Escape From Vacation

There are some people who just seem to have it all: the looks, money, intellect, humor, family, friends and style.... There are some people for whom everything just seems to come easily: those great grades, that new promotion, fabulous dream job, relationship bliss and 1.2 kids in suburbia with a white picket fence. There are even some people who just seem to have good luck handed to them where ever they turn in the form of a great sale, winning raffle ticket, jackpot pull on the quarter machine or even the man of their dreams strategically placed after landing their perfect job to settle into their perfect life.

And then, there are the rest of us.. . The perpetually flawed who pull up their boot straps only to grin and bear it to get by.

I like to say I'm perfectly imperfect and embrace all those nasty little negatives. But really, I'm just trying not to be bitter. I'm trying to play the useless hand I was dealt with the least damage. I'm rolling with the punches but definately feeling the hits.

I'm Murphy's Law personified. Have a terrible, awful, I-can't-believe-that-happened-to-you story? I'll take your suffering and quadruple it.

I'm here to tell you the honest truth, that Anybody that puts on a smile and says they're okay, that life is still good, is lying.

It could be good right then, at that moment, in that space in time, but sometimes, in private moments, there are gnashing of teeth and hair pulling breakdowns.

What's worse than being one of THESE poor, wouldn't-have-any-luck-if-it-wasn't-bad people?

I'll tell you, it's having been the silver spoon fed perfect prima-donna previously (Ha, say that five times fast) only to take the right turned path down Dante's inferno to the latter most description.

Here is my case and point, extended from yesterday's discombobulated adventure of just escaping the condo and getting to the aquarium alive with my fried brain.

Today was time to end our stay at Heather's. It was time to get home for some vacation relaxing, because we all know taking kids on vacation is not "relaxing." It's a chore! It's a fun chore, but a chore none-the-less.

We got the car packed and off to the gas station just fine, but once at the gas station, I knew my luck had not changed from yesterday

I discovered my sister's license in my wallet that she had given me to hang on to.

"No big deal. I'm glad I found this. I'll just turn around and drop it off before we head home." I said to myself, happy for the luck I'd found it when I was two seconds down the street.

I put the license next to my glasses case on the steering wheel and went to get my credit card.

At least, thats where I think I put it. That is where I swear I put it, because when I looked up, I may as well have eaten the damn thing (just like yesterday, could happen, especially with the steroids). I may have well as taken it, rippped it to shreds and scattered it in the wind.

The damn license was no where to be found. The attendant thought I was crazy, whipping through my car, throwing pieces of paper and not speedily pumping my gas like any "normal" woman would.

Just a little deja-vu from yesterday.

I decided, my car must be sucking up these pieces of paper. There must be some paper monster in the dashboard making me appear crazy.

Low and behold there are plenty of little crevices that it could have slid into.

I just wish that they would slid out, preferably into my car.

Heather's license is now MIA.

It's my fault.

When she called to remind me I have her license (since we do have twin telepathy this was 5 minutes after the incident), I tell her the story and promise to have J check for it.

But it's too late for a nice peaceful trip, the damage has been done. The tone has been set. We're off an adventure just driving.

I took my normal medications to be assured I could function.

Whoppsy. I took my normal medication that alter my mind and get me high to be comfortable through out the day. There is a reason why I don't usually drive. I quickly started feeling the jitters from the speed of the prednisone jacking up my adrenaline, the fact that I had no idea where I was and was relaying on a computer to guide me safely home, and the pain meds I had taken just to function.

Of course, getting home couldn't be that simple, halfway through the trip, traveling a perfect 65 mph on the highway, I slow down seeing the results of a speed trap, only to have the officers step out, point directly at MY DAMN CAR, and whip his thumbs to the side.

SSSHHIIIITTTTT!!! and a hundred other expletives I no longer say even in my head since X will repeat them (I actually have a special video showing one expression I think he learned from a cousin but blamed on Daddy).. I'm getting pulled over. I wasn't speeding?! What was I doing. I have no idea where I am.

Then, oh, no. Don't pull me over in front of X. We had just gotten over having a conversation about how he loves police officers. He wants to be a cop more than everything. This whole experience could ruin his grand ideas of saving the world just because one prick is going to give mommy a ticket (and with my life, I knew I was getting a ticket, even though I wasn't sure what I had been doing).

