Yesterday Bookworm and I were eagerly choosing outfits for "White Christmas," Popcorn was working on math, and Brent was about to shower after a day spent in the concrete yard. The doorbell rang. I immediately guessed it would be our neighbor boys wanting Popcorn to come jump in the mud puddles with them, so I rushed to get the door before she could get sidetracked with fantasies of mud.
I opened the door to see C, a girl Bookworm's age who comes to her grandparents house after school until her parents can get off work. They live directly east of us, one street over. Remember, everyone in our area has minimum one acre lots in our neighborhood.
"Hey C! How are you? Girl, what are you doing running around in shorts in this cold weather? And where are your shoes? Did you run over here in socks?" And in the midst of my maternal lecture I notice there are muddy footprints leading down the sidewalk to the front door..."And did you run through the mud?"
At this point I notice C is pale. And she is panting and clutching her chest.
"Are you okay?" Never say my assessment skills aren't mad, Gentle Reader.
"There's someone in my Grandma's house," she panted out and is now bent over with her hands on her knees.
Apparently she was on the phone with a friend, standing in the kitchen when the phone went dead. And this event coincided with something falling from the direction of her grandparents bedroom.
"And my grandparents are out of town and they took the dogs with them, and I just took off running, and I stopped at three different houses on my way over, but nobody's home, and I fell in the mud..."
"Okay, sweetie, come in this house. I will get Brent and we will check it out."
"My feet are all muddy..." I had her bring her shivering little self in and told Popcorn to go get her a pair of shoes while I got Brent.
I went to get Brent, "Don't get in the shower, C came over and she thinks there is someone in her grandma's house..." And we repeated the tale of woe to him as he grabbed his keys, threw his feet in his work boots and we headed to his truck. Because it was muddy. And we didn't want to get our feet muddy.
And we needed to be able to make a quick getaway in case a crazy axe murderer was hiding in Grandma's closet.
Can we just pause and say kudos to C who didn't "Run up the stairs when clearly she should run out the front door." Because when she told me her tale, I immediately went to Scary Movie in my brain.
So, we get to her grandparents, and the garage door is wide open. "I left it open because I was just running." And after questioning about the layout of the house, Brent ascertained that the front and back doors should both be locked.
Brent just strolled into the house through the garage door like he owned the place. And C just followed him right in!
Wait! Where is his gun? Don't we have like 27 of those in our house? And why is she following him IN the house? And now back into the hallway? Good grief.
"C, honey, you stay here with me while he checks it out." So, she scampered back to me in the kitchen and clutched her tummy and rocked back and forth and rattled out about she was on her grandma's cordless landline and it just went dead then a big bang came from her grandma's bedroom and she just took off running and didn't get shoes or her cell phone or anything...
"You did the right thing. Come over any time..."
And about this time Brent came back into the living room and spotted a can of bug spray sitting on the TV console. "Good idea, I'm going to take this." And I confess my brain said, "Yes, because we didn't have 58 guns at our house along with about 200 boxes of ammo. Nope. That's someone else's house..."
But I showed restraint. I simply continued to reassure C with my presence as Brent checked every closet and cabinet and even shower...
After determining that we could find no evidence of anyone in the house, or sign that they had been in the house, it was decided that C would come home with us, so she gathered up her school gear and shoes and headed to Brent's truck. As we headed to the truck, I noticed a container of applesauce lying in the yard, along with a spoon resting perfectly in it.
"Were you eating apple sauce?" And I picked up the container to show her.
"Yes! I just ran out so fast, I still had it in my hand, then I realized I had it so I threw it as I ran to the neighbors." And for some reason this was uproariously funny to all three of us. We laughed the rest of the way home. (You know, the whole 45 seconds.)
Within minutes of getting home C's mom came to get her. I went back to bemoaning my wardrobe and absolute lack of ANYTHING to wear, and Brent resumed his efforts to shower away the concrete residue...
"Apparently C keeps bug spray out all of the time when she's alone. And when she gets scared she grabs it," I yelled from the depths of my closet.
"That's pretty smart. I was glad I saw it."
At this point I came out and said, "So why did you go over there with no gun? What if someone WAS in the house? What was your plan? You didn't even bang on the door and yell 'HELLO!' I was somewhat surprised by your approach."
"Babe, I work with 80% convicted felons. I don't need a gun. I have STREET CRED."
Good to know. Good. To. Know.