Sleepless City Night

"What's that noise, Mommy?" Cheeks asks half-asleep from his top bunk.

He's woken up and caught me peering between the dusty slats of his white faux wood blinds at 1 in the morning.

"Whatcha' lookin' for, mama? You didn't tell me what 'dat noise is."

"Oh, little man, it's just a big helicopter that's trying to land at the airport. A really special helicopter, so it's taking a long time. There's nothing to worry about. Just go back to sleep."

"Is that police guys outside?" he asks, raising his frizzy bed-head from his pillow again.

The flashing lights of four or five police cars refact off the walls of my sons' bedroom, on and off their bunk beds again and again.

"Nope. I think someone left their lights on their car. You know the flashing ones they use when they double-park."

Cue mega-amplified booming voice from the searchlight ghetto bird circling above our street, and what seems specifically to be our home, which is now completely illuminated with overhead light.

"Drop your weapons and surrender. We know where you are. Come out before our search dogs find you. They will bite. Surrender. You are surrounded."

Repeat scary message from the sky five or ten more times until all the children in the house are awake and you send your husband to double-check that all the windows and doors are securely locked and that no one is hiding out in the garage.

Try to explain that one to your scared kid in the middle of the night.