I felt particularly proud of myself that morning.   The diapers were fresh, the underwear clean, and the faces free of jam, honey, or marker as we headed out the door on time.   My twins were even wearing matching outfits more than an hour after I had dressed them.   Usually one of them had thrown up all over himself by now.  But not today!  Today, I felt like Supermom.

The sky was brilliant as I lugged the two car carriers down the front steps and into the blinding sun.   I felt like I’d come out of hibernation.  I’d spent so many months on the couch on bed rest and then caring for my two newborns, a team of CSI agents could create a full-sized likeness of me based on the imprint of my body on the cushions.

But today, we were going out.  The kids piled in the car, giddy with excitement.  I loaded up the twins and then headed for the garage to grab  Lurch, my beastly double stroller, aptly named after our first trip to the grocery store in which his rubber wheels went all askew and I ended up lugging fifty pounds of baby-laden stroller backward down the aisles.  I had not yet forgiven him.  Begrudgingly, I heaved his ridged frame toward the door.  Even when completely folded, Lurch was too big for the back of the minivan.  He sat up front with me, glaring at the road from the passenger side and thinking up ways to be impossible on my perfect day.

But once we were all on the road, it didn’t matter.   Everyone was happy.   We took the long way down a winding road with scenic views and the potential of a buffalo siting.  It’s always a great day when you see a buffalo.  I led the troops in a rousing rendition of The Wheels on the Bus while we scanned the field for its massive brown shoulders.  “The wipers on the bus go swish, swish, swish,” I sang, waving my arm back and forth in time to the music.  “What else does the bus do?”

“The lights on the bus go red and blue!” shouted Jonathan.

“Red and blue?  No, the bus has orange lights,” I said, wondering when that child was going to learn his colors.  Maybe he was colorblind?  I should look into that.

Faith interrupted my thoughts.  “No, Mommy, it’s a POLICE!”

I looked in the rearview mirror.  Sure enough, the red and blue lights of a squad car flashed ominously.  How long has he been following me?  I wondered if he had witnessed the arm flailing that had been coming from the driver’s seat.

“Did you break the law?” Jonathan asked fearfully.

“No, Honey.  I mean, I don’t think so.  Maybe I was speeding a little.”

A collective gasp rose from the backseat.  “You did break the law!  You’re going to be arrested!”

“No, guys.  They don’t arrest people for speeding.”

“They shoot them,” Faith whispered to Jonathan.  I cringed, suddenly aware of a major oversight in my children’s home education.

The narrow country road didn’t have a shoulder, so I slowed down until I came to the first driveway.   A metal fence decorated with razor wire and a handwritten “No Trespassing” sign were all that kept three big dogs from jumping onto my car.  Trespassing was the last thing on my mind.

The officer waltzed over to my side of the car and the kids immediately slunk down in their seats.  I rolled down the window and tried to smile.  He did not smile back.  He was probably allergic to dogs, I reasoned.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, Ma’am?” he asked.

I hated open-ended questions.  Once, a police officer pulled me over because the passenger seat belt strap was caught in the door.  I was ready to admit to just about anything, including driving with my hands on 5 and 7 instead of 10 and 2 before he told me why he’d stopped me.

“Do you know how fast you were driving?” he rephrased the question.

“Not really,” I confessed.  “I wasn’t really watching.”

My honesty took him by surprise.

“Are you familiar with this road?” he asked.

“It’s the road to Nana’s!” one of the kids offered.   Clearly, I didn’t have any excuses.  “We come this way all the time,” I admitted.

“Then you should know it’s a 35 mile-per-hour zone. “ He paused.  I nodded guiltily.  “You were driving 43.”

“We were singing,” I said by way of explanation.  I decided to withhold the part about the hand motions.

“I’m going to need to see your vehicle registration and proof of insurance, Ma’am.”

I dug around for my license, but then stopped.  The rest of the paperwork was in the glove box, and that was going to be a problem.  “I’m not sure I can open it,” I said apologetically, trying to reach around Lurch, who was propped up against the window like a dead body.

“What is that?” the officer asked, looking suspicious.  He poked his head through my window.

