Thursday, October 21, 2010

Twelve Words No Mother Wants to Hear

"You need to go pick up your son at the police station."

Yesterday I posted these words on facebook and then kinda forgot to go back later and explain myself.  Oops. But then it was fun to see the responses of shock, concern, and curiosity, so I decided to make everyone come here to read the story.  In other words, I'm taking the opportunity to shamelessly lure people to my blog.  Since you're here, Welcome! and please consider becoming a follower and/or leaving comments now and then.  Unless you're mad at me for leading you here and then telling a really very innocent tale, rather than one of wanton corruption.  In which case, well... make mean comments, if you must, but follow the blog anyway!  I crave readership.

This alarming collection of words was spoken by my husband, when he called me at work shortly after 3pm.
The son in question was our 6-year-old first-grader, not our 12-year-old middle schooler [how many of you leapt to the hasty conclusion that Jamie'd gone and turned sour, huh?!?  Fess up!  OK, I immediately thought of him first, too, but I swear I was thinking more "accident" than "offense", Alan was laughing so I knew it wasn't anything bad.].

Jeremy missed the bus [see, I told you you might be disappointed].
Then, he attempted to run after the bus, waving madly and yelling, in hopes that the driver would notice him.
Then, he realized that it was gone, but he just kept walking.
Then, he was crossing the entrance to the municipal parking lot (the school's pretty much behind the fire/police station) and a police car pulled in and the officer saw that he was upset, so he asked him what was wrong.
The officer (I'm sorry I didn't catch his name), then did several exciting things:  he looked up our phone number on his computer, he let Jeremy crawl around in his police car, and he showed him a computer inside the car.  Wow.  Somewhere in there he also called Alan (cutting straight to the "Jeremy's-all-right" part), and said that he would happily have driven him home but the awesome-laptop-packin'-cruiser was not equipped with a booster seat. 

Alan had his mom's car, but alas, no booster seat either.  So he called me.
And I extricated myself from work and went and found the little dude hanging out in the parking lot with the kindly officer and the school principal who had also become aware of the situation.  Jeremy was of course perfectly fine, as evidenced by the fact that he was still pretty talkative.  I did notice when I gave him a hug that his little heart was beating pretty rapidly, though!

I had a few questions.

Why did he miss the bus?  Because he and a friend were scouring the lost & found pile looking for one of his gloves.  According to Principal McHugh, Jeremy knew that "his parents would be pleased if he found his glove".  Read: they would not be pleased if he came home missing a glove on the first day he wore them this year.

Did he find his glove?  No [unconcerned].
Why don't you have any gloves? The one he had, he left with his friend so he would know what the missing one looks like. 
 Why did you try to chase the bus?  Because that happened to Madeline once and the driver saw her and stopped and let her on.  Can't argue with that, but we did explain that from now on nobody's allowed to chase the bus.  Ever.

What will you do if you miss the bus another day?  Go inside and tell the principal and she can call the police. [I assured him that the secretary is equally capable of calling home for him].

Madeline's response was very sweet: "You scared me, Jeremy!".  She didn't know anything was wrong until they arrived at our stop and couldn't find him on the bus . I'm just as happy that she wasn't watching in horror as he ran down the street.

Alan just wanted to know if they put the cuffs on him, the response to which was an enthusiastic, large-grinned.  "No!" 'cause Daddy's just silly.

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