The Adopted Son

We moved in this house the second weekend of October in 1998.

My son was 4 years old. My daughters were 6 & 13.

We were all playing in the driveway on a Sunday afternoon, after unpacking all weekend long. A little boy kept walking back and forth in front of our house. After a few minutes of this, it occurred to me that the little boy probably wanted to play with my kids. So we invited him over. His name is Nino. And he was 4 years old, just like my son.

It wasn't but a few short minutes that Nino was playing with us, when his Dad came looking for him. He introduced himself to me and my husband and welcome us to the neighborhood. He told us that his wife had just died of ovarian cancer a few short weeks ago. Poor guy. He could barely speak without crying. He and his son were going to be staying with his parents, three houses down from us, for awhile.

Unfortunately, Nino's Dad was involved in a serious car crash shortly following our first conversation with him. The accident left him badly injured, unable to walk without the assistant of braces/crutches.

That was almost 10 years ago now. Since then, Nino has become a part of our family. He is our "unofficially" adopted son. He's the dark haired boy that shows up everywhere with my two blonde kids. He's the child that sits in the middle of the back seat when we ride in my car.

He spends at least one night at our house during the weekends that my kids are home with me. He's here for hours on end. He eats here. He swims here. He plays here and sleeps here. He knows my children's visitation schedule with me, better than any other relative, living outside of this house, does. Our granddaughter thinks he lives here.

We take him places with us. To the movies. Putt putt golfing. Blockbuster. Lazer tag. Dairy Queen. Go Karts. Shopping. He has long since stopped having to ask permission to go anywhere with us. It is a given that he is safe when in our care.

And so, I've had a subtle hand in raising this boy. He knows what words I don't approve of. I've warned him about too much sarcasm. I've told him to wash his hands, shut the door, throw that away and quiet down right along with telling my own kids the same thing.

My husband and I have told him good job, nice manners, thank you, and you're welcome, as we echo those words to our kids.

Nino is my son's best friend. Another brother to my daughters. An uncle to our granddaughter.

His Grandma has thanked me countless times for all we do with Nino. I know that she and Nino's Dad are grateful that we take such good care of him.

But we are truly grateful Nino found us.




My kids have been with their Dad since Wednesday evening. I just picked them up this morning.

And there's my adopted son Nino, at the front door now ...

Sweet Sounds Of Summer

For the last couple of days, my next door neighbors K & M have been teaching their oldest son, K Junior to ride a two wheeler.

Back and forth the little guy goes past my house, followed by a parade of siblings chasing after him on foot.

K Juniors Dad will count...

One...
Two...
Three...

And then off little K Junior goes ... trying to master it.

I can hear encouraging shouts of "Pedal, Pedal... PEDAL" from his Dad.

His Mom can be heard from her watchful post on the porch steps saying "Ohhhhhhhh .... you almost had it" when he falls down.

K Juniors younger siblings make excellent cheerleaders.

Is there any nicer sound?

Oh wait... here comes the ice cream truck!

Ahhhh.... The Sweet Sounds of Summer!

Ummmmm... Less is More

My husband was excited to show me what he had done in our front yard to decorate for Halloween last night. So... I went out to look.

"Looks great honey. nice work;" I said.

It is modest and tastefully done. There are some orange lights on the front bushes, corn stalks flanking the four posts of our porch, a few large pumpkins, a bale of hay and a scarecrow. Nothing too much; Nothing over the top;

Then I slowly turned my head towards the lights in my peripheral vision to look across the street at the neighbors house. I didn't want to, but it's like an accident that you pass on the freeway... you just have to look. As I peered around their large recreational camper van that is perpetually parked in front of my home directly in the middle of our double lot, I was blinded by the light-up plastic "decorations" that are lined up across the front of their home AND their adjoining second lot (decreasing the value of all other homes on our block).

Now ... our address is posted in two places in the front of our home. We are the 9Th house on the right when coming from the main road. We have a country front porch complete with Cracker Barrel rocking chairs, and two GM cars in our driveway. BUT ... if you really want to find our home quickly, without hesitation or question... We are "the house across the street from the house that has all the plastic light-up shit in front of it." Google our address... it's true.

So, while we have chosen to build more home and house on our double lot, our neighbors have chosen to use their second lot as a display area, a shrine if you will, for lawn ornaments. Even when it's not a holiday, the entire lot is lined with things like ... a donkey pulling a cart, one of those lawn jockeys holding a lantern, a bear complete with honey pot (not Winnie the Pooh though), a dutch boy & dutch girl kissing, Hansel & Gretel's house, two windmills (the traditional wood Dutch windmill and the large metal farm kind), Snow White AND ALL of the seven dwarfs along with some things I just can't make out due to their fading paint. BUT when it's a holiday... look out, put on your sunglasses at night, and double check to make sure they are not hacking into our electricity! It is insane. And they just keep adding more stuff (junk) every year and every season. We have witnessed them out there contemplating where the new piece/pieces will go (fit) as they dump a bunch of green and orange outdoor extenstion cords from a plastic bag marked ACO HARDWARE onto the lawn.

Not that long ago, I came out of our bedroom at night to get a drink. Our living room which would usually be pitch black at this hour was lit up with a red light that was continuously spinning and flashing around the perimeter of the ceiling as it found it's way in through the half-circle shaped glass window of the front door.

"Honey, come out here... there's an ambulance out front or a fire truck or the police (again)."

Upon opening our front door to look (gawk) at whoever was going to the hospital or who's house was on fire (this time), or who was going back to jail, our eyes were drawn to a large light house, sitting in the middle of the neighbors second lot (devoted to all things plastic and/or glowing) It was at least 20 feet tall with a SUPER BRIGHT beacon of a light, that was not the expected color of white, but RED?! It was beaming, spinning, and flashing like a strobe light in a disco (whore house)! We don't live on the water! We don't live in the red district (anymore). Not that it matters. This isn't Disney World either, but there are enough characters over there to start up a small theme park or miniature golf course.

Most of the time, I'm a "live and let live", "to each his own" kind of gal and I really don't care how much they add to the decor of their property. But this time, their latest lawn addition was invading our home, flooding our living room like a spot light at the Emmy's. I was afraid that this light flashing all the time all over the walls would cause our family to suffer seizures. But I didn't have to worry long, because by the next night, the light house was gone. Someone must have complained (wasn't me). Maybe the coast guard? Perhaps air traffic control? I caught a glimpse of the light house in back of their garage later that week after the boat, two cars, three motorcycles and two picnic tables with umbrellas were put away till warmer weather, unblocking my view. Now leaving more than enough room in their driveway for the above mentioned recreational camper van to be stored on. But the only time the obtrusive van cannot be found parked (stored) in front of our house is when the street sweepers come every Tuesday morning between 8:30am - 11:30am because they'll get a ticket otherwise. They probably continue to park it in front of our home because they just can't bear to look at our boring minimalistic seasonal decor.

And so last week, as our family piled into the car one evening after dark, my 14 year old daughter's attention was inevitably averted from opening her car door to all the lights across the street. Upon looking (as she couldn't help it) she whispered "Ummmmm.... less is more."

Just wait till Christmas. There's stuff on their roof for that holiday! I'll try to get a picture on a Tuesday when their van isn't blocking my view.