“It’s a double stroller,” I explained.

“His name is Lurch!” Jonathan piped up from the back.

“Mom calls him the ‘s’ word!” added Faith.

The officer’s eyes opened wide.

“That would be ‘stupid,’” I said, my face burning.  “The ‘s word’ is ‘stupid.’”

One corner of his mouth went up in a smile.  He peered in behind me.

“How many kids you got back there?”

“Five.”

“They’re all yours?”

“Yes.”

“All boys?”

“No, actually, the one in the pink is a girl, then it goes boy, girl, boy, boy.”

“Are those twins?”

“Yes.”

“How old are they?  Is that one the oldest?  How old is she?”

A car cruised past us cautiously.  The kids started rattling off their ages.  At this point in the conversation, I was no longer necessary.   I took the opportunity to daydream about Hawaii.

“When we found out we were having twins, I was so excited!” Jonathan was saying, leaning forward in his car seat so the officer could see him.  “I went around to everyone in Costco and said, ‘I’m having BROTHERS!’”

The officer looked at me.  “Jeeze,” he said with a low whistle, setting his hat back a little further on his head.   “No wonder you were speeding!”

With that, he returned his pen to his shirt pocket and walked back to his car without saying another word.

“He didn’t say good-bye!” Faith moaned.

The next week, we were back on the same road again.  This time, we were not on time.  The twins were wearing their third outfit of the morning and I had no idea what the clean underwear count was on this particular day.  We had left the house with the breakfast plates still on the table and a path of jammies on the floor.   I hadn’t seen my Supermom tights in days.

“Mom, are you driving the speed limit?” Faith asked.  They had developed a sudden interest in my driving habits since I was pulled over.

“Yes, I am!” I said glancing down at the speedometer.  37 was close enough.

“Then why is that police following us again?”

Sure enough, flashing lights filled my rearview.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”  I pulled over in the same driveway.  “Still not trespassing!”  I yelled out the window at the dogs already gathering by the gate.

The same officer got out of his car and approached my window.

“I see you’ve figured out how to drive the speed limit,” he said.

“I’m a quick learner,” I said wryly, wondering why he’d pulled me over this time.  Didn’t he know we were late?

He laughed.  “Well, I saw your car and I had to pull you over ‘cause I was talking to the wife about you and she knows this lady who had twins and she’s got a double stroller that’s about half the size of that one there,” he glanced warily toward Lurch.  “It’s just taking up space in the garage so she said she’d sell it to you cheap.  You said you came this way often so I took a chance.”  He fished around in his pocket until he found a piece of paper.  “I wrote her number down for you.”

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” I said, taking the slip.

“I figure any woman with five kids and a stroller named Lurch can handle a little harassment from the police,” he said with a wink.  “Watch that lead foot,” he called as he headed back to the car.  Then he turned around and came back and leaned in the window a little.  “You’re doing a great job, by the way.  My wife and I have four boys, and I remember that some days, it would have been good to hear that we were doing something right.”

I blinked quickly.

“Good job with those kids,” the officer said.  “I can tell they’ve got a good mom.   Now ya’ll get out of here before I have to arrest you for trespassing.”  He patted my arm and headed back to the squad car.

The kids waved at him as we pulled away from the salivating guard dogs.  “He wouldn’t really arrest us,” Faith said.  “We’re just kids.”

Jonathan nodded and smiled happily.  “Besides, he likes us.”

I spent the rest of the drive deep in thought as the kids chatted about the police man.  I wondered if I would have done the same thing, if I would have waited by the side of the road on the off-chance that a busy mom with a Herculean double stroller might drive by so I could help her out.  I wondered if I would really go that far out of my way to say a kind word to someone who needed it.  I hoped I would, but I knew the reality.  The reality was that I was often too busy, too self-focused, and too indifferent to go the extra mile.

“That man was really nice,” I heard Jonathan say.  I looked in the rearview at their jelly-smudged, smiling faces.  I might not be Supermom, I thought, but I am blessed.   A perfect stranger had taken the time to go the extra mile for me, and that made all the difference.