My mom has me all freaked out about strangers. We had lunch today and she asked me about the ice cream man. I reassured her that we told the boys not to talk to the ice cream man without us. He is a stranger and we only talk to strangers with an adult we trust. Our conversation lasted less than 60 seconds but I was in full panic mode with a major tummy ache by the end of our lunch date. Rationally, I know that less than 6 percent of children are hurt by strangers and I repeated this to myself while pretending to listen to my mom--it didn't help.

Back at the office, I took some extra personal time to search the public library catalog and reserve five books about safety and strangers. They should all be ready for pick up by Monday afternoon. Once home, I waited for the perfect opportunity to brief the boys on stranger safety. Waiting for the perfect opportunity basically meant waiting for Stephen to wander out of ear shot so he won't think I am any more of a paranoid freak than he already does.

Boys, is the ice cream man a stranger?

Yes.

Do we talk to strangers?

No.

What if the ice cream man asked you to get in his van?

We don't.

What if he told you he needed help with something?

We still don't get in his van.

What if he offered to give you free ice cream?

Yes, we always take ice cream.

No, you don't take anything for free.

Whatever Mom, we always want free ice cream and we are going to take it.

No, you are not!

I was so close. So close. And then, seriously not two minutes later, a man driving an old Wonder Bread delivery truck towing a trailer full of gardening tools drives by and parks in front of the neighbor's house. As he turns the corner, he flashes us a toothless smile. Okay, so I know full well that I am about to generalize and stereotype and that most people are sincerely good folk, but today I don't give a damn. Dana has me worried. And what's more, I saw Mystic River. I saw Sleepers. I saw that movie with the cute little boy from Third Rock From the Sun that turned out to be so cute in 500 Days of Summer. And I won't ever be the same, especially as the mother of boys. Judge my neurosis all you want--I don't care.

I call Stephen back out into the yard and pretend that I want to show him the crazy truck that just pulled up. He is totally not interested and informs me that this fellow is now the new neighborhood landscaper. And he knows what up I am really up to. Damn him! He tells me to chill out.

About 30 minutes later, Wyatt is riding his bike in circles while waiting for Henry to come out and ride down to the neighbor's house with him. Once again, I seize my moment.

Wyatt, is that gardening guy a stranger?

Yes Mom, and I didn't talk to him.

Did he talk to you?

No Mom. Mom, I can take care of my own self, okay!

I know, I know. You are smart and competent. I trust you. But that doesn't mean I won't spend the rest of my life trying to protect you.



Yeah, I especially love the spray painted truck. He was totally channeling The Dude with a hint of the ice cream man and he was blasting Panama.