First of all, y’all are AHMAYZING.  I’ve been up all night, rethinking what I should and shouldn’t have done, second guessing everything, and just generally realizing how badly I thought I handled all of that yesterday.

Thank you for saying that I was okay for doing what I did.

Because all I could think about all night was this scene from Tarantino’s short-film Deathproof, and if you haven’t seen it, BY GOD, go do it because Zoe Bell in particular is the most kick-ass woman on the face of the planet.

This is what I wanted to do.  But I didn’t.  Cause I’m reserved.

Also, a little bit chickenshit.

Where I was antsy most of last night, today I’m LIVID. ANGRY. Like, Jennifer Lopez in Enough angry. Ready to kick-ass.

The turning point? Was my child waking up with his first ever nightmares. ALL NIGHT.

He’d wake up screaming, “NO, NO, NOT MOMMA, NO NO!” And now we can’t turn the lights off and he won’t sleep.

And that? That makes me angrier than anything I can even think of out of all that happened yesterday.

Bryan is home now, napping. Tony is playing in his room. With another person home, I finally got a shower.

I wasn’t kidding about the MMA stuff. Even if it’s something I’ll never, ever use, I’m starting some sort of self-defense stuff. Not because I’m scared, so much, anymore. But because I’m mad.

It’s strange, the things we do to keep ourselves sane. (And I’m sorry that I’m talking like I was beaten or raped or something yesterday. I know that what happened was BY FAR not the worst outcome, and I promise this will be the last I talk about it for some time.) The one thing I wanted to do last night was touch base with one of my high school friends, a guy who was always super protective of me and would threaten to break knees at the drop of a hat. Even though he was a good 13 hours away, just to know that he knew what had happened and that he was “looking out” for those guys? Did weird amounts to make me feel better.

I’m going to Snark tonight, per our usual. And I’m going to try not to talk about it, because, let’s face it.. that’s not the place. I think being in that studio with my BFF and Gellman will do a lot for me, though. It’s a safe place there.

I hate that I look at things like that now.

Dear Precious Little Baby Girl,

I am sorry for your circumstance.

Please grow to be a better person than your father.

The morning was so nice.  Like, really, really nice.  Had a great meeting with my freelance gig, cut a few spots, made my way to the office.  Got tons done, all my junk packed and loaded in the car, and I left work at 5 feeling like, you know, I was in a good place.

Driving to pick up Tony, that all changed.

About two or three miles out from Tony’s daycare, I noticed a purple SUV tailing me.  I never in a million years suspected they were following me, since I am not ACTUALLY a ninja (although I play one on tv).  I merely thought, “Oh, look, they’re going the same way I am, albeit it very, very close to my rear bumper.”

When we both pulled into daycare, again, I thought nothing of it.  It was five o’clock.  It’s a busy time for child pick-up.

When they pulled in next to me, blocking my car door with their vehicle, I thought little of it.  People get busy, people don’t notice that what they do affects others.  I merely shrugged from inside my car and pointed, half-smiling, to the fact that they’d blocked me in.

That’s when they rolled their windows down and started yelling at me.

“YOU AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE.  YOU GONNA SIT RIGHT HERE TILL THE POH-LEESE COME AND THEY GONNA WRITE YOU A CITATION OR SOMETHIN’ CAUSE YOU KNOW YOU RAN THAT RED LIGHT AND TRIED TO HIT US.  YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!”

Um, sorry?

“DON’T PRETEND YOU DIN’T KNOW CAUSE YOU DID YOU SAW US DRIVING AND YOU TRIED TO HIT US AND THE POHLEESE IS ON THEIR WAY AND YOU AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE.”

Yeah, um, guys, I think you’ve got the wrong gal.  Also, I’m here to pick up my child.  Take my tag number, do what you feel you have to do, but I’m going to get my baby now.

“YOU KNOW WE GOT A BABY IN HERE TOO AND YOU WAS TRYIN’ TO HIT HER WIT YOUR CAR!”

Yeah.  Okay.  Going in now.

I shook off the insanity as I slipped the car door open as little as I could and slid out, then made my way in to the daycare.  Hindsight what it is and all, I should’ve asked for help then.  I should’ve.  I didn’t.

I got Tony and we beebopped around, like always, saying goodbye to the fish and to the water fountain and to every other object a two year old says goodbye to on the way out the door.

And outside, the purple SUV was gone.  See?  I did the right thing by walking away.

I picked Tony up and we looked for the sun (no) and the moon (no) and birds (heard ‘em), and then I strapped him in.  I got in my side of the car and started my engine, and before I knew what was happening, a purple SUV pulled in behind me, so close that I felt his bumper on mine.

I was scared, and I’d be lying to say otherwise.  But I was also MAD.

Hindsight what it is and all, I should NOT have approached his car.  BUT BY GOD, I DID.

What do you think you need from me?

“WE DONE TOLD YOU YOU AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE TILL THE POH-LEESE GET HERE AND THEY ON DERE WAY SO I AIN’T LETTIN’ YOU LEAVE.  WE GONNA GET YOU.”

I see the baby in the back.  A sweet, cherubic face, sleeping through all of this.  There is some mercy in this story.

Is this REALLY the best thing you have to do with your time today?

“I GOT ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD AND YOU AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE.  YOU TRIED TO HIT US AND THE POH-LEESE GONNA SETTLE THIS.”

We both have babies.  Let’s get them home and move on, hm?

“NO, YOU AIN’T LEAVING.  I AIN’T LETTING YOU LEAVE.”

I go back to my car and slink in the front seat, unsure of what to do.  I call Bryan, who is OF COURSE out of town, and I begin to cry as I tell him what’s going on.  He tells me to call the police, and I say they already have, and he says Sarah, they’re probably LYING and you need to call them.

