For those of you who know me well, you know I am a teacher and I am super fortunate to have a very envious vacation schedule--thus Good Friday began my Spring Break. I awoke early so I could go to my school, procure the sewing machines in my classroom, and then take them to another school building. I had volunteered to arrange a place for the shire of Skerjastrond to host a moot the following day. Skerjastron is part of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism), a medieval community to which my son Ross belongs, and I’m his side kick. Ross has been involved with the SCA for a year now. When he joined it, he wanted to be a fighter, but he had to wait until he turned 18. When that glorious day arrived, way back in August, he then needed armor. I’m talkin’ the real deal, not something you can pick up at the local sporting goods store. Therefore, his belated Christmas present was a set of armor which cost 1,300 dollars.
The armor craftsman, who lives in Minnesota, was supposed to have the suit ready for our moot on March 26. Unfortunately, the craftsman assumed I lived in Madison, WI, where he would be visiting a friend, the Thursday before our event. He thought he could come over and fit Ross on that day, but we live nearly 6 hours away from Madison. I told the man to overnight express the armor so it would make it on time. Ross’s anxiety level escalated from a 10 to a 20 because of the delay. He drove me crazy worrying that the armor would not make it on time.
So Friday evening, after setting up sewing machines, running errands and trying to prepare for Easter Dinner, because Saturday was going to be devoted to the SCA, I started making tuna casserole for the hubby and Shrimp Alfredo for Ross. The two can’t eat one or the other. (I know I’m crazy for making 2 meals to accommodate their picky eating habits, but that’s how I rock and roll). As I’m preparing dinner my sister makes and impromptu visit regarding the family get together on Easter. When she leaves hubby and I get into an argument about me hosting the meal and Ross grows even more frantic. He hates when we argue, but unfortunately for Ross, his mother and father are the coexisting ying and yang. Sparks fly. Hubby and I go to our separate corners, but then I hear hubby make some snide comment from the other room. Okay, at that point my anger level has reached the, I’m Seeing Red Phase, so I pick up the half empty box of macaroni, walk into the TV room and shower my adoring husband with tiny sea shells.
Ross goes absolutely berserk. He starts yelling that I have assaulted his father and that he is going to call 911. Which is exactly what he does. I go back to the kitchen and continue with dinner, listening to Ross scream into the phone that his mother has just assaulted his father and that the police need to come and arrest me. Ross goes outside and paces in the driveway, as he waits for the cops to show up and hubby-- get this-- gets out the vacuum cleaner and begins to vacuum up the sea shells. (Frankly, I didn’t even know he knew how to turn the thing on.)
It’s not long before Policeman No. 1, comes into the house. Ross comes flying into the dining room and I come out of the kitchen. Ross points an angry finger at me and yells, “Arrest that bitch, she assaulted my father!”
The officer looks as shocked as I feel. He asks me to explain what happened, so I give him a brief synopsis. “My husband and I were arguing,” I explained. “I got angry and threw some macaroni at him, and then Ross called you.”
The cop’s response is; “Do you know that’s domestic assault? You could be arrested for that.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Since when has macaroni been considered a deadly weapon? The whole thing gets even more bizarre, because as Police No. 1 is lecturing me on how I could be arrested, Ross asks me if I’m going to be in the same jail cell as a friend of mine who has recently been accused of embezzlement.
The cop gives me a funny look and asks me how I know this person and I explain that we are friends. Now I am sure I am going to be spending the night in jail. Next, Police No. 2 shows up. Did you know you need back-up when macaroni has been thrown? Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate the men and women in law enforcement, but I can’t help but think how ridiculous this whole thing is. Police No. 2 needs to be brought up to speed, and then I get the domestic assault lecture a second time.
I make the mistake of asking Police No. 2 what was I supposed to do. He rolls his eyes like I just asked the most idiotic question and responds with, “You need to go for a walk, or a drive. Get yourself out of the situation.” Like I don’t know this already! Like I haven’t tried to do this already!
I explained to the officers that if I tried to go for a walk, Ross would follow me down the road, and if I tried to get into the car, he’d chase me. I told them to arrest me and that I’d wager as soon as we got to the end of the block, Ross would be running after us.
By now Ross was calmer and the police had had their say so they started to leave, but the sage Police No. 2 tells my husband and I that we can’t argue. It gets Ross too upset. Well, well, now there’s sound advice. Apparently the guy isn’t married and/or doesn’t know my husband. :D Police No. 1 however, did ask me if I was going to be okay and I responded with, “I don’t know.”
When the cops left, I went back to the kitchen and finished making dinner. I tried to keep the tears at bay, but was unsuccessful. I kept thinking about that biting review from Amazon, and the reviewer’s statement that I should feel blessed I had been given a child with autism. I didn’t feel blessed right then. I didn’t know what exactly I felt, but I could certainly understand how some moms come to a point where they can’t take it anymore and leave. Not saying I condone their actions, but I certainly can relate.
For the record, Ross’s armor did not show up until three days after the event. The day the armor arrived, Ross and I had returned from a meeting with the Michigan Rehab people because Ross had gotten suspended from his job, the day his uncle was in a very serious car accident.