Keeping Up with the Jones's

We are surrounded by Jones'. When we moved into our home, our side of the street was lined with one-level bungalows built in the 1950's. Every house on the block was a two bedroom, walk-up, and yet each was distinct, some with shutters, or bricks, and painted all different colors and only one was beige. Ours was painted the color of gangrene, most likely lead-based. We painted it.

The seedling trees planted when the homes were built now tower over high above, shading the roofs and housing tons of fat Minnesota squirrels and birds. We found out that the roots of our tree were pushing in the cement wall of our basement. One day, before we moved in, a toothless tree-murderer, chopped down our tree, but left the stump. It looks like the severed legs of a grown man plunged right between our house and the neighbor's.

Our neighbors had grown kids. Their children rode their bikes up and down the sidewalks when they were straight and flat. I almost launched our child out of the stroller when we hit a huge crack in the sidewalk from the roots of the now huge trees that line the street.

I prayed. I had faith the block would turn. The older couples would downsize. I just knew that God would send us neighbors with young families so that the kiddo would have playmates. They would learn to ride bikes, and walk to school together. Later, they would play kick the can and spin the bottle. We got the neighbors. See earlier posts: No Put Downs, Just Put Ups and The Witch is Dead.

We are blessed that 5 new families have moved onto our block. Young, energetic families who want to make the homes that they purchased their own. The young couple next door transformed their bungalow into a two-story McMansion. I used to breakfast while gazing at the clouds and blue sky. Now I enjoy my breakfast while meditating on an HD Direct TV Dish.

When they told us that they were adding a second level to their home, I responded, "Oh, you are our Jones'."

Tonight, I had the pleasure of touring another neighbors home. They have transformed it from a smoke-saturated, shag-carpeted cave into an Ikea-inspired, comfortable home. I am happy for them. Really.

My husband and I had all of these fantasies. It's a starter home. We'll fix it up. We'll sell it and get something bigger. These ideas were fantasies because neither one of us really wants to fix anything up. We want to come home to something finished. We don't want to spend the weekend remodeling the kitchen. We want to spend the weekend riding bikes and hanging out with my brother's and their families.

So, as I toured the neighbor's lovely home, with a forced, smile. I had to ask myself, "Is this the green-eyed monster?" Am I jealous of what they have worked for or is this odd, empty feeling "house shame?"

I heard recently that if you want to have a truly joyous life, be happy for the successes of others. This is the flip side of jealousy. Be happy for them. You know what, I am. They have worked for exactly what they wanted. Good for them.

But is this what I want? No, well, yes, but not here. I want a finished home, not in the city. I want to open my kitchen door without being able to spit in the neighbors kitchen. Not that I have actually spat on their kitchen, but we are so close that with practice, I probably could do a big spit-take and sprinkle their windows.

This house matched who we thought we were and what we wanted, but we learned more about ourselves. Sometimes I am disappointed that we aren't the Jones', but it is what it is.

And so, we'll change enough to move on. As Dr. Phil says, "We have to earn our way out of this house." Until then, God bless the Jones'.