***Slightly edited for clarification***

We have no shame.

The last time I remember seeing any policemen in our neighborhood was nearly three years ago… when I was entertaining a pair in the entryway after I invited them they invited themselves into my home.

Unbeknownst to this Moma, a certain little monkey (*ahem* Bless *cough* ing *cough, cough* number *ahem* 1 *cough*) got a little curious during naptime and dialed 9-1-1.

(The alleged dialing of this phone number has been neither confirmed nor denied, and per said Blessing, discussion of the alleged phone call and subsequent visit by the men with badges remain OFF LIMITS.)

Never mind the fact that I thought I had four kids napping upstairs.

(Evidently only three were napping and one, my until-then trustworthy and highly-responsible kindergartner, was experimenting with the emergency response system.)

Never mind the fact that it was my quiet time, too, and I did not answer the phone or the door during my precious moments of silence… and that, at that time, the outgoing message on the answering machine was recorded by B#1 herself.

Never mind the fact that a telemarketer kept calling my house and leaving messages asking, “Little girl, are you there?” Telemarketers are annoying as is… but they are especially bothersome when they leave multiple messages for your child on the answering machine.

(I knew it was a telemarketer because the Caller ID told me so. After all, SEA Comm is obviously a telemarketing company, right? Turns out, it was the Southeast Area Command Center... a.k.a. Police Dispatch)

“It’s an answering machine, lady!” I yelled at the answering machine. “Stop calling! We don’t want any!”

(If she didn’t realize the first time she called that she was talking to an answering machine, you think it’d be really obvious the second and third.)

Never mind the fact that I ignored the first knock at the door. And the second. And maybe even a third. I let that persistent door-to-door salesman wait on the porch for quite a while before I, a bit agitated, finally answered the door. Door-to-door salesmen are annoying as is… but they are especially bothersome when they won’t leave your doorstep.

(After all, who other than a salesman would be knocking on my door, repeatedly, in the middle of the afternoon, right? Turns out, it was a couple of men in blue uniforms... a.k.a. Policemen)

Yet, I digress.

(Speaking of digression, I probably have three current, yet unfinished and unposted, posts. But as time passes, they get comparatively less post-worthy and comparatively more un-fun, and I start anew. But if you really want to hear about the pet moth that was eaten by an unwelcome spider, just holler. I'm an obliging gal.)

Now where was I… ah, yes, police in the neighborhood.

Last night at dinnertime, I looked out the kitchen window and my keen Moma eye looked out into the park and spotted afar...

Necessary background information on our park: No parking lot. No streets. Just a neighborhood park, bordered by backyards, with a foot/bike path meandering along one side. That said, understand that it is not a highly-trafficked park. (*giggle* Unintended pun... keep reading.)

Yes, I spotted afar... a police car.

Such excitement- a cop car in the park! As the Monkey Daddy and I observed through the window, we sent out the troop to surveil from the fort.

And then, suddenly, there were two cars. Curiosity getting the better of us, Monkey Daddy went to do some surveillance of his own... and Moma followed.

We witnessed the handcuffed perp (Note: When telling a cop story, always use the cop lingo.) take position in the backseat of Car #1.


We witnessed two officers stow said perp's bicycle into the trunk of Car #1. (It didn't fit.)

We witnessed two officers wearing purple (color duly noted by the kids) gloves place an assortment of unknown items paraphernalia into black garbage evidence bags.

We witnessed one perp and two officers leave in two cars (Car #1 with its trunk lid bobbling up and down on the stowed confiscated bicycle), driving out of the park along the trail.

We have no shame, I tell ya. Five kids looking out from the loft of the fort. One Daddy sporting binoculars hanging over the fence. One Moma wearing a baby standing on a picnic table... taking pictures, no less.

We finally left our snooping spots to come inside... but only because it was time for High School Musical: Get in the Picture! to come on. :)

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Supplied with several loaves of "duck bread" that were stashed in the freezer, we made an afternoon trip to the duckpond to feed the ducks. And seagulls. And geese.

Blessing #5 had lots of fun until one goose decided to feed on him! Mr. Mean Goose took the bread out of his hand... and got a good nibble out of his finger while he was at it. :(

B#6 was sleeping while we were all tossing bits of bread in the air, so she didn't make it into any of the pictures. So as not to leave her out of the blog postin' festivities, I'll put in a picture from after church.

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The newest little blessing is already 3 weeks old!
Really, she's 3 weeks and 2 days... but who's keeping count, right?:)

Here's a short video from this afternoon...
Not seen on camera, but I was dangling an
oh-so-yummy ice cream cone in front of her.
Or maybe she was just testing out that recently-discovered tongue.:)

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BUMmer

As I walk through the kitchen while feeding Blessing #6:

B#3: Moma, your back is squiggly when you walk.

(Insert my half laugh-- yet full smile-- here.)

Monkey Moma: Oh really, huh.

B#3: Yup! You take a step with one foot, and it goes squiggle squiggle… and then you step with your other foot and it goes squiggle squiggle some more.

(Insert hand motions of a 5-year-old boy-- making snakey squigglies with his fingers-- here.)

Whoosh, whoosh. Squiggly. Squiggly. Squiggly. Whoooosh.

So what do I do?

I go right upstairs and walk past the bathroom mirror.

My back was totally not squiggling...

But my backside maybe was. Maybe.

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