And the Sheriff’s department came over earlier to have a little chat. With me. And the kids. Separately. Interrogate us, if you will pardon the connotations of Eastern European torture rooms with a single hanging light flashed into the face, on a vague report they got that “someone” overheard one of my kids scream (because that never happens. Kids never scream.) Then allegedly they overheard a “babysitter” (huh?) ask the kid what happened (whichever kid this happened to, which was unspecified. Except presumably these were my kids.) And the kid replied, “I don’t want to talk about it.” This was the heinous and scurrilous accusation our fine police force was responding to. Instead of stopping off at some of the families’ that I may or may not know who may or may not be deserving of a little government intervention into their parenting skills…
On the other hand…
I take everything in life as a gentle sign pointing towards some truth I have failed to admit or understand. I am 99% sure that someone in our new apartment complex has merely stepped up their intention to make our stay here as difficult as possible (e.g. accusing our five month old dog of being a terrorist) and the other 1% involved some scenario so random as to involve messages garbled by aliens. Nevertheless… I have had an unusually difficult week with the kids, and more than one scream has emanated from our condo, although if you ask me I should have been directly causing more of those screams with some good old-fashioned military discipline. (Kidding. Don’t call Social Services. Again.)
I have joked so many times about the authorities taking the kids and yet the prospect of someone actually questioning my mothering skills rendered me unusually cocky.
“They haven’t brushed their teeth yet today, is that against the law?” I joked to Officers S & M, or B & D, or whatever their initials were, the mind washes over such details. They laughed.
“Sorry we have to investigate, ma’am, there’s clearly nothing to this.”
Yes. And also, I believe someone is right at this moment getting raped Downtown, and yet we are out here enjoying the almost-sunshine together as we waste taxpayers’ resources. It makes me feel good to use the phrase “taxpayers’ resources” even though I haven’t had a taxable income since Clinton was President.
“Have you come to take me away? Awesome! Just cuff me now…” I am tempted to say as they had no school today (Presidents’ Day) and so it has been all mommy all the time, which means that in between cooking them delicious chicken soup (that’s right, I have morphed into the Jewish woman of your dreams) I have had to separate them on several occasions as they attempted to kill each other, sometimes accompanied by the phrase, “ I wish you were dead.”
Hmmm. Where did those cops go again?
They questioned Thing 1 and Thing 2 separately, and the report was that they asked them if they had been “upset about something.” To which my privileged, over-served eight year old apparently replied, “Yeah my brother was mad that he didn’t get to see a movie at Pepperdine, and he had to go to the Malibu movie theater instead.”
Nothing to see here… I also told them that my entire life is on the internet and that they are welcome to follow along. I certainly would not be abusing my children without writing about it! What a huge missed opportunity that would be.
It’s worth mentioning that I am writing this at mock speed while my children each get haircuts in Santa Monica at our favorite barber shop. Because when I looked objectively at my children this morning, wondering if I was going to be given a day-pass away from my children, even if it were in County lock-up, they did look kind of like homeless orphans. The hair – tangled, ratty, orphan-like, shoes off, clothes that never fully dried in the hamper and have an ever so slight eau de dog pee. So off we went to get groomed, and the same way I have to wrangle the dogs, books had to be read on the way in the car, and food was promised on the condition of good behavior. Otherwise… sleep on the floor with a supper of gruel and seven canes on the back of the hand. No?
I just figure if they’re going to sic Social services on me, I may as well have some fun with this shit…