911? OMG.

Bob and I have taught Patrick and Aya about personal safety. Our lessons started when they were young--don't talk to strangers (with the accompanying discussion of WHO qualifies as a stranger in the first place), use the crosswalk, etc... As they got older our discussions got more specific--wear your bike helmet regardless of how dweeby you think it makes you look, stop at the stop signs, even if you are on a skateboard, don't forget your house key, etc...

And we taught them about 911.

How to call. When to call. What terrible things will happen if they call on a whim or as a joke.

It's all good. And Patrick and Aya have stayed, up to this point, safe and snug and for the most part nicely law-obeying.

Aha, herein begins my tale of woe.

Last night my sister-in-law and my niece took Aya to see the U2 concert in Oakland. Sort of a lovely going away treat for Aya.

And they all had a simply smashing time.

And what with the late concert ending time, and leaving parking lots and traffic and bathroom breaks, it was the truly wee hours of the morning before Aya reappeared. Smiling from ear to ear.

When I woke up oh so early this morning to take the car to be serviced, Aya was understandably groggy. I went to her bedside and shook her until her eyes opened. I informed her that (a) I was going to go drop the car off to be serviced and (b) I would be right back. I said these things twice. Her eyes were open. Honestly. She responded. She said "Okay mom" before turning over and closing her eyes.

The car folks scooted my car right in, lickety split, and drove me right home within 20 minutes. Assuming Aya was getting a few last moments of sleep, I toddled around the house, starting a load of laundry before going upstairs to continue packing in our bedroom. I turned on the Cd player to keep me company.

Then I heard male voices. Downstairs.

I turned off the music and went down, thinking it was perhaps some fixit guys from our leasing agent. Not an unknown occurrence.

Five police officers were standing in my living room.

One of them had a rifle pointed at my head.

While my mouth hung open, several irrational thoughts ran through my mind:

1. This was someone's idea of a very, very bad practical joke.

2. I had been invaded by evil-doers while I was upstairs, and the police discovered them before I had.

3. This was possibly the delayed Rapture, although I was quite sure it wasn't supposed to involve having a gun pointed at my face.

None of the officers were smiling. Rule out the practical joke.

In short order an officer had grabbed my arm and had led me down the stairs. One officer held my arms behind my back while another began questioning me.

Who are you?

Why are you here?

I answered them quickly, trying to figure out what sort of Star-Trekkian blip in the time-space continuum had opened up in my life to account for there being upset police officers in my living room, when I was such a goody two shoes that I experienced severe cognitive dissonance if I crossed the street without a crosswalk.

Aya came downstairs. She had the good grace to look both relieved and deeply, deeply ashamed.

I explained to the good officers that I had TOLD AYA, MY DAUGHTER, THAT I WAS GOING TO DROP THE CAR OFF and that I was GOING TO COME RIGHT HOME.

Which Aya had promptly forgotten as soon as I left and she dropped back off to sleep.

So when she heard me starting the laundry in the garage, and then stomping myself upstairs to fill boxes, she thought I was an invader. She locked herself in her room with the cordless phone and called 911.

A look of relief crossed the 5 stern faces in front of me. Four of the officers went outside and began talking into the microphones on their shoulders. Outside 3 police cars and 2 police motorcycles sat with flashing blue and red lights. The last officer gave me his card, and apologized. I felt myself going into a weird sort of delayed shock while I agreed with the officers assessment that Aya HAD done the right thing.

And then they were gone. Poof.

Okay, so I give Aya great credit, huge credit for being a clear thinker. She did the right thing, after all. Intruder in house? Get to a safe spot and call 911. Good good.

However, I think I lost several years off my life from the shock of coming downstairs to meet a room full of very upset and suspicious members of Davis' finest.

For the record, I applaud the Davis police force, who took Aya's predicament seriously and responded seriously. I'd rather have the police do too much in their response rather than too little.

Most unfortunately, the culprit in this case happened to be ME.

The moral of this story? When speaking to your children, never EVER assume they are awake. Even if they look awake, sound awake, are sitting up and yodeling ABBA songs---don't assume they are awake. They might not be.

And the next time I have to tell Aya something when she is sleepy, I'm going to throw ice water on her first. Just to make sure I have her full attention.