Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Teen Clean Up

I used to hate cleaning up after the kids. You know... you clean up poop, vomit, pee, food. You wipe clean asses, vaginas, penises, and testicles. You clean up poop and pee off your kids' assess, vaginas, penises, and testicles. It's the life of a mom. That's "kid" clean up for you.

Then those kids become teens and you are still cleaning up after them. However, "teen" clean up is much different from "kid" clean up.  

Here's today's example of "teen" clean up.

Today's teen clean up involved:  two police officers, an x-ray machine, some long waiting periods, a judge, and ultimately... my checkbook.

{Moms of small children-- doesn't your future sound charming?}

This morning at dark thirty in the morning, Doc H shares the news. D2's fix-it ticket {which we've been harping on her to take care of for over a month} was due yesterday. He asked if I would take care of it.

Being that the car is registered in my name, I thought I better. Only once in my life have I received a ticket and that was over twenty years ago. I don't know how these things work, but I do recall hearing of warrants for a person's arrest due to unpaid parking tickets on television shows. We all know televisions shows portray a spot-one, accurate account of our judicial system, right?

Scared to end up in the clink with a stainless-steel crapper and a burly girlfriend named Big Bertha, I headed to the police station in D2's car. 

The po-po at the po-po station told this step-mama I was in the wrong place. 


I drove across town to the courthouse as advised.

At the courthouse, I was made to empty my pockets and put my purse through x-ray machine as I walked through the metal detector. 

I was told to go outside and flag down an officer to inspect the vehicle and sign-off the infraction. I did. He inspected, but couldn't sign-off. The ticket was without a violation code.

{Lucky me.}

He motioned for me to go inside the court house and ask a clerk for a copy of the original ticket.

My purse was x-rayed, and I was scanned again.

Inside, I stood in a long line for an opportunity to speak to a clerk...
and waited...
and waited... 
and waited...
and waited... 
and waited...
and waited... 
and waited...
and waited... 

Finally, the clerk pulled up the original ticket and gave me the violation code. 

After a few laps inside the courthouse, I tracked down the officer. Outside, he inspected the car again and signed.

"Go inside and to a see the judge", I'm told.

My purse was x-rayed, and I was scanned again.

I stood in the hellish line again. The officer took pity on me and walked me to the front of the line. Nice kid. 

My paperwork was taken to the judge, where it was signed off and excused all while I waited and waited.

Finally, it came back with a stamp of judgmental approval. 

{Phew! All done cleaning up this mess... or so I thought.}

As I was tucking the paperwork back into my purse, the clerk said to me...
"Ma'am? How will you be paying the court and infraction fee?" 


I cracked open my checkbook, paid and left in a huff yearning to go back to the days where I wiped poopie butts, and piss off testicles. 

Then it dawned on me that I probably shouldn't wish that on myself. The reality of life is Doc H and I are getting older and older and older... and someday... someday... I might find myself wiping piss off testicles again. 


I guess I'll title that post, "Elderly Clean-up" when and if that time ever comes.

Let's all pray that time NEVER comes.


  1. Did you make D2 go with you ? I always make mine come when I have to go through things like that. I want them to see exactly what it takes to clean up their messes,I really want them to clean up their messes themselves.

  2. Having just washed my hands from my clean up of an itti-bitti, standing in line at the police station/court sounds like a nice break. I might even get to read a book or sit without having someone trying to pull my pants off my body, or causing a scene because I didn't bring enough food.

  3. One of my daughter's had a little trouble getting around to dealing with some of her traffic tickets. I finally dragged to court to get them taken care of . The judge was not amused by tardiness. She spent the weekend in county, humbled and with a new appreciation for promptly dealing any legal matters.


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