I Spy On My Neighbors

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We have new neighbors.

My first sighting was upon return from my son’s Tae Kwon Do class.

A clean-cut, Chinese man wearing jean shorts and a tee-shirt was carrying in a Pampers box. I waved at him, and he nodded back.

Later that day, I was peering through the blinds from my son’s room while one of the young restaurant workers was moving in bags of clothing from a black Hyundai. My son told me to stop spying on them.

“Mom, stop. They’re gonna think we’re weird,” he said.

It’s weird, isn’t it? But I can’t help my curiosity. It’s like watching robins build a nest. I don’t want to make them uncomfortable, I just want to know.

I didn’t see anyone today. They work long hours at the restaurant. But, when we came home from church, there was a pink, bedazzled, little girl’s bike complete with streamers on the handlebars parked on their front porch, and two camp chairs were placed on the side porch where I have a great view from my kitchen window.

Dishes just got more exciting.

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