"9-1-1 - What Is Your Emergency?"

Why is it that we can arrange and engineer and coordinate, only to have our carefully thought-out strategy blown to smithereens? "The best-laid plans" and all. It all started out so innocently, just a couple of friends getting together for a chat--how did it all go so wrong? I mean, when the police are summoned, you know something has gone terribly awry!

Tracy had this great idea, see. She and Lori and I were going to go to "Open Circle" (that's a ladies group at WW that meets monthly) last night, and afterwards we were going to go out for a Coke and some long-overdue conversation. ('Cause talking five times a day on our cell phones apparently doesn't count.) And it was all arranged: Randy would be here to watch the kids, leaving me as free as a bird for three or so hours. Game on.

Hitch #1: Open Circle discontinued meeting in the months of December and January. Whoops.

Hitch #2: Randy had made plans to go to the church building to play basketball. Excuse me, what?

Turns out, Randy had made plans on Sunday to play basketball with some guys at church, and I am TOTALLY on board with that. I think Randy needs to spend way more time in recreation than he currently does (the answer would be "none"). But hello? Oh child care provider, where art thou? I discovered that when I started making all MY plans for Tuesday night, Randy apparently decided on his own that Open Circle trumped basketball, and he mentally cancelled his plans. Aww, isn't he just the sweetest??!

And then came the bitter truth--there was to be NO Open Circle on Tuesday, so now it's "Game on" of an entirely different sort! Truth be told, I think Randy was very excited for the chance to shoot some hoops with the guys, but not wanting to leave me in the lurch, he offered to come home a little early in case I wanted to get together with my compadres before supper. Ahh, the plot thickens . . .

I knew a pre-dinner confab was not an option, so I e-mailed Tracy and Lori and asked if they just wanted to come to my house. "I know it won't be the same," I said, but at least we could still have a chat. Then Tracy had the brilliant idea of waiting until a little after 8:00 to converge on my home, knowing what a fan I am of that fun little ritual I call "I don't care what you do in your bedroom as long as your door is closed at 8:00 and you don't bother me anymore tonight." Okay, it's a plan. I would get the kids "in bed," and we would settle down for some girl talk.

At first, all went according to plan. I got Sawyer bedded down for the night and told the girls they could read/study/color/pick their noses (no, I didn't really say that) "until-8:30-no-later-than-9:00" and then it was lights out. Tyler actually wasn't in the house at that moment; he had gone with Randy to shoot baskets but Tracy and Lori picked him up and brought him home, so when they arrived I gave him his standing order and sent him on his way. So for about 45 minutes we had a perfectly enjoyable evening. Nobody came wandering out of their bedrooms needing "just one more thing," there was no pattering of footsteps overhead--all was calm. The calm before the storm.

We were sitting around my kitchen table talking when the phone rang. The house phone. And you have to know that that almost NEVER happens. Because in this age of cell phones, nearly everyone we know has our mobile numbers, because heaven forbid we should be unavailable when someone is trying to reach us. But I digress . . . I picked up the handset to see who the caller was, and immediately laughed. "City of Arlington." Oh yeah, this will be the library calling to say we have books due this week. I guess I should explain my laughter, though: You would simply have to hear it for yourself for this to be even remotely funny, but the automated voice that the Arlington Public Libraries use is THE deepest, THE lowest bass voice I've ever heard, and it makes me laugh every time I hear it. So back to last night--still laughing, I picked up the handset expecting to hear the automated voice. In fact, as I was holding the handset in my hand, I believe I turned to Lori and Tracy and said, "Have you guys heard this?!"

Only instead of hearing an automated voice in my ear, I heard the following: "This is 9-1-1 Emergency Response. We received a hang-up call from that location. Is everything okay?" As all the color drained from my face, I turned to my friends for encouragement and support to find them . . . laughing. At me. The nerve.

