I’m Amy. My boyfriend Zach and I moved into our new home last November. Our neighbors are Sarah, a single mom, and her two boys, Richard and Bill. Initially, Sarah was sweet, but things soon changed.

One sunny day, Zach and I were enjoying our garden when water jets from next door hit us. “Zach!” I shouted, wiping water from my eyes. It was Richard and Bill with water guns. Despite Zach’s polite request for them to stop, the boys persisted. Frustrated, Zach spoke to Sarah, who apologized and promised to talk to her boys, but the water jets continued.

I went over to talk to Sarah myself, hoping for a solution. Instead, she seemed offended. “Amy, you’re overreacting,” she said. “They’re just kids being kids.”

To address the situation, I hosted a water gun party for the neighborhood kids, conveniently not informing Sarah. When she arrived in a cocktail dress, she was drenched by the children. “Oh, it’s just water,” I said, trying not to laugh. Sarah left embarrassed but returned with a new garland for our garden, making amends.

In the end, we bonded over the incident. Sarah said, “Kids can be a handful, but they don’t mean any harm.” We clinked glasses, enjoying the party and the sense of community we had found.