How do you know when you're getting old? I'm beginning to think it may be happening in our household.
We live in a bad spot for noise in our community. During the winter it is not bad, but in the spring and summer months, every yahoo with a motorcycle or pickup with pipes feels the need to come around the corner and rev as loudly as possible past our house. It's obnoxious, and we've always hated it. But now that we have a baby, our hatred of this behavior has reached a fever pitch.
This weekend the noise was terrible. Apparently whoever these people are have nothing better to do than drive around town all day long and burn gas. Oh, to be young again and have gas to burn!
On Sunday afternoon I took a lovely nap. Or at least I tried to. Early on I was interrupted by that familiar rumbling past my house. I did get some sleep, however, and then it was my husband's turn. I got the baby down for a nap as well, and about half an hour into her nap, there it was again. It not only woke her up, it woke up Tim, too. He was furious. He came downstairs and said he was going to drive around town to get license plate numbers. Fortunately, Jane put herself back to sleep and slept for two hours. If she hadn't, blood may have been shed.
Tim came back without numbers, but shortly after his arrival home, there they were again. Turns out there were two of them, one following the other. Tim got a license plate number for one and a good description of the other truck. He called the police and a short time later, I saw one of the trucks drive past. A few seconds later, a police car followed. Success! It was quieter for some time afterward, but later on there was more noise. I think it's going to be our goal this summer to continue to catch these guys and turn them in. We should be able to have our windows open and enjoy a nap on a Sunday afternoon, shouldn't we?
At this point in the story, we realized we were beginning to act like old fogeys. In that "you kids stay off my lawn" sort of way. Tim told me that, since he has now officially become "old," he is going to start using words such as "malarkey." I think the word for us is "crotchety."
In related news, Tim's hearing isn't doing so well, either. Last night when I said something he completely misheard. He then decided it was time for an ear trumpet. He thinks they have them at Walmart.