“Mom!” A. yells. “There’s a lady with a dog here to see you!”
Why that child can’t walk ten steps into the kitchen to tell me this, I have no idea.
I close the recipe book I’m leafing through in search of dinner inspiration and walk towards the front door. My neighbor Beth stands on the porch. Her black and white collie Cassie sits patiently beside her.
“Sorry to bother you,” she starts. “I saw the boys playing in the yard and it reminded me to tell you that a family with a little boy moved in down the street. I don’t know if you’ve met them yet?”
I tell her we haven’t.
“Well, they’re out there now. The little boy is playing by himself. I thought you could go over and meet them. Now?”
I think of the unmade dinner, a husband arriving home soon from work, and unfinished homework. I stall. I inwardly sigh. I stammer.
“Where do they live?” I ask. A. runs around to the side of the house to yell to the other two boys that we’re going to meet a new neighbor.
“I’ll walk you there and introduce you.”
I rummage through the shoe basket for something to slip on and grab a light jacket from the closet. The boys whoop and holler at the prospect of a new playmate.
“Are we going?”
“Can I ride my scooter?”
“Should I bring a glove?”
The boys pepper me with questions as they hop around Beth and I. “Yes, Yes, Yes,” I answer, turning and looking at each boy as I speak.
Dinner can wait. Homework will get finished. I text Chaz to let him know where we’ll be when he finds an empty house.