Dude, where's my house?
published Feb. 4, 2004
The Sentinel
Kennesaw, Ga.

Last November I left my home in Cartersville, and moved into a lovely house located in a new subdivision in Kennesaw. After eight years of marriage, two kids, six years of college (and counting); our blood, sweat and tears have finally paid off. I am a suburbanite like my mother before me, but I am rapidly learning that suburban living is not all that it's cracked up to be.
For instance, I have trouble finding my house.
My house is light grey with blue trim, a two car garage and brick veneer facing; just like all the other houses on my street. Often I pass my house and find myself staring stupidly at a red light I know isn't in my subdivision. So I have to turn around and park at the corner of what I hope is my block and start counting houses. My daughter looks at me with a puzzled expression and asks, "Mom, what are you doing?"
"I'm looking for our house," I reply. My daughter lets out a belly laugh.
"Mom you're so silly, our house is right there!" My daughter points at the house in front of us.
"Why didn't you say so when we passed it?" I exclaimed. My four-year-old gave me a very put upon look.
"Because you said I can't talk in the car 'cuz you can't talk back and drive at the same time," My daughter retorted. Feeling sheepish I pulled into the driveway. I realized then that I had lost a 4-year-old's respect.
But I'm not the only one in my neighborhood with this problem. I'm frequently stuck waiting behind an SUV while the driver squints at the numbers on mailboxes in an attempt to find his house. Eventually, one of the driver's children will realize that her father is home, and guide him into the driveway. Someday there's going to be a 50 car pile up, and the only one to blame will be the Home Owner's Association.
As I studied the lawyer speak that our subdivision rules are written in, I realized that the 40-pabe documant said only one thing; "Please do not attempt to alter or add to the lack of personality of your home."
Apparently the architect of these cookie cutter homes worked so hard that his feelings would be hurt if we mounted a satellite dish where it could be seen from the street. The landscape designer sweated much blood over the placement of both our bushes and our single tree that it would give the man a stroke if we took one out. We are led to believe that our neighbors would riot if we changed the color of our mailbox and painted out house numbers so that they could be seen from the street.
Despite the homogenization of our neighborhood, there are several amenities I do appreciate. For instance, there is no gunfire near my bedroom window. I am not jolted awake at 3a.m. by the sound of a freight train blasting a hundred yards from my front door. My children love unrestricted access to a fenced in and safe backyard.
But I'm going to have to defy the Home Owner's Association if I'm ever to earn back my daughter's respect. I'm putting in a lawn gnome.