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The Living Without Series

This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out: liv011Living #2liv031liv04

Coal Creek Farm on Facebook

The Chicken Doctor

April

The Architect

Clay

I am Olivia Dunham, FBI agent, or am I?

Yesterday, after I was done with my crime fighting and alien investigating and criminal interrogating, I had to take my oldest son to one of his basketball games. I know, I know, I don’t know how I do it all either.

After watching two games I was ready to get home and get my two littles fed and to bed. Levi, my four year old had decided to crawl up in a ball on my coat under the bleachers and fall asleep, the poor little guy was so tired…of watching basketball.

I picked up my three hundred pound four year old and headed out of the gym. I was thinking how relieved I was that we had been able to park so close. When I turned the corner I noticed the door had a set of plastic posts and chains blocking the door and a sign that said something about the door being locked after 5pm, alarm, security, emergency exit, blah, blah, blah. This is a joke right? I mean there were hundreds of people in that building. Why on earth is this door blocked?

Behind me were several college students that had just come out of a class that were headed the same direction as me. I noticed the door was slightly ajar. My only other option was to go out the other exit and I was NOT going to go down two flights of stairs and then back up another two flights of stairs on the opposite side of the building to get to my van while carrying the seventy-five thousand pound four year old! So, I opened that door.

WHOOP! WHOOOOOP! WHOOOOOOOP! WHOOOOOOP!

The alarm was deafening. The college kids behind me turned and ran down the flight of stairs to get away from the crime scene.

But, I…the FBI agent, with the 90 ton sleeping four year old in my arms yelled, “LET’S GO BOYS!!! COME ON! GET THROUGH THE DOOR! RUN! RUN!” Because I am not about to let a stupid sign warning me not to go through a door or posts with chains blocking the door or an excruciatingly LOUD alarm stop me from going where I need to go. I am a professional. I am an FBI agent for crying out loud, I go where I want to go when I want to go and aint nothin-nobody-nowhere-no how gonna stop me!


And nobody did. So I took my tiny swaddled babe and placed him in his car seat. With a gravely voice I looked back at the building squinting through my new glasses and said, “That’s right Cowboy. Maybe next time Muchacha. Who’s the Boss Hoss. Get back Freckles. Don’t mess with Sweet Cheeks. It’s the Belle of the Ball. What say you Cha Chi? The Mighty Hunter has returned! What do you think Captain Bunny Killer is gonna say if he catches us? Whatta ya got there Rerun?….” and then my boys asked if I could stop talking so we could please go home. And we did, oh yes, we did.

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