Wednesday, September 3, 2008

It's nice to feel loved

Just not so much before noon.

This morning, as I was bitching and moaning about gluttony (3 boxes of cereal so far this week? Seriously, people!?) and it's physical (putting Mom at risk for TMJ) and financial (3 boxes of cereal costs nearly the same as a gymnastics lesson) ramifications, there was a knock on the door.

You don't typically get a door bell when you buy a vacation home.

The dogs start barking their stranger alert (I feel very protected from burglars who knock), the kids start congregating around the door, and I realize I'm in a dirty t-shirt and frighteningly short shorts. At least I'm wearing a bra.

I fight my way to the door, and squeeze myself through the smallest opening I can manage in order to hide the wreckage behind me that is my home, and find myself face to face with Officer Y. I know Officer Y well, but not well enough that it would be normal to have him drop in for a friendly visit on any given morning. I don't know anybody THAT well.

I have no idea why security is at my door. My weeds are cut, J brought the garbage cans in yesterday, my kids are all... wait, 1, 2, 3, 4, yeah, my kids are all here.

Before he can explain what's going on, someone is radioing (there's an ugly word) him with the make and model of my vehicle. WTH is going on here?

"We received a phone call from your husband."

OMG, the husband is in Louisiana. Or is he still in Mississippi? Alabama? I look for the best place to aim in anticipation of puking.

"He said he's been trying to reach you for 2 days and asked if we could check in on you."

Wait, what? I just spoke to the husband last night. Right after screaming at the girls for turning the bathroom into a water park, and before screaming at everyone to be quiet and go to sleep.

Because the story didn't add up, Officer Y radioed in (Gah, what ugly words!) for the name and number of the person who called. Yup, that's him!

It turns out, there is a "Do Not Disturb" button on the base of our phone. Little fingers must have gotten to it. And my cell phone was buried in my covers, so I never heard it from downstairs. And the husband is very paranoid, and I guess he thought that 2 days sounded more reasonable than 13 hours, including normal sleep time.

I apologized profusely to Officer Y, and he was very sweet about it. I was told not to hesitate to call if there is anything I need. I'm going to pretend that his kindness is an indication that I still have pretty great legs. Even if they're still ghostly white this close to the end of summer.

So, the husband misses us desperately and feels an uncontrollable drive to protect us. I went easy on him for causing me confusion and embarrassment. It's not like that's anything new!

I'm just extremely grateful that we hadn't run out to the store or something. From the state of my home, Officer Y may have very well concluded that our home was ransacked and we were kidnapped. Now THAT would have been embarrassing!

I think I'll do some tidying up now.

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