Posted by: Bonnie Anderson | May 17, 2011

When I’m not Fighting Crime, I Like to Spend Time with my Grandkids

Last month my grandsons (who live directly behind me) moved, and they took their parents with them.  I don’t blame the boys – this decision was forced upon them.  After all, they are only three and four years old.  It’s a little surprising, though, in light of the fact that I have done everything in my power to be the perfect mother/mother-in-law/grandmother/neighbor.  Let me cite one example here for you.

One fine day I got up, started the coffee, got dressed, brought in the paper and looked to see what was going on in their house behind me – you know, just another day.  At approximately 0925 hours (that’s 9:25 am for you civilians) I saw the top of a head of dark hair on our son’s porch.  I watched, thinking that it didn’t look like a familiar head, and then I saw another head pop up. I called my daughter-in-law.  She had left home minutes before to run an errand. I began to be suspicious.

While on the phone with her I went out back and opened the gate between our yards only to discover two men trying to break into their house.  I yelled at them, hung up on her and called 911.  They took off through the breezeway and I ran behind them (quite a bit behind them, I’m afraid I’m not very fast anymore, yet I seem to be quite intimidating).  They headed down the street with another alert neighbor giving pursuit in his truck.

They were dressed in jeans and dark shirts with red bandanas around their necks.  When I yelled, they immediately pulled the bandanas over their mouths and noses and took off.  Thankfully, they did not gain entry to the house.  My neighbor and I were able to give our statements to the police and hoped our information would be helpful when it came time to finger the perps (identify the alleged thieves).  Later that same morning, a cruiser stopped by and picked up my neighbor and me.  He threw us into the back of his squad car (gently) and off we went to watch a couple of guys get arrested.  I had never been in a police car before (honest) and I must say it is quite uncomfortable.  The seats are hard plastic and give no lumbar support whatsoever.  I think this is part of the plan to make a life of crime more undesirable. 

From behind darkened windows we could see these guys get taken down but were not able to make a positive ID (pretty sure wasn’t going to cut it).  The police thanked us for doing our part and gave us several safety suggestions, tops among them being never to assume that someone wearing a red bandana over his mouth and nose while running down the street is suffering from allergies; call the police. 

 Moving day arrived and to help ease my pain, I watched all five grandchildren.  My daughter went to help, so I had her kids, too.  It was a memorable day (I still remember it).  We took a walk, had popsicles, built the Brio train, played Duck, Duck, Goose and ate yogurt.  During the boys nap time the girls painted and I refueled with some strong coffee.

By the time the children were picked up, I was sufficiently too tired to mourn over the move, or even to move myself.  But, by the strength that only God can give, I did move, even if it was just from the chair to a hot bath.

As the days have passed, I’ve been sad to see the darkened windows of their house and I’ve missed having my sweet daughter-in-law stop by with the boys during her morning walks.  But they only moved fifteen minutes away – I think I’ll have to grab a box of tissues and begin to deal with this.


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