Ever notice how you never notice when you are driving too fast? Until you pass a police car, that is. Then, quite suddenly, you know that you are driving too fast. The only problem is the policeman knows it too. You might hit the brakes in a futile attempt to impersonate a reasonable, safe, competent, responsible, law-abiding citizen, but it’s too late. The cop already knows better.
This happened to me yesterday afternoon. I had all the kids in the van and we were making our obligatory bi-weekly trip to Wal-Mart when suddenly I realized I had just passed a police cruiser. At least I thought it was a police cruiser but it was hard to be certain because I was going awfully fast at the time. My suspicions were confirmed, though, when I saw blue lights in my rearview mirror. When I pulled over to the side of the road a chorus of “What’s going on?” and “Why are we stopping here, Mama?” immediately erupted from the backseat.
“Cool!” said Ambrose as the officer approached my window. “Maybe we’ll get arrested.”
Officer Cop glanced cautiously into my van before asking me if I knew how fast I had been driving.
“Ummm, too fast?” I guessed.
Phew! Officer Cop smiled. Then he told me exactly how fast I had been driving and reminded me of the speed limit. Then, just in case I was slow on the math, he figured up the difference between the two numbers for me. It was a big number. In fact, it was such a big number that I will not share it here for fear of prompting my husband to revoke my driving privileges. Just know that it was a big number.
Officer Cop asked me if I had any particular reason for driving so fast. I told him no, and that was the truth. I just do everything fast. I think most mothers do. Quickness seems like a natural consequence of years spent hurrying to accomplish everything that needs doing during a baby’s nap. But I didn’t try to explain any of this to the nice young man. I just waited to see what he would do with me.
After leaving me alone for a while to ponder what my punishment would be, Officer Cop returned to my window, handed me back my license, warned me to pay more attention to the speed limits, and wished me a pleasant afternoon. Imagine that! My only punishment for my major infraction was that for the rest of the day the kids kept track of the speed limits and continually asked me how fast I was going.
“No rounding off!” Eamon cautioned. “We need to know exactly how fast you are going.”
I guess I deserved as much.