Dear Everyone at the Brea Farmer's Market on Tuesday at 4:13 pm:
I am sorry for frightening you. I did see some of the looks as I ran past, screaming "Red light, red light, red light" at the top of my lungs while pushing a baby in a stroller and dragging a four year old behind me.
To explain, I was chasing my son, who was headed straight into oncoming traffic. And "red light" is our code for STOP RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY!
Perhaps I should have been shouting STOP RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY! Perhaps that would have terrified you less. You may have chuckled and gone about your day. Perhaps one of you would have caught the 47 pound blur that is my son. And I'm fairly certain that if I had been shouting STOP RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY, about half of you would have come up to me to tell me that
A. It gets easier.
B. I should spank him.
C. I have my hands full; or,
D. I'm a horrible mother and you are calling Child Protective Services. Right now.
I just wanted you to know that I am not a crazy person who habitually runs around screaming "RED LIGHT" at the top of her lungs. I only do it about once a day. But you see, there is a reason I do it. I have a three year old who is determined to kill himself.
Don't get me wrong; if I was a crazy person, I would probably still run around screaming "Red light." But I wouldn't have an acceptable excuse.