I hang up with him and call 911.  The lady calmly took my information and informed me that, no, they did not have a request for a squad car to my location.  So she would send one immediately and would stay on the line with me until one arrived.  But I was by no means to get out of my car again.

I saw a squad car enter the parking lot so I thanked her and hung up.  I called Bryan back and said that there was a cop present now and he says I know, I called the center and they sent the assigned one over. (I LOVE OUR DAYCARE. HAVE I MENTIONED THAT LATELY?)

I get out and talk to the cop, no longer trying to play strong.  I sob that these men won’t let me leave, and they’ve got me terrified and I have a child in the car and I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT.

Then they’re out of the car and yelling at me again so I head back to the car and sit in there, windows up, trying to convince my empath of a son that, no, Mommy’s fine and, no, we can’t go home yet.  Just a little longer.  I’m so sorry, baby.

I hear the yelling go on and on and then the second responder, the one I had requested, shows up.  He comes to my car immediately and calms me down, and while the window is down I hear them yelling again that I was trying to kill them.  Because they were black. I stopped mid-sentence, mouth agape, at this.  The cop shook his head.  “Don’t listen to that, ma’am; they’re blowing this all out of proportion.  We’re letting them get some steam out.”

“SHE WAS AT A DEAD STOP AND WE WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INTERSECTION AND SHE SAW WE WAS BLACK AND SHE SLAMMED ON HER GAS PEDAL AND TRIED TO HIT US AND SHE DIDN’T EVEN SAY SHE WAS SORRY!”

Jesus, I say.  Really?

The cop shook his head again.  “Take some deep breaths, ma’am.”

Still screaming.  So much yelling.  Both men, yelling at the cops, who are calmly informing them that what THEY did is a chargeable offense and what THEY’RE doing is wrong and I owe them nothing and, no, a citizen’s arrest doesn’t work that way and I’m crying and the baby’s crying and OH MY GOD THIS ALL SUCKS SO HARD.

The staff at our daycare came out periodically to check on us, but JESUS, how embarrassing.

The cop comes back over.  “Ma’am, we’re making them leave.  And I’m going to stand here and talk to you and calm you down for about ten minutes after they’ve left the premises.  Do you need us to call anyone for you?”

Who?  Who would you call?  Yes, I’d like you to call Dog the Bounty Hunter.  Is he available?  Cause I need him at my house, STAT.  Hell, I’ll even take Johnny Weir at this point.

I take deep breaths and say the biggest lie of the day, even bigger than SHE TRIED TO KILL US AND MY BABY BECAUSE WE’RE BLACK: I say, “I’m fine.”

I drove around for an hour before I felt comfortable pulling into any driveway.  And I was still a nervous wreck.

And now, although I’m not scared any more, I’m antsy.  Any noise in the house catches my ear.  The baby’s not sleeping well.  Part of me wants to take a Xanax to sleep, the better part of me knows I need to be alert tonight.

Growing up, I never ever worried about defending myself.  I knew I could.  I knew I was smart enough and strong enough to do so.  But now?  I’m not defending me, and I realized today how incredibly inept I am at it.  I went home and priced tasers.  I’m debating carrying pepper spray.  I’m wondering if any dojos around here teach MMA or at least a self-defense class.

Because, today, I was made a victim.  And I promise: NEVER A-FUCKIN-GAIN.

I am a cryer.

I used not to be.  In fact, I could count on one hand the things that made me cry: Pixar, animals, and third-world poverty.  That was it.  Nothing else even MOVED me.

Then I had a baby.

Suddenly, I am a CRYER OF ALL THINGS.  Like, seriously.  It’s ridiculous.

This morning, I was treating myself to a Starbucks run (although it was the cheapest coffee trick in the world: order a misto instead of a latte and save yourself $$ AND calories).  I ordered at the speaker, and while waiting to get to the window for pick-up, an On-Star commercial came on.  A woman called On-Star because her son was having a seizure.

“Baby, look at ME,” the mother coaxed.  “LOOK AT MOMMA,” the mother begged.

“Ma’am, just let your son seize,” coached the On-Star rep.  “Turn him on his side if he starts coughing.”

And I?  Made it to the window a blubbering mess.  Sobbing.  The poor window attendant didn’t know what to say.  “On-Star,” I sobbed.  “Her son was seizing.”  The Starbucks lady just nodded and handed me my drink.

“Have a nice day,” she said, cautiously.

****

I took Tony to the park last weekend.

It should be noted that I have a firm agreement with gravity that strictly prohibits any of the following: carousels, skates of any kind, roller coasters, and slides.  Yes, slides.  I wouldn’t get on one until I was, like, eleven and even then I had a mental breakdown at the top.  I was a worrier.

This, however, was my child.  Nothing could stop him.  It’s hard to let go of my issues and let my child roam without The Fear.  But I know it’s the right thing to do.

****

Last night, we took the boys to a Chick-Fil-A with an indoor play area. We had a great tease of spring this weekend, with highs almost in the 70s, but now we’re suffering back through snow flurries. Which a child who is now “SIDE” obsessed doesn’t understand. “SIDE?” he asks all the time now. “PARK?!”

We hadn’t anticipated being the one of a hundred families with this same idea, and the HUGE, three-story play area was FILLED with crazed children.

Jack, being the amazing big brother he is, calmly held Tony’s hand. He lifted Tony through I don’t know how many tubes and steps that Tony is just not big enough to tackle on his own yet. He coaxed him into the higher levels, encouraging Tony to look down and wave to us from whatever monstrous height they were at. The slide proved to be too much for Tony to take on, so Jack patiently got him all the way back down, never losing patience or getting frustrated that he wasn’t free to play.

I wasn’t a cryer before.

But I’m always amazed at what causes my heart to overflow now.