I got stopped by the law the other day…again. I don't know why, but I have always had the talent of attracting attention in a car. It could anything: going the wrong way down a one-way street, being too short so it looks like no one is driving, having tinted windows, having an expired tag, speeding, crossing the center line in a curve at midnight on a deserted road (Yup. I did it. In his defense, it obviously wasn't completely deserted or he wouldn't have been there. In my defense, it turned out he wasn't a real cop.) or suspicious parking (Really? I mean, there were no bad guys out that day?).

This time, I was focused on the fighting going on in the back seat. "Mom! Cash said I'm not the boss of him. Mom! Are you looking at me? Mom! Look at me! See what I'm doing? Mom, isn't it cool?" Now there's a scream. "Mom! Cooper hit me! Stop it Cooper!" Another long scream and I'm starting to lose my cool, completely flying past the parked police car. He was very nice when he pulled next to me, no doubt still hearing the arguing that's going on (not even flashing blue lights will stop my boys--they're in it for the blood now).
"You were speeding," says the officer, warily glancing in the backseat. I love him already. We're not playing the guessing game, which always bothers me because not only do I have two little boys peppering me with constant questions all day (Why do we have to sit? What's a straightjacket? Mom, why are you hiding in the closet?), but I can never tell what the policeman knows. If my tag is expired and I guess that I'm speeding, there's two tickets right there. I normally just ask the cop to tell me what he knows and I'll tell him if he's right. Please note: They don't appreciate that response unless they have a sense of humor.

"Okay," I agree with the officer. I don't doubt it. My goal when the fighting starts is to get as quickly as I can to my destination so I can get out of the car. There's a moment once I get somewhere and get out of the car that I have at least 5 seconds outside by myself before I open the doors. I live for moments of peace like that. Whether it was because he could still hear the kids or he saw the craziness building in my face, the officer decided to let me go with a warning. "Hey Mom, does he want to go to lunch with us? Mom, are you listening? Mom! Cash took my Ironman! No, Cash!" Another howl of anger from the back and I found myself wondering if the cops take people to jail when they go a certain speed over the limit. What exactly is that limit? Visions of quiet time in a jail cell filled my head. The worst thing to worry about there would be getting shanked. Shoot, I've got two little unsuspecting hit men that have caused more broken noses, bruises, and near death experiences with toy traps laid in the floor in the past five years than in my entire life. Not to mention the mental torture compiled with sleep deprivation. It's inhumane.

I'm sadly watching the nice policeman pull away. He looks so happy in his quiet car. Not fifteen seconds after he was gone, a truck passed us. My oldest son took it as a challenge. "Hey Mom, he's passing us. Speed up! Did you hear me? Mom? What are you doing? Why are we sitting here? Mom, why are you crying?"