Danger, Will Robinson!

Now that my earlier adrenaline rush has settled back to normal levels, I can calmly recount to you my mid-morning freak out, that is, if you're interested.

After a normal morning routine of diaper changing, breakfast for the men in my house, catching up with Matt, Meredith, Al and Ann, doing some laundry, diaper changing (did I mention that?), I had just leaned down to pick something up from the floor that had been tossed aside by a certain small person when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Within a split second, all my muscles had tensed up and I entered the Land of "No Reasoning Whatsoever." Outside, just beyond my car, there was a red Jeep Wrangler parked on the other side of our driveway. Aaaand, a man was sitting inside staring straight ahead, wearing a ball cap and what looked like some kind of barn jacket. I felt myself quickly sizing up the situation like I was on some sort of mountain version of a seriously dramatic crime show. Perhaps here is where I'll toss out the idea for Law & Order: Chattanooga, because obviously they need atleast one more spin off of L&O.

I hunched down and grabbed my phone. A quick phone call to the husband at work and all would be well. He'd come storming back home to confront this guy and then nimbly toss him off "our" property (we're renters). I waited calmly for him to answer and then launched into full "I am freaking out" mode. The husband did not, however, freak out. Nor did he offer to drive home. Rather, he suggested I hop in the car, drive by the man and roll down my window to politely ask what he was doing there. What?!?

And then, my friend Amy called, who was supposed to meet me for coffee down the mountain in just a bit. I filled her in on The Situation and told her I'd be at the bakery in 0.5 (aka 30) minutes. Unlike the husband, Amy was sympathetic to my plight. Let it be known that I will bring this up later when the aforementioned husband comes home tonight.

I quickly dressed Sam and I in our finest sweatsuit apparel and then, with beating heart and visions of villains dancing in my head, I bravely swung open the door.

Would he jump out of his Jeep and rush us? Would he grab Sam and make a run for it? Would he burn our house down with us in it? Would I have to fight him??? Luckily, I had done a few handstands in the den last night just to see if I could still do one and that little exercise made me confident that I was still limber enough to possibly wrestle this guy to the ground if it came to that.

And then he was getting out of his Jeep. (Insert suspenseful music here). I was rushing to our car to tuck Sam into his carseat so that my hands were free for fisticuffs. I glanced up to see this guy walking slightly toward us. I think he could tell that I wasn't going to be an easy target. He may have even been a little afraid of me (this is probably not true). But, then (DRAMATIC PAUSE) he said "Hi, Sam!" in a friendly voice. I stared at him awkwardly and then made even more awkward conversation while busily getting Sam buckled in and then hopping in myself.

Well, it turns out that my driveway interloper was, in fact, a foreman on the neverending construction project going on just past our front yard. He was overseeing his worker-men (an official term used by four-year olds everywhere) from the front seat of his Jeep (which, to be honest, still seems a little odd). Apparently, while my uber-extroverted mother in law was visiting yesterday, she had walked Sam down to meet the guys digging up our ditch and apparently made friends with this dude, thus his familiar greeting to my son.

All in all, it took about thirty minutes for my knees to stop shaking, but a latte and a Will-and-Kate-worthy scone (currant) from Niedlov's with Amy (who managed to look lovely even with semi-wet hair) was the perfect remedy for a minor nervous breakdown on my front stoop.

And so, all's well that end's well. But, seriously, all you worker-men out there need to drive something a teensy bit more official if you're going to hang out in my driveway. I'm not scared to fight you.