Wednesday – Ratting Out Mommy
Nov. 17th, 2010 09:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
My husband called me this afternoon to let me know that our son had a pretty good day at school.
“Well, there was one trip to the office, but just one.”
“Just one?” I asked, “No one got hurt? No need to restrain him? The police and fire departments weren’t called? I call that and excellent day!” To be fair, the police and fire department have never been called, but sometimes it’s fun to wallow in hyperboles.
“No police, you’re right. It was a good day.”
“But mommy got pulled over by a policeman,” I heard a sweet voice say in the background. Suddenly, I was no longer a part of the conversation, just the subject of it. Jeff’s voice sounded a little further away as he spoke not into the phone, but in the direction of my beloved 6 year old snitch.
“Really? Did mommy get pulled over?”
“Yes! But he just talked to her.”
“What did the policeman tell mommy?”
“He told her not to drive so fast.”
“Did he, now?
“Yeah, because mommy was driving too fast and he turned on his lights so she had to stop.”
Jeff’s spoke into the phone again. “Your son just ratted you out.”
“Tell him that mommy’s annoyed with him. Anyway, I didn’t get a ticket, just a warning. I don’t have to tell you about the warnings, because they don’t affect our insurance. They don’t count.”
“You don’t have to tell me about them, but someone else will.”
“Yeah, I’m going to have to have a word with him about that.”
“Be careful at those unmarked pickup trucks parked by the side of the road. They have lights they can turn on.” A local constable likes to hang out two blocks from the entrance to our subdivision. Jeff is right; that’s the one who had a word with me. Well, two words, to be exact: slow and down.
I’m a little chagrined that the child who claims he can never remember exactly why he went to the principal’s office (“I don’t know, I just did”) remembers and can relate in blow-by-blow detail me getting pulled over and lectured by a cop. The next time I pick him up from school and read a bad discipline report, one of those ones that reads something like Sweet Pea got angry and threw both of his shoes, striking a teacher in the head and I hear him whisper from the back of the car, “Let’s not tell daddy, okay?” I will remind him about today. Fair is fair, right? Or maybe that’s what this was all about: me telling daddy even when he begged me not to.
Every nasty thing they say about payback is absolutely true. I know: I was helped to a serving of it today.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
My husband called me this afternoon to let me know that our son had a pretty good day at school.
“Well, there was one trip to the office, but just one.”
“Just one?” I asked, “No one got hurt? No need to restrain him? The police and fire departments weren’t called? I call that and excellent day!” To be fair, the police and fire department have never been called, but sometimes it’s fun to wallow in hyperboles.
“No police, you’re right. It was a good day.”
“But mommy got pulled over by a policeman,” I heard a sweet voice say in the background. Suddenly, I was no longer a part of the conversation, just the subject of it. Jeff’s voice sounded a little further away as he spoke not into the phone, but in the direction of my beloved 6 year old snitch.
“Really? Did mommy get pulled over?”
“Yes! But he just talked to her.”
“What did the policeman tell mommy?”
“He told her not to drive so fast.”
“Did he, now?
“Yeah, because mommy was driving too fast and he turned on his lights so she had to stop.”
Jeff’s spoke into the phone again. “Your son just ratted you out.”
“Tell him that mommy’s annoyed with him. Anyway, I didn’t get a ticket, just a warning. I don’t have to tell you about the warnings, because they don’t affect our insurance. They don’t count.”
“You don’t have to tell me about them, but someone else will.”
“Yeah, I’m going to have to have a word with him about that.”
“Be careful at those unmarked pickup trucks parked by the side of the road. They have lights they can turn on.” A local constable likes to hang out two blocks from the entrance to our subdivision. Jeff is right; that’s the one who had a word with me. Well, two words, to be exact: slow and down.
I’m a little chagrined that the child who claims he can never remember exactly why he went to the principal’s office (“I don’t know, I just did”) remembers and can relate in blow-by-blow detail me getting pulled over and lectured by a cop. The next time I pick him up from school and read a bad discipline report, one of those ones that reads something like Sweet Pea got angry and threw both of his shoes, striking a teacher in the head and I hear him whisper from the back of the car, “Let’s not tell daddy, okay?” I will remind him about today. Fair is fair, right? Or maybe that’s what this was all about: me telling daddy even when he begged me not to.
Every nasty thing they say about payback is absolutely true. I know: I was helped to a serving of it today.
