why i am glad my children are smarter than i: the christmas edition

I wonder how on earth I made it through my childhood without my mother strangling me? Not that I was a bad kid, I was just fiercely independent and often left with too much time on my hands and not enough adult supervision--therefore, I took to acting a lot on whatever made sense at the time without maybe giving it the thought I should. I could make that realization into something deep--but oh my heck! Have you read my blog lately?! Way too much deep for a while :) So, let me tell you a little story from my childhood involving one of those "less than well thought out" decisions.....

I was 8 years old. It was nearly Christmas day, probably about Dec. 16. Grandma and Grandpa's presents had just arrived in the mail and were placed under the tree, atop the small pile of gifts that had been accumulating, the ones that drew me in like a siren song to touch and shake them all on a daily basis.

Something woke me up in the middle of that night--maybe a bad dream, maybe I was just cold--I can't remember exactly. My routine when this would happen would be to go into my mom's room, wake her up,  and have her come put me back to bed with a few comforting words or an extra blanket. So, that night, as usual, I made my way down the hall in the dark, opened her door, went to shake her awake and....she wasn't there.

Now--this is the part where the "no thinking" comes in. I can recall, in my still half-asleep state, not really being afraid that my mom wasn't there. Normally, my next line of defense would have been to wake my 18 year old sister, but she had gotten married that August. So, I did the next best thing my 8 year old brain could conceive: I found the list of emergency numbers that was tacked up by the rotary-dial phone, and...I called the police. Someone should know that my mom was missing, after all, right? In fact, that's just what I told them: My mom is gone. She's not in her bed.

Then, I waited. And I figured since I was awake and apparently abandoned, hey! I should open up a few of those presents under the tree to console me. I unwrapped a plaid blouse and jeans my grandparents sent to me, and a make your own lipgloss kit. Then, feeling bad that I was the only one having all the fun, I woke up my 6 year old brother and invited him to join me. Beacause 8 year old me was thoughtful like that.

He and I weren't too far into our 3am Christmas present party when the Police knocked on the door. We pointed to where mom's room was, they made their way back, and flipped on the light. And there....was my mom. Sleeping on the opposite side of the bed than she usually did. Hmmm. I hadn't thought to check THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED! Poor Mom sat up all panicked and confused with her curler-adorned head. The policeman reported something to the effect of "minors safe" into his walkie talkie and explained to my mom why he was there.

Honestly, I don't remember what happened next. If I got yelled at, I edited it out of my memory bank. I do remember wearing my new outfit to school the next day, though, and that talk my mom had with me about when and when not to call the police. I filed it away with the talks she had given me about not having impromptu yard sales with good things (like our furniture) from around the house. And the one about not jumping off the roof onto the bean bag. These were important things for me to learn, I'm sure.

So, you will not hear me complaining about my kids waking up before the sun on Christmas morning, or much else that they do--because they appear to be blessed with a greater level of forethought than I as a child, and thus far I have managed 13 years of parenting without a single call placed to the police (only the fire department). The End.

Merry Christmas!!!