"911....What's your emergency?"

"Look, Mama, Look! I call 9-1-1, just wike on Safety Patrol!"

NOT exactly the words you want to hear erupting from your three-year-old's mouth early on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately, I did. Upon seeing the horrified look on my face, the Muffin immediately froze, flipped the phone closed, and dropped it to the floor.



"CRAP!" I screamed. "CRAP!CRAP!CRAP!"

"Mama, what do 'cwap' mean?"

"Don't you worry about what it means. You just don't say that okay? Mommy shouldn't have said that.." ***Cell phone begins to trill*** "OH, CRAP!"

"Mama, you said 'dat word again...."

"AAAAHHHHH!"

Then I did the thing I was always amazed at my mother for doing. She could be screeching bloody wrath at my brother and I and then calmly turn to the ringing phone, pick it up, and croon, "Hello?" as pretty as you please.

"Hellooooooo?"

"911 Dispatch calling here. We had a hang-up reported with this number. Is everything all right ma'am?"

*Nervous laughter* "Oh, yes, we're just fine. I apologize. That was my three year old. He's learned how to call 911 from a tv show and I guess he was practicing. Again, I'm so sorry!"

"That's fine ma'am. We just wanted to make sure you were okay. You have a nice day now."

You'd have thought that would have been the end of it. You would have thought. But then again, surprises are what make life interesting yes? As on most early Saturday mornings, BabyDaddy was still snuggled up in the bed with a pillow over his face when I went to tell him what had just happened. "You know, I bet the cops will still come..."

**DING. DONG.***

Mind you, I was still in my (unmatched) pajamas, bed-headed, teeth unbrushed, and mascara ringed. The Muffin had just gone to the potty, and for some reason, every time he does this he thinks he needs to completely take off his pants and underwear. So, he was running around bare-bottomed. The dogs were fighting each other over the couch pillows, snarling and snapping, as I peeked out the front curtains to see a police cruiser parked in front of the house. I open the door and smile wearily at the police man standing on our front steps. The Muffin begins jumping up and down shouting, "Wow, look! A police man! Coooooool!" (Somehow the 'jumping' thing makes the 'bare-bottomed' thing even worse.) As I am fighting internal panic, (this dude is TOTALLY going to call DFS on me about my nekkid, dancing, 911-calling kid), I explain the situation. He was very polite, ("It happens all the time ma'am. Just doing my job.") and made me feel a little bit better about everything. He even gave the Muffin a high five before I banished him to his room with orders to clothe himself. The policeman finally left, and I was able to sink into the corner of the couch to contemplate my complete and utter mortification for the rest of the morning. Bah.