The Call

Here begins the tale of a police officer, two children and some very loud music. I suppose I should start from the beginning though, because I want you to really get a good feel for what this day has been like for your friendly neighborhood Blogging Mama.

I was feeling victorious! Our awesome town of Sylvan Lake had just been named the winner of the Hockyville competition…I would get into it, but instead here is a link for you to check it out for yourself if you’d like. The point is, my spirits were soaring with a sentiment for community.

The day had been beautiful and the children just got in from gallivanting around the back yard. I was quite proud of my little beings, they had been outside for two hours mucking around in the melting snow having a grand ol’ time. This had given me the chance to bust out to some cranked up oldies and get some much needed house cleaning done.

Life was looking pretty damn good at this point.

I stuck the kidlets in my bedroom to watch Rocket Monkey’s while I started supper. My music is still rockin’ and a rollin’ at this point, and I’m sure my neighbors were cringing from my off key note singing they surely heard through my wide open windows.

The phone rings.

I grab the cordless and look at the display. No number is showing up. I wait and I wait some more. Nothing. Well I have a strict enforcement to not answer phone calls that decide to conceal their true identity from me. So I leave it to ring.

I check in on the babes. They look guilty of something and Lars is hiding behind my bed. I see him poke his head out and I ask him what he is doing. He says nothing. But I don’t have much time to investigate as I can smell the Tuna Melts starting to burn.

This day is starting to go sideways on me.

I hear the doorbell ring, it is a fast happy ring and which makes me realize how long it has been since anyone has rung our doorbell. Usually everyone just walks in. Who could possibly be ringing the bell right now?

He is a tall man, I can see his head through the tiny half circle window at the top of our front door. He wears a collared shirt from what I can see- a collared shirt that looks somehow familiar. My music still blasts from the living room which is directly to the right of the entrance to my home. I open the door to see a police officer standing there to greet me.

I immediately revert back to my 15 year old self and mentally check myself for any open liquor bottles I could get busted with. I have one of those nervous awkward smiles plastered on my face as I stare uncomfortably up at the tall man.

My mind is racing as to why this officer of the law would be standing on my front doorstep. Did my neighbors get sick of my dreadful rendition of ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ and decide to call the authorities…Little steep I’d say. Has something happened to a loved one of mine?

Maybe he’s just stopping by to give a friendly congratulations to every single patron of the town due to our great win this fine day. Every single one of them.

I realize the only way to find out what is happening here, is to actually talk to the guy and stop the uncooperative staring thing we are currently engaging in.

But before I say anything he speaks up.

“So were your kids playing with the phone today?”

Suddenly like a flash back on a great movie it all comes back to me. The guilty looks, the hiding, the phone call that didn’t have a number attached to it.

“Oh dear God, I think so.” I immediately am sputtering out apologies for wasting the police officers time not to mention the 911 operators who picked up the call from my darling children. The kids must have somehow gotten hold of the secondary cordless that is usually on top of the dresser in my room.

The police officer and I part our separate ways, after he has a few chuckles over my frazzled reaction from the entire thing. I go to the kids’ rooms, where they are now hiding after they saw me talking to the policeman. I explain to them what 911 is, and why we cannot play with phones. Sophie nods her head and walks away, I’m sure not to think about this ever again. Lars although is a bit more emotional than the girl child, and is pretty shaken up by the event. I explain that is was a mistake but we have to make sure not to play with phones.

My 5 year old boy then says between sobs, “Well Mom, if you had just put the phone up where it was supposed to be, I never would have thought to play with it!”

Yeah yeah I learned my lesson too buddy.

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