You have no idea how thankful I am that the lyrics to Phineas and Ferb's theme song do not apply around here. Kids in this area do not have 104 days of summer vacation, and for that I am grateful. For the record, they've got about 85. I counted.
Ten days from now, it'll be All Street Urchins, All the Time around here. There are about five boys on this block who are 10 years old, and they all play here. It's not like I feed them or anything, but they come here anyway. I suspect that I'm the only one who lets them in.
I let them play here, but they must play by my rules. That means that I am heard to say things like:
"If you guys need to vomit, please take it outside."
"Stop using the ice cubes as Tiddlywinks."
"Didn't I JUST SAY that's not an Inside Toy?"
"Stop kicking the soccer ball at the pool filter!"
"If you don't live here, go home and have your lunch."
"You chase the bunnies, I chase you."
"If you live on this block, you're close enough to home to get your own towel."
"The front of my house is not a baseball backstop."
And the ever-popular: “You guys work it out. I am not the referree."
They'll knock on my door at 8:20. AM or PM, it doesn't matter; they think this is an appropriate time to play.
As you can see, I'm the Bad Cop around here. Someone's got to do it. When you've got kids who show up first thing in the morning and their parents never call for them for meals or when it gets dark, you've got to be the one who sets the limits.
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