By Shya Gibbons of VintageDreamsWithAModernTwist
Sydney Miller is 35 years old. She has 7 children; four of them are 5 and under. Her husband works nonstop, so he is no help. Sometimes she hides in the bathroom with chocolate to sneak away from the kids, but they find her. They always do. No matter how delicately she opens the wrapper, the children pounce.
One night the children got into an argument over goldfish crackers. Each child had exactly 7, but the 4-year-old child had a tail missing from one of his. She told the child she had another bag to replace it, but he demanded justice and wanted a goldfish from the original pack. In the midst of the screaming, Sydney’s husband walked in and asked what happened. She explained the problem and he looked her, straight in the eyes, and said, “So fix it. I’ve been at work all day.”
That, my friends, is the day Sydney lost it. She grabbed her keys off the counter and walked out the door — slippers on her feet, her husband’s ratty flannel pajama bottoms, and a t-shirt from some college keg party she never tossed out. She pulled out and drove straight to the police station.
Officer Keegan McGuire is a 30-year veteran of the department. He had seen it all. Tires screeched into the parking lot. A woman entered wearing slippers, tattered clothes and her hair looking like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in weeks. She had glassy eyes with large black circles around them.
“May I help you?” Officer McGuire asked, hesitant yet intrigued.
“Yes. Arrest me. Please. Now.” That’s all she said, and she said it matter-of-factly and with even tone.
“Are you driving drunk? Or is it drugs? Did you hit something and flee the scene?” he asked.
“No, sir. I have never had a speeding ticket. I have never blown a stop sign. I only cross a street when a signal alerts me I can.”
“Ok, ma’am, then why do you want me to arrest you?” Officer McGuire asked, thoroughly flummoxed.
“I have seven children at home. I have not had a night away in years. I cannot shower without being handed permission slips to sign or being peppered by a million questions. I don’t get to sleep at night. I don’t get a hot meal. So, please, give me those things. Book me. Give me a quiet cell. Give me three hot meals a day and time to ponder life.”
Officer McGuire thought for a moment. He thought back to when he first started on the force and how exhausted his wife was from doing everything herself because he was always at work. He remembered walking in from a double. He had just worked 24 hours straight: two 12-hour shifts, and as he walked through the door he couldn’t wait to get to bed. But there stood his children, so excited to see him, and his wife, also excited to see him but looking exhausted to the core. They had two sets of twins and another daughter.
His wife had her hands full, and until he looked back on it later in life, he didn’t realize how large of a task she really had. But if you had to put her or him on the foreground of a battle line, he would elect her in a heartbeat because chaos, noise, unpredictable schedules, and keeping everyone safe were her wheelhouse. She was a warrior. She was a badass who could, and did, take on so many things. She had needed nights away, too, only he was too concerned with climbing the ranking ladder to better the family to notice that she had other needs. He made a mental note to pick up flowers after his shift for her, for it was a total stranger who came into the county jail that night and made him open up his eyes.
“Are your kids safe now?” the officer asked.
“Yes. They are with my husband. Here is my identification.” He looked at her driver’s license and noted she lived in a great suburban neighborhood.
“We are not supposed to do this, but come on in. I will call your husband and tell him you are safe and will be home tomorrow. Until then, this is your jail cell. I will alert you when it is time to eat or go outside. Until then, go take a rest.”
That is the story of how a stay-at-home mom with a squeaky clean record spent time in the county jail. She rated it 4 out of 5 stars, only because they did not have any of the Real Housewife shows on the television.
About the Author
Shya Gibbons is a full-time CEO (also called a stay-at-home-mom) to a precocious, blue-eyed three-year-old, and runs the blog Vintage Dreams With A Modern Twist. She is happily married to a gorgeous man who doubles as her best friend, and who loves her even on her worst days. She was born, raised and still lives in a picturesque small town where she has stacked up hundreds of bylines at the local newspaper. When she is not writing for fun, she likes to cook big dinners and bake. In her free time she likes to binge watch seasons of shows at a time where she gets far too attached to fictional characters. Her work was recently featured in the book I Just Want To Be Perfect. You can find more of her work on Facebook.