The kids and I just got back from a mini vacay in New Mexico. We spent a few days at Grammy and PaPa’s house, visited old friends, etc. After a fun, yet exhausting visit, we were ready to return home on Wednesday.
The trip was going along swimmingly (read: both kids were sleeping) for the first 2 hours. I was thinking as we approached Brownfield that we would probably need to stop as Presley hadn’t eaten in 3 or 4 hours and Caedmon hadn’t used the potty in 2 hours. As expected both kids woke up when we hit town and we made a short stop at the local McD’s.
When we left Caedmon asked if we could go through the drive-thru and get him a happy meal. I’m really not sure why he wanted to go through the drive-thru instead of just getting it while we were inside, but whatever. We got his happy meal and I started passing the food back as I pulled out of the parking lot.
After getting all the food situated, turning on the JoJo’s Circus soundtrack for the millionth time, and speed-dialing Kevin to update him on our whereabouts, we were on our way. However, a few seconds into our conversation I checked the mirror to change lanes and noticed that I was, um, getting pulled over. I hung up on Kevin w/o explanation because, honestly, I thought my cellphone might have something to do with my visit from the officer.
I waited for what seemed like an unusually long time for the cop to exit his car and when he finally did I noticed that he was creeping slowly down the side of my van, peering in all the windows, and had his hand on his gun!! Now, I could be wrong, but I don’t think a cute little mini-van loaded down with carseats and diapers really fits the M.O. of a dangerous vehicle.
Finally he makes his way to my window and slowly peeks around before initiating this gem of a conversation…
Cop: Brownfield Police Force, Ma’am. Please remain in your vehicle. Do you know why you’ve been contacted this afternoon?
Me: *contacted?* Um…no sir, actually I don’t.
Cop: You were traveling 43 in a 35 Ma’am.
Me: Oh, ok. Um…sorry?
Cop: Who does this vehicle belong to?
(We have NM plate)
Me: Well, my parents own it but they bought it for me. It’s registered in NM because that’s where they live.
Cop: I’m going to need to see your license, registration, and proof of insurance. Please remain in your vehicle.
At this point I realize that the diaper pail (roughly the size of a kitchen trash can) is occupying the front seat. So I obviously have little to no access to the glove compartments. I fumble with all that for a minute before he finally tells me to forget about the proof of insurance and whatnot and to just give him my license.
Cop: Do you have any outstanding tickets, Ma’am?
Cop: Suspended license?
Cop: Is there anything I need to know before I call in your license?
Cop: I’ll be right back. Please remain in your vehicle.
Dude, chill. I’m not getting out of my vehicle.
This begins the portion of our adventure in which we sit around for an eternity while I presume my name is being run through the FBI list of most wanted soccer mom’s.
Upon his return Mr. Cop repeats the sneaking along the van, peering in the windows, holding his gun routine.
Cop: Ok Ma’am, it seems like everything checks out. Did you realize I was following you just now?
Me: *dude* Uh, yeah. I mean…that’s why I pulled over and all.
Cop: Ma’am, I followed you for 6 blocks before turning my sirens on. Now would you like to tell me why you decided not to pull over immediately?
Me: *oh crap* Um…because I have 2 kids in here whom I’ve been traveling with all day and I was busy throwing happy meal toys into the backseat and talking to my husband and putting on music so Caedmon would just for the love of all things holy and pure stop talking for just 5 minutes and oh my freaking gosh if we sit here any longer Presley is going to start crying and I’ll be forced to run you over and I’ll get off as long as my jury is full of women who’ve traveled with young children.
Ok…maybe I didn’t say that.
Cop: Ok Ma’am watch your speed. And pay attention to who’s behind you. Oh, and put your insurance card where it’s easily accessible.
Like I always travel with a trash can in my front seat?
Me: Yes sir.
And for the remainder of our ride home I was privy to a running stream of comments from my overly concerned 5 year old. “Mom! I think you’re going to fast. Mom? How fast are you going? Mom? Are you sure you should go that fast? MOM!”
So if you’re ever traveling through Brownfield you can put aside any lingering fears of soccer mom’s in mini-vans because by golly the Brownfield Police Force is all over that!