Something is bugging me.

When people ask me how many kids I have, I tell them five.

Actually, it should be more like six. You see, there's a kid, a little girl, who lives next door who spends more time at my house than at hers--and it's beginning to drive me crazy.

Ever since the Pattersons moved in next door, this little girl in question has gravitated to my house. She's been nothing but a little pest.

Rochelle (that's her name) is a seemingly sweet little girl, with her wild mop of curly, red hair, freckled face, and wide, blue eyes; however, looks can be deceiving. The child looks sweet and innocent enough--but trust me: she's a devil in angelic clothing.

Anything she can do to stir up mischief, she'll accomplish it--and beautifully, I might add. If Rochelle can get my kids involved in her mischief making, then all the more power to her.

I can't tell you how many times my kids have gotten into trouble because of her.

Like the time when she dared my oldest boy, Trevor, to take the training wheels off her bike, so she could ride a two-wheeler like a big girl--and sent the bike crashing into the side of the Gumby's brand-new harvest orange HUMMER.

Left a nice pretty dent in the side of the thing, too.

My boy got grounded for that one. And the Gumbys still aren't talking to us.

Or the time she smeared shortening on my cat, "Pussums". I wanted to murderlize her!

Yet as soon as the sun's up, there she is. Doesn't matter what the weather is doing outside: if it's stormy/sunny/cold/hot out, there's sweet little Rochelle, standing on our doorstep, hoping, waiting for someone to answer the door.

Rochelle just doesn't stand there either: she will pound on the door, yelling her fool head off, like she doesn't have any brains inside that little head of hers. She dosen't care; as long as she has someone paying attention to her, Rochelle's in her glory.

When her parents are home, I have repeatedly tried to tell them about their daughter, but they just shrug their shoulders and say she's just being a kid; she should go around, make new friends.

Maybe that's all in good, but when she stirs up trouble, or gets my kids involved in her shananigans, well, then, the line has to be drawn, somewhere.

I feel sorry for her: she's an only child, and her parents work millions of hours every week. Her dad's a high-powered attourney; her mother's a doctor; so they're hardly ever home. When they are, all they want to do is sleep.

Oh, they do pay attention to their daughter--but only as long as they are buying her stuff. It's really kind of sad, if you think about it.

Instead of loving her as she should be loved, they love her by spoiling her to death. It's no wonder Rochelle acts out. She's doing all these things to get attention. I guess she thinks we'er a good enough family, so this is why Rochelle spends so much time at our house.

We have tried to be patient with this child, but it's getting harder to take. We hardly get a moment's peace to ourselves because as soon as it's light outside, sure and certain, we can expect to hear the doorbell chime--or someone pounding on our door.

Doesn't help when it's being done at five/six in the morning.

What do I do? Report her parents to CPS for child neglect? Maybe not because she does look well cared for, healthy, well-fed. Nothing out of the ordinary with her. She's just--well, obnoxious. She reminds me of a modern-day Ramona Quimby of the books my younger children love to read--except this Ramona has red hair, blue eyes, and freckles.

Rochelle certianly acts like Ramona: as long as it's interesting, she'll do anything in her power to invesigate--doesn't matter if it will get herself--or other kids--in trouble.

Well, it's six nineteen according to the clock on my kitchen wall as I write this--and it won't be long before the door bells chime; I'm certain that Rochelle will be appearing on our doorstep shortly so I'd best enjoy the peace while I can; and put this thing to bed. So on that note, so long for now!