So The Police Show Up With My Eight-Year-Old Son…

Sounds like a bad joke, right?  Only it isn’t.  Through a series of miscommunications and things that would be heartbreakingly comic if I was watching it on TV, my son ended up freaking out on the school bus.  So much so that the school police were called.  My car had mysteriously died this morning, my baby hadn’t slept all day and was wailing, my daughter was so disobedient that her head was practically spinning, I was out of Coke Zero (yeah, the no caffeine for a month thing?  Longest month of my life), and then this?

At least the officer was nice.

My son was delighted to be home and buzzed happily around the house, checking to make sure that the microwave, washer, dryer, and vacuum were all in their proper places.  Absolutely no sign of the trauma that had ensued.

I will be driving him for his last two days at school, because on Thursday we move him to an autism classroom.  I’m not sure about his new placement, but his current one is an awful fit.  Obviously, yeah?

My little troublemaker.  Getting into scrapes with the law.  Egads.