So this one time, I lived up on a really high mountain and was packing up to move to the flat
wasteland wonderland of the midwest. I was all on my own because my significant other thought taking finals so he could graduate and go to law school was more important. (Overachiever.)
Have you ever tried to pack with an 18 month old around? You know, put stuff in boxes and have it stay there? It’s like trying to lick your own elbow, seems like you could do it but in all reality it’s impossible.
I kept on packing, she screamed, I let her occupy herself with anything that wasn’t combustible or shaped like a knife. She quieted down. She demanded cookies, I denied. She screamed. I ignored. She quieted down. Peace.
*THUMP THUMP THUMP*
*POUND! POUND! POUND!*
Apparently someone wanted my attention quite quickly at the front door. So I opened it. It was a cop. A very out of breath cop.
“Is anything wrong Miss?” he huffed.
“No?” Thinking that the neighbors had heard the screaming child and banging boxes and called me in.
“Is there a child in the house?”
“Yes.” (Oh crap, he thinks I’m a child abuser, they’re going to take my child. Oh, crap.)
“Is the child okay?”
“Ma’am, we have reason to believe your child called 911.” (Enter the moosh shrieking and laughing like a banshee from around the corner.) “Everything is okay?”
“Well, I wouldn’t give her a cookie, that made her pretty mad.”
(It was at this point that I learned that this cop wasn’t issued a sense of humor.)
“We tried to call the number back and your child answered screaming and then we couldn’t get through, you’re sure everything is okay?”
“Um, yep.” (However, as soon as you walk away from this door someone small is going to be locked in a closet for 16 years.)
(into his walkie talkie) “We have a 23-19 on 2259, the child is fine, that’s a 23-19 on 2259.”
“Sorry officer. Really. Sorry.”
“Have a good day ma’am.” was his reply through gritted teeth.
Good one the moosh, good one. Never saw THAT coming.