Backhanded

Thank you, upstairs neighbors.

Thank you for teaching my infant how to sleep through the sound of screaming, undisciplined four-year-old antics.

Thank you for teaching my son how to sleep through the slamming, pounding, elephantine footsteps of a 30-pound preschooler and a dad who should know better.

Thank you for coaching him in the art of snoozing while a toddler attempts to play the recorder at 6:30 in the morning. On a Saturday.

Thanks also for showing him how to catch some z's while your child chases the vacuum cleaner, yipping like a puppy, across all the hardwood floors of your condo, EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Many thanks for inuring him to the sounds of a temper tantrum directly outside our living room, and for teaching him to look quizzically in the direction of the door while your small daughter laughingly locks you out of the house. (Thanks for giving me a teachable moment on WHAT WILL NEVER BE TOLERATED IN THIS HOUSE, YOUNG MAN when my son is old enough to understand, too!)

Finally, thank you, upstairs neighbors, for testing my patience every day that I spend here. I think I can safely say that I now have an inkling of what it will be like to have the four kids I've always wanted, at least in terms of noise. You are a blessing in (really, really annoying) disguise.

(Remind me to erase this post someday when we put this condo on the market.)