In a time that I described as completely boring earlier this week, a little thrill was just what I needed.
I came home on Tuesday slightly earlier than usual from work, as I had a dental appointment to get to, and I felt I had to brush my teeth before I went. Do you do that? Or I am the only freak who thinks that they can cover up years of neglect with one cleaning?? Anyway, I pull into my driveway and there’s a strange mini-van sitting there.
I immediately assume it’s a tradesperson. Because Mark does this; he books people in to give quotes on new windows or basement wiring or whatever and doesn’t tell me anyone’s coming. I make a ‘well, hello and what are you doing here?’ sort of face at the guy, and he seemingly reluctantly rolls down his window and starts to talk.
Reluctantly, as I was clearly at risk of blowing his cover. He’s an undercover cop, he’s on a stakeout as our neighbourhood has been mentioned in some intelligence they have on a large B & E operation (you know, break and enter, I’m all down with the cop lingo now, heh). And he’s not even actually local police; he’s come up from the big city with his information and his binoculars and his book to read while he waits.
Of course I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that he was there, so I immediately tweet it (well, hell, no one local is reading, right?). He was very nice, we had a lovely chat, I checked his ID to make sure he wasn’t actually sitting there wanting to break into my house (and, like, steal all my stained furniture and cheap Ikea prints and plastic H&M jewellery), and gave them permission to continue to use our house as a vantage point. Him or one of his colleagues have been there off and on since, but just during daytime working hours.
Oliver and I have a regular date now. It’s called grocery shopping. He sits in the cart, eats a bagel, we chat, and I attempt to fill said cart with enough food to cover all our meals without feeling the need to order in very often. Often it’s Saturday morning while his brother is napping at home. Mark stays home and does stuff.
I quite like this time as it’s rare for us to hang out alone together. And Oliver is incredibly pleasant one-on-one (inference: some of his behaviour that I don’t enjoy so much is clearly linked to his resentment that the production of a sibling means he gets less of our attention…duh). We have nice, funny chats.
Last night, I had to do a quick mid-week run to the store, because today’s his last day at the daycare he’s been at for two years, and we wanted to get them some nice gifts (e.g. chocolates, flowers, etc.). The boys are switching to a daycare in our actual town, much closer to home. We couldn’t get in there before because they don’t accept infants.
Anyway, we’re out, we’re chatting, and we start talking about police, which is not an abnormal topic of conversation, because he has that normal 3 year old boy obsession with emergency vehicles of any sort. And I realize that he’s deduced that because the police are spending time around our house, that bad guys are circling the house, too. He even gave me the quivering lip!
Which led to a conversation about how the police are actually preventing the bad guys from hanging around near us, and me realizing yet again that he understands and processes so much more than I think. I think the cheekiness and willfulness can overshadow the depths of his reasoning. I need to get to know this kid more. We need more dates.
Nothing like making myself feel insecure and like a teenager hoping the cool kids will like me all over again. Or something like that. I’ve registered to go to BlogHer. Not because I plan on making this thing that is my little space anything other than it is, but more because it’s an opportunity to listen to some pretty cool women whose words I adore reading talk about this thing that they are really good at. Also a weekend in Chicago (which I enjoyed when I went about 7 years ago) on my own (or with a friend? or a new friend? anyone? anyone?) around the time of my birthday sounds pretty damn cool.