It’s 10 am on a Sunday morning.  The phone rings.  All seven  pairs of ears in the house hear the ring, and then the next, and then the next but nobody moves to answer it.  A year ago, before the kids all got their own cell phones, there would have been a mad dash to get the phone and either intercept or prevent interception of a friend’s call.  This morning the phone rang 6 times without reaction before my husband came upstairs and announced with great exaggeration ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it!’

It was my friend.  Steve made small talk with her then made some reference to ‘getting him up’ and hung up.  My friend called my house and didn’t even say ‘hi’ to me.  Feeling a little stood up, I inquired as to why she called.

‘She wants to borrow the boys.’

When my kids were little, our family was like an outcast of most social circles.  It wasn’t because my kids were bad, their manners outside of the confines of our house were impeccable.  People would sincerely comment on how well behaved they were.  No, it was the sheer number of bodies in our family.  7 people, even if most of them were miniature people, was still a small crowd and could quickly fill up a house leaving little room for other guests.  Now that my kids are bigger though, the calls are frequent.

‘Can Becca babysit on Saturday?  Oh, she’s busy?  Well, what about Rachel?’

‘Can I borrow the boys to help me move?’

I borrow milk from the neighbors.  I even borrow sugar and eggs, and once I even borrowed a lawn mower when we still had live grass in the yard.  I have several of their pots, pans and serving containers that I’m sure they still miss.  I wouldn’t think unkindly of them if they were to forget to return the boys to me.  Unfortunately my friends and neighbors are all the conscientious type who always return what they borrow. 

There’s got to be an easier way to getting these birds to leave the nest.

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