Conversation with Olivia

It's pretty well-established that I am quite pro-police. Anyone who knows me at all knows this. So it should come as no surprise that I have made it a point to teach my daughters that the police are our friends, and that they help people. Since I've been brainwashing Olivia now for over three years, she has become a big fan of spotting police cars and police officers. I'm still working on June. In just under two years, she's still more interested in spitting cows. In the short-term, I want my kids to know to go to the police if they need help and the Mrs. or I aren't there for some reason. In the long-term, I don't want my kids ever causing the police any problems.

I may have created a monster, though. Here's how our ride to daycare went this morning after we almost immediately got behind a local sheriff deputy, who we followed almost all the way to daycare (about 20 minutes).

Olivia: "*GASP*!!!" (Olivia's very dramatic.) "DADDY!! LOOK!! A police officer is in front of us!"

Me: "I see that, honey."

Olivia: "Police officers help people!"

Me: "They sure do! Very good!"

Olivia: "LOOK! He has lights on top of his car!"

Me: "He sure does."

Olivia (after pausing to contemplate): "Daddy, why aren't his lights on?"

Me: "Well, he's not on his way to help anybody right now, and he doesn't need anyone to stop."

Olivia: "Why isn't he helping anybody?"

Me: "I guess nobody needs help right now."

Olivia: "There's his lights!!!!"

Me: "Those are his brake lights, honey."

Olivia: "His 'bray kites'? What's that?"

Me: "Brake lights. He's just slowing down."

Olivia: "Why?"

Me: "Because there's a stop sign, honey, and he has to stop."

Olivia: "Why?"

Me: "Because everyone has to stop at stop signs."

Olivia: "Why?"

Me: "So cars don't crash into each other."

Olivia: "Why?"

Me: "THAT'S JUST THE WAY IT IS, OLIVIA!!!"

Olivia: "Oh." (Silence for about 15 seconds, but without even looking in the mirror, I can feel her eyes burning holes in the back of the police cruiser.) "There's his lights, Daddy!"

Me: "No, honey. Those are his brake lights again."

Olivia: "Why?"

Me: "Because he has to slow down."

Olivia: "Why?"

Me: "So he won't crash on the curve."

Olivia: "And then he'll get hurt?"

Me: "Yes. Then HE'LL need a police officer. And probably a fire truck." (Olivia also likes fire trucks.)

Olivia: "Oh. Because his car's on fire?"

Me: "Not right now. But it might be if he crashed."

Olivia: "Why?"

Me: "Oh for the love of........"

June: "MOOOOOOOOOOO!!! PBTHBTHBTHBTH!" (We passed some cows.)

Olivia: "There's his lights, Daddy!"

Me: "Brake lights again, honey."

Olivia: "Why?"

(I'll spare everyone the next ten minutes of conversation, but it was a windy road, so you can probably guess how it went.)

Olivia: "What's the police officer doing now?"

Me: "He's just driving, Olivia. Can we talk about something else?"

Olivia: "Where's he going?"

Me: "I don't know. He might just be looking for people to help. Do you see any cows anywhere?"

(Dead silence from June. No cows. Thanks for leaving Daddy twisting in the wind, June.)

Olivia: "Oh. He's not going to the grocery store?"

Me: "He might be. I don't know. I don't think so. Honey, let's just leave the police officer alone." (Where the HELL is a box truck when I need one to pull in between me and this police officer?!?!)

Olivia: "Why is the police officer not going fast?"

Me: "Because there's no one to help right now, Olivia, okay? Come ON!"

Olivia (as we pass a fire station with an engine parked out front): "Look, Daddy! Fire trucks! Why is the police officer not going with the fire trucks?"

Me: "Because the police officer works in a different place than the fire trucks."

Olivia: "He doesn't live there?"

Me (beating my head against the steering wheel): "No, Olivia. The police officer doesn't live with the fire tru--"

(The deputy pulls into a grocery store parking lot.)

Me (to myself): "Oh dear Go--"

Olivia (at maximum volume): "DADDY!! LOOK!! The police officer IS going to the grocery store!!! Is he helping someone at the grocery store? Does he need to buy food at the grocery store? Is he hungry? Why is the police officer at the grocery store, Daddy? Why? Do you see him? Look, Daddy! Daddy? Why? Daddy? Daddy! Why is your face red? Are you mad, Daddy? Are you frust-er-ated?"

(We finally get to daycare. Mercifully.)

Daycare provider: "Rough morning with the girls?" (Apparently I was exhibiting some telling body language.)

Me: "Just an overly talkative trip over here. You see, we got behi--"

Olivia: "We saw a police officer!!! He didn't have his lights on. But he wasn't going fast because he wasn't helping people. Then his lights came on. But that's because he had to stop. Then his lights came on again. Then they came on again. Then the police officer.................."

As I left the daycare provider in the midst of receiving the "exciting"--and incredibly detailed--account of our drive there from Olivia, I had to chuckle to myself.

She's got Olivia for eight more hours.