singing a song about bumblebees. They shared facts they knew about them, and my daughter even created a catchy slogan, repeating, “Don’t pick the dandelions,” to raise awareness of the bee crisis.
- My youngest, frustrated because I denied her candy, vented her anger. I embraced her, allowing her to process her feelings, and eventually, she calmed down.
- Together with their 6-year-old friend, they transformed the swing set into an operations hub for a game called “Whales,” reenacting a real-life rescue mission for gray whales trapped in ice back in 1988. Tension mounted when our 150-pound St. Bernard made a cameo as the Bull Shark.
- My middle child sang for a good 15 minutes while swinging. Her confidence is blossoming, and though she was off-key, she was shining in the spotlight.
- We set up a little assembly line at the picnic table, making goodie bags. The kids blew into plastic flutes, creating a cacophony that was far from an orchestra.
We do have noise rules in place. I don’t allow them outside too early; they’d love to be out at 6 a.m., but I respect your space. If arguments escalate, I bring them inside for some quiet time. I don’t expect you to endure their sometimes endless bickering. However, I do believe they should have the freedom to be kids in their own backyard, and I expect you to respect that.
When you told my children they were annoying and to quiet down, you hurt their spirits. You asked them to stop singing, laughing, and being exactly who they are. For a moment, I found myself sympathizing with your perspective.
I apologize that your wine enjoyment is affected, but perhaps it’s time to reflect on whether living in a family-oriented neighborhood is the right choice for you. Childhood is inherently messy and loud, and that doesn’t make me a negligent mother. In fact, I cherish these moments. In a world fraught with challenges, including school violence and bullying, I will encourage my children to relish their childhood for as long as possible.
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In summary, my children deserve the space to express themselves freely. I hope we can find common ground as neighbors and foster an understanding that childhood is a time for joy, exploration, and a little noise.