Let me set the scene for you (and I’ve included some re-enacted self-photos): It’s a busy, messy morning in the Tompkins’ apartment, about 10:55 am. Carson woke up about 4 times during the night crying, so Mommy and Carson are both a little tired. But, we have lunch plans, so life goes on, clothes must go on, teeth must be brushed, lunch must be packed, hair must be combed, etc. However (as you can see by the stacks of boxes) we are in the middle of packing up the place to move and packing for vacation, cleaning up from breakfast and making lunch to go–so chaos reigns supreme. There is a strong knock at the door. I’m immediately embarassed that some good-intentioned friend has decided to pull a drop-by and I’ll have to invite them into my disaster house. When I look through the peep-hole, I see no face, but just an arm of a man. I ask “Who is it?” “THE TUALATIN POLICE.” Hmm..is this a joke? No? Must just be a mistake–it’s not like someone could have filed a noise complaint about us. (This actually has happened before, and it was a mistake.) I open the door: “Hello!”
“Oh. My. Gosh: Carson!”
I immediately started apologizing profusely, and told them that sometimes my son plays with the phone, and he must have dialed it without me knowing. Yes, Mother of the Year Award? Right here. Thanks! They kept asking me: “Are you OK? Are you sure you are alright?” Then Officer #1 said, “I’m sorry, we have to search the apartment.” “OK” I said in a little voice, through my utter humiliation–not only for my stellar parenting, but also at my housekeeping, which could also win some awards, but not the good kind. While #1 was “searching,” #2 said, “You don’t mean this little guy, do you?” Oh-ho-ho, yes. I do. He’s deceivingly innocent. And then I said “I’m so sorry!” approximately 123 times. They were more forgiving than I deserved and never made me feel guitly (or like a slob). So, all in all–an exciting day. Do not wish to repeat any time soon.