October 21, 2011

• True Stories

  This is a true story but the details could be sketchy. Today my kids are in their middle twenties and are fabulous adults who I love and admire.

  Back when my kids were in middle school, or near that, we lived in Pollock Pines, California. I was freshly single and out of a particularly abusive marriage (not the kids dad, but my LAST husband). I worked full time with a nearly one hundred mile a day round trip commute.  Pollock Pines is beautiful and worth all the effort of living there.

  This particular episode has me home sick with a bad case of the flu. It was early winter and I had been home from work for more than one day due to my illness.

  That afternoon, as the kids were getting home from school or there abouts, I rustled myself out of my sick bed, hair disheveled and wearing my flannel ducky pajamas. I go to our kitchen and begin to make the family meal. We were sticklers about eating dinner together.

  I think it was something not too time consuming like fish sticks and a salad. Now, this is not something that I make often or on purpose, but, this fact proves important later.

  During our meal some drama or argument occured between my daughter and I. She is probably thirteen or fourteen. The days when drama is a mood of the day not just for special occasions.

  I am pretty ill and it seems that our argument has escalated and I believe I threw a fish stick at her that hit the wall behind her. Not with any force, but with the tired toss of a mom too ill to keep this argument going. For the sake of argument, I probably said, I am tossing this fish stick at you. There!

  She began yelling and ran to her room which is downstairs. I chased after her in a fit – MISTAKE. I do learn from these things, by the way. I was tired and sick of her drama. Indignant by her treatement of me in my unwell and poxed state.

  Once in her room, HER TERRITORY, yelling was at a feverish pitch. I was flustered and feverish and yes, I threw again. I tossed a bucket of her nail polish into her closet. My fustration needed color. One of the little bottles broke and apparently soiled one of her vintage dresses. She begain howling in dispair and fury. 

  She ran out of her room and dialed 911. I stood in her room listening to her gasping and tear stained cry for help. “My mom is attacking me, she just threw a bucket of glass nail polishes at me…gasp…sniff…please send help…”

  By this time my son is downstairs and they are both on the phone explaining their dangerous predicament. Their deranged mother about to kill them. PLEASE SEND HELP.

  I cannot believe my ears. At this point, all anger drains from me, my dizzy and feverish state returns and I go upstairs to my room. I shut the door and go back to bed.

  A little later I hear someone at the door and the kids let them in. I hear a man’s voice muffled through my bedroom door talking to my kids. I hear my kids pleas for help. Their mother is in the bedroom and they fear for their lives. Their mother goes crazy like this all the time. Like ONCE A MONTH! I don’t understand the details but I hear enough.

  I pull the covers over my head.

  A little more time passes and I hear a knock at my bedroom door. “Ma’m? Can you come out here please?”

  I dutifully get out of bed. I see myself in the mirror. Disheveled blonde hair, rumpled blue ducky pajamas. I am feverish and bleary eyed with illness. I walk out to our living room.

  I recognize the officer right away. I had been a park ranger for a couple of years at the local and popular camp ground. I greet him “Hello Officer Sandy”

  He averts his eyes in discomfort. My two kids are sitting on the couch together looking forlorn and fearful.

  My daughter is still gasping back tears.

  Officer Sandy tells me that the kids have agreed to let this go if they can leave and go to a friends house for the night…

  Seriously? I have had about enough at this point.

  I look up at Officer Sandy and I say to him “That is out of the question. What I am willing to do, if you are willing to help me with this is let my kids spend the night at my parents place in Shingle Springs tonight. They can come home after school tomorrow as usual. They will need a ride over there though”

  “If this is not acceptable to my children then you will have to take them back to the station and call the local spoiled rotten prince and princess foster homes to find a place for them to stay.”

  The kids eyes get as wide as saucers. Officer Sandy suppresses a surprised smirk and agrees that this is a sound idea. 

  My children also agree.

  We call my parents, they agree. He takes my kids away and I go back to bed.

  • 1:23 am
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