Our doorbell sounds fucking stupid

I hate clichés. I hate them even more when they turn out to be true. Or apply to me. Paybacks are hell. That would be an apt description of my summer with my 16-year old, kid #1. The husband and I have been tried on all levels. We have caught him smoking pot, lying about smoking pot, influencing his TWELVE year old brother to smoke pot, and stealing our car. Actually, the police caught him stealing our car. I am deaf in my left ear and like to drink beer. The husband likes to drink beer. This apparently inhibits our ability to be awakened in our solid state of slumber regardless of numerous incoming calls to both of our cell phones and even our home phone(yes, we have a landline!)
So the cops ring the doorbell. Let me explain our doorbell. Our doorbell broke. The husband replaced it. With the WORST doorbell ever. It kind of resembles church bells and sounds exactly like the alarm he sets on our computer every night. His alarm goes off at 5:00 am. Then 5:15. Then 5:30. I hate my husband most mornings.
So said night of kid stealing car and neither kid nor cops able to get a hold of the husband or I on cell phone or landline, the church bells go off at 2:30 am. The husband gets up and tries to shut off computer. He mistakenly thinks he needs to get ready for work. Church bells go off again and he realizes it is not the alarm. The he throws on a pair of shorts and goes downstairs. At this point, I am still discombobulated. Not for long.
The husband answers the door and the cops ask if he is missing a car. Husband looks into driveway.
“Why yes, sir, I am”.
“Are you missing a kid?”
And kid #1 walks out of the back of the cruiser. The husband was tired and I am not sure of the exact exchange. The police handed him a plastic bag with kid #1’s belongings, including but not limited to our keys, his phone, some screens, a bowl, and some marijuana. The car, our Saab, see My husband and his beaterPermalink: https://thefbombmom.com/2013/03/11/the-husband-and-his-beater, sat parked in front of kid #1’s friend’s house awaiting our retrieval. At 2:30 in the morning. When the husband has to leave for work at 6:00 am. We sat at the kitchen table trying to wake up and soaking up the severity and the sheer luck of the situation that had just transpired. We knew we had to leave and pick up the Saab. Meanwhile, kid #1 walks upstairs. With the bag. Including his pot.
“Did he just walk upstairs with that bag??” I asked the husband.
Yes. Yes, he had. The husband corrected that situation immediately. And then we begrudgingly left the house to pick up the car.
Okay. A couple of thoughts here.
#1. I am still unsure of how I feel about the cop sending the kid home with drugs. Don’t they pour them out or something? On the other hand, Kid #1 does not even have his license. I am relatively sure it would have cost an arm and a leg to try to get him out of the numerous tickets he could have been issued. No ops? Possession of drugs? Drug paraphernalia? Curfew? He (WE!!!) is lucky. Almost too lucky. What is the lesson learned here?
#2. The husband and I are guilty of every infraction that Kid #1 got busted for. BUT that was more than 20 years ago. And we never got caught.
Sigh. It fucking sucks being a parent sometimes!! There is more to this story but I’ll save it for next time. I hope you appreciate my hiatus. Because I fucking hated it.

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