If you wanna feel better about your family, just read about ours...

Starring: a dad, a mom, a son & daughter-in-law, a daughter & son-in-law, a teen, a tween, a grandson, a granddaughter, 3 dogs, 2 rabbits, 2 dwarf frogs, an unfortunate number of tadpoles, and a whole lot of love.




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Friday, February 13, 2015

Be My Valen-Crime

It might surprise you to know that we don't go looking for trouble.  It might also surprise you to know that sometimes we catch ourselves and reign it in when we recognize the potential for trouble.

For example, when Kearstin got her iPhone she began receiving calls regarding a warrant for the arrest of  a guy named Miles Davis.  Then Miles Davis's mom started calling for him.  That's when Ron thought he could "set up a sting" and use the mom to lure Miles Davis to the police.  And I said, "Or, Nooooooooooo we won't do that."  And we stayed safely uninvolved where we belong and for all we know Mr. Miles Davis is still at large. 

But sadly, there are those occasions when we stumble into some trouble, become deeply enmeshed, and then it's too late.

Which brings us to the 2nd grade Valentine party of 2015.
More specifically, the take home treat bags.

When I headed down to the massage room for my last client of the day, Caymen was happily sifting through her treats from her class party.  An hour later, when I returned upstairs, Ron and Caymen were in the kitchen.  "Look what she found in her goodie bag!"  And there on the counter was an unmarked pouch of clear liquid.

On the outside, I stayed completely rational as I praised Caymen for doing the right thing by bringing us something that didn't look appropriate for a treat bag.  Then I took a picture and calmly sent it to her teacher asking for her input and then naturally I posted the picture to my facebook asking 'What the crap?'  As you do.

All the while on the inside I'd spun wildly out of control, plotting the end of any and all take home goodie bags now and forEVER and became a person rivaling any Jehovah's Witness who demands the ban of all things good and fun.  And I was totally okay with that.

Obviously, this was a serious matter and the teacher acted accordingly.  The Superintendent was contacted and of course the police would eventually become involved so that forensics could determine what was in the pouch. And just that quick, we're throwing around words like forensics.

I sat texting the teacher back and forth as we tried to get to the bottom of this potentially disastrous situation when you stop to consider how many other kids might have received one.

Ron sat googling 'What does Heroin look like?'  I can only imagine what Homeland Security thinks of us at this point.

I was uncomfortable having it in our house, so the teacher suggested I put it in a plastic baggie, we'd meet at the school and she'd take it from there.

One last time, I asked Caymen to describe to me exactly how she came to find the pouch.  She said, "I opened the bag in the bag of the bag that (so and so) gave me."

Ron looked up and said, "How pissed is that kid's parents gonna be when they find out she gave their stash away in goodie bags?"  Sometimes Chuckles should just stay quiet and google.

Before she could ask what a stash is, I asked her what she did with the bags and she said, "I threw them all away...even the one with the instructions." 

Whoa.  Baaaaack the drug bust up.  Instructions?

Off to dig through the trash we went.  She pulled out each of the bags and lo and behold, the smallest bag was made of foil and had instructions:
1.  Smack the Pack 
2.  Watch and Wait
3.  See the Surprise...a Balloon inflates before your eyes.

Sooooo.  Maybe, that wasn't Heroin, but Helium?

In summary, we involved the guidance counselor and superintendent...sounds about right...then met Caymen's teacher in the school parking lot at 10:30 on a Friday night to pass her a baggie through our mini-van window that quite possibly contained the pouch intended to inflate a tiny Valentine balloon.

I'm fully expecting to receive a few follow-up calls Monday morning.

I'm also fully prepared to blame this whole thing on a Mr. Miles Davis.  If you find him, tell him his mom's looking for him.