I said to the dispatcher, "Excuse me? A hang-up?" She said, "Yes ma'am. Someone called and hung up. Is everything okay?" At this point I was simply dumbfounded because the only phone in our house that was plugged in was the one I was holding in my hand. Stumped, I hemmed and hawed around while Lori and Tracy tried in vain to keep from bursting into hysterical, maniacal laughter in the midst of my turmoil. I said, "Um, I just don't see how that could be possible. We don't have any other phones plugged in besides this one and I certainly didn't call and hang up." The dispatcher confirmed my address and phone number and replied, "Well, an officer will be coming by your house shortly to make sure everything is okay." Al-righty then.

By this time I was completely mystified, wondering how in the world the Emergency Response Team could have recorded an incoming call from our line. Tracy suggested, "Why don't you run and check on the kids?" and all the while I was proclaiming/exclaiming, "But we don't have a phone upstairs!" Tyler was the first one I came to; he was hunched over on the floor reading a book (Hello, that's what the bed is for, but that's for another time) and I burst in, blithering, "Do you have a phone in your room?" The clueless look on his face told me everything I needed to know. Moving on.

The girls' light was still on so I threw open the door and . . . wait, did Peyton just flinch? Why does she look so suspicious? "Do you have a phone in your room?!" Nevermind that it was a complete impossibility. I mean, where would they get a phone, for Pete's sake? And then I saw it. I saw Darcy's finger pointing ever-so-slightly at her sister. My mouth fell open. "You have a phone plugged in?! Did you call 9-1-1?!?!" And in Peyton's own inimitable way, her tiny voice squeaked, "Darcy told me to." Oh brother. "Do you realize that a police officer IS ON HIS WAY TO OUR HOUSE?!" Never have you seen a look of trepidation like I saw cross both my girls' faces at that moment--I could have said, "I'm taking away your Tamagotchi AND the rest of your toys, we're never taking you out to eat ever again, I'm making you wear polyester pants all the way through adolescence AND no more Ashley Tisdale or Corbin Bleu" and I don't think they would have been as horrified. Instead, I left them in fear and trembling as I slunk downstairs with my tail between my legs.

Lori has actually had a little experience with 9-1-1 hang-ups (don't worry, I'm not naming names) and she and Tracy both affirmed that the girls needed to be present when the officer arrived on the scene and that furthermore, they needed to offer their apologies for sending the officer out on a false alarm. Well, that was the final straw. Their reaction to their penalty was nothing short of deranged. Oh, the weeping and wailing! Darcy was immobilized for a minute there. I finally pried her off her bed and maneuvered her down the stairs, with Peyton bringing up the rear.

Oh, hi Dad! Guess what we've been up to?! Tracy made me laugh (later, much MUCH later) when she reminded me that when Randy called to give us a "two-minute warning" (he called while I was up in the girls' room) that he was on his way home, he would have been better served if we had given HIM a two-minute warning about what he was about to walk in on! So anyway, Randy walked in and I gave him the short version as best I could over all the keening and howling. Meanwhile, Lori and Tracy snuck out through the garage, deciding that we obviously were in need of some "family time." Ha.

Well, to make an already VERY long story only the slightest bit shorter, the officer arrived and determined that there was no armed perpetrator forcing us to appear normal (though he did run a check on Randy's driver's license so maybe he had his doubts?), and he gave the girls a pep talk in which he encouraged them to dial 9-1-1 responsibly. I could have handled a few more threats of everlasting torment myself, but whatever. The girls were visibly relieved when they noticed the lack of handcuffs on the officer's person, and they gratefully offered their meekest apologies and vowed never to do it again. The end.

I might have known Tracy and Lori were lurking in the shadows watching the whole "incident." But rather than come back and force me to wallow in my obvious humiliation, they did the next best thing: They ran to CVS, bought a tricked-out toy police station and came back and put it in my mailbox, along with a card that read, "May your new home be a happy place . . . where all your dreams come true" and appended at the bottom were the words, "and the police come quickly." It actually took them close to 25 minutes but who's counting?