Not in my Backyard--But Feel Free to Come Inside

Last week I came home from running errands as opposed to real running which makes you sweaty, short of breath and gives you shin splints.The errands I run are mostly things like taking back 2 week over-due library books, buying milk because we've been out for 3 days,and running the kiddy shuttle. 

But I squirrel. . . Anywhoo, in my cul-de-sac there were several police cars, okay two, but it's a little cul-de-sac, another car and a 20 year-oldish, non-hoodlumish looking young man up against one of the police cars having a bright light shined in his baby face.

This was big news in my quiet little neighborhood so I opened the front door and said, "Hello family (minus the husband because he was at work), have you looked outside?  There are police cars in our circle."

They said, "Yeah, we know.  They've already searched the backyard for drugs."

Apparently, our neighbor who is a policeman saw a suspicious car and in the "hood" and pulled up behind it.  He got out and looked in the backseat and I guess the non-hoodlumish looking 20 something-year-old was mixing drugs in the backseat which apparently is not at all like mixing ingredients for cookies or colors for a painting.  He bolted, ran through the school yard, hopped our neighbor's fence and ran across his yard and then hopped our fence and ran through our yard and then was caught in my cul-de-sac.

The police suspected that he tossed the drugs, which were in a red balloon, during the chase.  Hence the search in our backyard.  My kids were all tres excited and participated in the drug hunt with more enthusiasm than last year's Easter Egg Hunt. They found several pieces of balloon from summer water fights, inedible Tootsie Rolls, headless action-figures and tennis balls, but alas--no drugs.  So lucky me I have a drug-free backyard because he threw them in someone else's backyard or maybe this explains why my dog has been so darn happy. . .  

I wanted my children, who never lock the doors, to be just a leetle bit fearful, a leetle bit traumatized, a leetle bit repentant.  I whipped out my trusty pointer finger and commenced with the "What If" lecture.  "What if that crazed druggie had just slipped in the back door?  What if he decided to take hostages?" Point, point, point.

What I wanted, was expecting was this: Oh mom, we're so sorry.  You are always right.  I don't know why we ever ignore your wise counsel.  We'll never leave the door unlocked again.  No NEVER!

This scene should be followed by extreme groveling, crying, and promises for clean rooms, chocolate and foot-rubs.

But alas, this is what I got: But he didn't come in. 

These kids are quick and witty I tell you.

When the biggest kid of all, and the loudest advocate of unlocked doors-- my husband got home, and I told him the whole scary tale ending with the merits of locking doors and a little bit more finger pointing, he said, "I don't think we have anything to worry about."

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, in 26 years of marriage, this is the first time a crazed drug dealer has run through our backyard without coming in the house.  I think we're good for another 26 years," he said.