My Apologies to the Neighbors

It’s been almost three years since we first moved into our first some-what permanent home, our little condo. A lot has changed since first signing those papers and moving in. One thing is that we now have neighbors. Down stair neighbors.

When my little family moved into our current little condo in the summer of 2006, we were just that, a little family. My daughter was just six months old and our pug, Sebastian was a year and a half. We had been actively looking for a place to call home for some time and weren’t quite able to make the financial stretch it would take to purchase a house, so we settled on a cute little condo that we felt would suit us comfortably for three to five years even in the event of another little arrival. Two bedrooms, gleaming hardwood floors, access to washer and dryer in the building, balcony perfect for a little grill and planters for flowers and a teeny herb garden. And it’s on the second floor. Since a condo was the direction we had decided to go, I wanted something off the ground floor for security purposes because Andrew traveled so frequently. Both condos downstairs were vacant. We, of course, thought nothing of it, as it was no concern to us.

Fast forward to today. We are now a burgeoning family of four with the dog making five. And we now have neighbors who live in the condo below us. I just hope that they bought that home with the knowledge of our existence. Perhaps they were showed the place in the dead of night. God only knows. All I know now is this: we are loud and they aren’t deaf.

From the hours of six in the morning to, at times, well past the hour of nine, they are privy to the crazy cacophonous symphony of stamp, crash, bang, smash that has become our daily lives. Let’s face facts- three year olds and one year olds are not quiet and neither are dogs. Well, ours at least. He likes to alert us of all the non-existent dangers to which we are apparently exposing ourselves such as the vacuum woman who cleans the vestibule and the elderly man, Mr. W, who lives in the unit above. Should he have gotten used to all this “noise” by now? Probably. Has he? No. Now, I know the neighbors can hear us. I am certain of it. How do I know this? Because I can hear them. Especially in the bathroom. Nothing gross, but a particularly loud and well-timed sneeze, cough, or bark of their dogs resonates well in that portion of our home. I can only imagine what they must be thinking at times. What appears to the naked eye, I am sure, is not at all how it must sound at any given time to the errant bathroom listener. Picture this: a young mother such as myself (or maybe exactly like me) bringing her little daughter to the potty, getting ready to get her settled down to business, and there is a minor struggle of wills until the child eventually does what she needs to do to move on with the day. Now, with the volume turned up, one might hear a completely different and invariably skewed version to the story. Block the picture and the sound goes something like this:

Mom: It’s time to go potty.

Child: I don’t want to.

Mom: It’s time to go potty.

Child: I DON’T WANT TO!

Mom: We are going to go potty before we do anything else. Sit down, right now!

Child: I DON’T WANT IT! IT HURTS ME! I DON’T WANT IT!

Ad infinitum. And I am pretty sure that the “Mom” part is not heard over the healthy young lungs of the child. So erase that part and you really get an interesting ear full. One that I pray doesn’t ever bring the police along with Child Protective Services to my door.

We know a change will be beyond necessary very, very soon, if not, yesterday. So until then, my sincerest apologies to the wonderfully patient and longsuffering couple that lives below. May God grant all your wildest wishes for putting up with our racket and sweet silence and peace upon our departure.