My Son the Fugative

Okay. the first thing that is important for me to say is that I love my son. Dearly. Really, I do. So, when I say that today I want to sell him to a band of nomadic gypsies, I am kidding. Mostly.

The beginning. My house looks like crap right now. Really, really bad. Long days at work, an overambitious and now temporarily abandoned clothes sorting project and a couple of mostly done home improvement projects have conspired to destroy any credibility I ever had as a homemaker.

Declan's birthday was Monday. After school, The Husband took him to an arcade/glow in the dark mini golf/paintball/pizza joint/everything an eight year-old ever dreamed of place in the city. They stopped and picked up a birthday cake on the way home. I wanted The Husband to go get a cake at the natural food store, but he didn't. Declan ate way too much of it and had to stay home from school the next day due to intestinal distress.

I had to work, and because of our attendance policy HAD to go. The Husband HAD to cover an event. So, the little guy settled in front of the TV, dutifully recited the "at home alone rules" and watched some cartoons.

He had been alone for about 90 minutes when my phone at work rings. It's The Husband's friend. He's on our deck.With the town police officer.

We know the officer, too. In fact, he's Declan's wrestling coach. Geoff tells me that someone placed a 911 call from our number.

WHAT?!?!?!?

The call was a hang-up, but Will has to follow up to make sure everything is okay. Which I appreciate. Since I just talked to the kid about a half hour ago, I told them to hang tight on the deck and I'll call inside. No answer.

Damn it! Maybe he is unconscious! Maybe his stomach ruptured. Maybe he's laying on the floor wondering why his Mom didn't save him... I told them to go inside and look for him.

They found him. He was not unconscious, sick or dead. He was hiding. In the absolute furthest corner of the house. After my relief wore off, it hit me.

The furthest corner of the house. THEY WALKED THROUGH THE ENTIRE HOUSE. Oh, damn. They walked past the not finished home improvements, waded through two years of outgrown clothes that have now become strewn all over the upstairs, and navigated around the huge box that contains Emily's new desk - also graffitied by Declan with about two dozen drawings of the Pringles guy. Shit!!!!!!!

I called The Husband in terror that before I could home, DHS would be there removing my son from the care of his incapable mother. He patiently reminded me that Will has four kids of his own, and Geoff is currently remodeling his house so actually living in the basement. "They aren't judging."

Whatever. This obviously all happened because of the cake. That he bought. Damn it.

I was going over with Declan where he could have made some different choices that day, and I asked him what he learned.

"That 911 really works."  Indeed.