I pulled over and started the long reverse backyards.

How ironic. I spent the last week and a half volunteering my time, busting my ass, for free, writing four grants, over one hundred pages, stressing myself until I'm sick so, hopefully (cross your fingers and pray still people), Charlestown NH can have a new, eco-friendly Police Station, and I'm getting pulled over.

FABOOOUUULLLOUUUSSS.

"License and registration, please" The thin leather faced officer with aviators and a non-nonsense, I'm a cop attitude said.

"I am so sorry officer." I started.

I had no idea what to say. I haven't been pulled over in years. I haven't gotten a ticket since I was 16. I wanted to cry, show him my handicapped placard, tell him my life sucked and I just could not have anything else added to the insanity because it may push me over the proverbial edge.

I just couldn't get out the words. I'm bad at begging and appearing pathetic. There have been many times I wish I could, would, I even should, just burst into tears to get what I want or need, especially from doctors, doctors hate crying patients, especially strong ones, and of course, this is where I have an edit button.

"Do you know what you're being pulled over for?" officer asked.

"Actually, not quite. I thought I was going 65."

"The speedlimit is 55 ma'am."

MotherF****er, of course it is.

"Sorry, I'm from NH. The highways are always 65mph and I'm just trying to get home."

"How old is he?" he acknowledges my son.

"Six" X manages to squeek out.

"Wait, does he have a seat belt on?"

OH NO!!! I whip around. If X had taken off his seatbelt during our road trip and I was getting pulled over all hell was going to break loose.

X showed his seatbelt.

"At 6 he should be in a booster." The officer stated.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it was based on size and he's over 70. . . " I trailed off thinking, "He says I'm speeding. He thinks my child is poorly restrained. He knows I'm not from town and will never contend this because it would just be a huge inconvenience. We're coming back from a mini-vacation in natick. My son has a chuck-e-cheese ball next to his nintendo DS. I pulled my license from a LV purse in a prada wallet wearing my kenneth cole sunglasses. Just get me out of here."

Bail to escape from Mass cost $190.

F, you called it.

After driving off X and I were both silent.

My head was ranting like a character from "The Invention of Lying," thinking about how much I despised cops, definitely more than lawyers, but I knew I had to tred lightly since they are X's heroes. He has a whole life plan that includes training K9s and being a detective. I can't squash that. I hope the whole event didn't.

"I hate cops," suddenly came the defiant, angry voice from behind me. "I'm going to grow up and be a bad guy."

Uh-oh, just what I had worried about. I bit my tongue. I was going to have to grin, bear it, and say, "No, Xander. He was just doing his job. Mom was being unsafe and it's his job to keep everyone alive and well. Cops do all sorts of good things." I said, overly sweetly to hide the contempt in my voice since deep down I was thinking "yeah, when they're not sticking it to poor moms who think they're abiding by the law."

Silence.

"What is it your worried about?" I asked.

"I'm worried he took all our money and now I can't go to college." X whined.

WHAT?! You really never do know exactly what is going on in those minds of theirs. College? Really?

I, finally, just thought the situation was really funny at that point.

"You can still go to college. I'm just mad because I did something wrong, now I have to pay money I don't want to, and worse, I have to tell Dad who is going to pick on me."

"HA-HA! Dad's going to pick on you!"

That was all I had to say. X decided to join in on the fun making early. I heard about that ticket the whole way home, but guess who got the last laugh?

Later that night, I was getting ready to hop in the shower for some relaxation when the phone rang,

"Mrs. Ford?" came the crackley voice on the other line. "Is this Mrs. Ford?"

I almost hung up right then. My name isn't Hillary Ford. If someone is asking for HF they are either looking for someone else or soliciting, either of which is an annoyance.

I was annoyed.

"Yes" I said tentatively, curious as to who it was and what they were requesting.

"This is The Police Chiefs of America calling. . ."

UGH. Yes, in the past, I had donated to good old law enforcement.

"Are you calling looking for money?!" I asked, shocked and awed, mouth agape, that the very day they decided to take $190 from me I'd also get a call to donate, "Because if you are, I've all ready given."

Click.

Nope, definitely not bitter at all.