On Thursday morning, I awoke....wait. Let me rephrase that. MFH, the girls, and I were awakened to the sounds of what we thought was surely our house being burglarized at six o' clock in the mother fucking morning. Oh, but no. A burglar would have made sense. Much to our unpredicted guesses, we weren't mid robbery. We were mid fist fight between the three teenagers. I have no idea, to this very hour, what even caused the melee. Because nobody's saying a word. All I know is that for the rest of that day, they stayed far, far away from each other, and whenever I mentioned their little first-thing-in-the-morning-beat-down, they scattered. Could have been a girl. Could have been a pair of socks. I'll probably never know, and sometimes, I'm A-OK with that. At least this time, nothing was broken. These little random acts of violence really don't happen all that often, but the last time one did, I was down one side light door panel, a hanging planter full of basil, and one still-missing-in-action figurine that oddly enough, was the same shape and size of the hole in the window. Gee, what a coincidence...
For the first time in his life, and I can't believe it even took him this long but it did, Number Three scored his very first detention on Friday. They grow up so fast! His achievement wasn't a result of mooning the faculty. Or, for carving vulgarities into a desk. It wasn't even for starting a mass food fight in the cafeteria. See, these are the things I've come to expect, after having had raised him for the past fourteen and a half years. Believe me, I don't consider it safe to continue on with my weekdays unless I make it 'till noon without the principal or superintendent calling me. Instead, he racked up this accomplishment for talking. During the last few minutes of class. Funny, he and his two older brothers had nothing to say here at home the day before.
And, alas, there's Number Five. I am embarrassed to admit this publicly, as this family has desperately needed their help, and for real, lately. But, my name is Rachael Sanko, and my three year old has a penchant for crank calling 911. On Friday night, and for what was the third time in less than a year (and second in less than three months, but who's counting?) she managed to grab the full attention of this county's emergency dispatch service. My cell phone was plugged in and charging across the room, and she...well. I thought she was playing quietly in a pile of toys five feet away from it. When suddenly, she approached me with that oh so scared shitless look I've since become accustomed to when she knows she did bad. She handed me the device, but only after she promptly hung the fuck up on the operator who's voice I just so happened to catch as it trailed off... "What is your emergency? Hello??". Click! She knew she was facing a long stint in the miniature stoney lonesome as soon as she heard me exclaim, "Great! Now the *expletive* police are gonna be at the *expletive* door again!". She desperately searched for a good hiding place, but gave herself away when she realized the severity of my sentence, and burst into tears. "But I was only trying to call the pizza man and tell him to bring me a pizza with cheeeeese on it!". Really, now? Is my cooking that bad? Being as this was the second time she's used that very excuse to justify her crimes, I think maybe culinary classes are in order.
The next fifteen minutes were spent by MFH and I debating on whether or not we should call them back to confess her sin and pray for forgiveness, or simply pray that the fuzz wouldn't show up on our doorstep with a whopping fine for her misdeed. Number Five was so preoccupied with the thought of being sent away to a detention center that she spent that time hanging on my leg and begging for mercy via bedtime. Apparently, the cops can't come to your house if all the lights are out and you're pretending to be asleep. I'm going to plead the fifth and not divulge which plan of action we went with.
If you are a first responder, I apologize sincerely for my child being a delinquent. I promise you, it will never happen again. She got the message, loud and clear. I didn't even need to reprimand her for her actions. Her nerves were shot from scaring the shit out of herself by simply contemplating serving hard time in pint sized juvie, without the possibility of cookies or cartoons. I can pretty much guarantee that she'll be the last preteen on the planet to demand a cell phone when she's actually of age to use one. If you're a teacher, and especially one who has the daily pleasure of guiding one of my kids, I offer my condolences. The good news is, they continue to make decent grades, and with any luck they'll graduate before you retire! The bad news? There's still two more that you haven't met yet....
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