O is for On Star

The little kids and I sat in the car, in the parking lot of Katie's drama studio, waiting for class to get out. Julia sat in the front seat next to me, and busied herself pushing buttons and emptying the contents of the glove box.

"Don't push that!" I said, as her finger moved in the direction of the On Star button. We don't have the service enabled, but the button holds a certain mystique. It's secretive and mysterious, like television, or meatloaf.

"What is it for?" she asked, wide eyed.

"Emergencies," I replied. "If you push it, the police come. And if the police come and there's no emergency, they will take mommy to jail."

(I know, I am a horrible parent. But my children are so used to this kind of teasing that they don't miss a beat.)

"You're kidding right?" she laughs.

"Nope. I would go to jail and then how would Daddy take care of all of you?"

"Easy," she shrugged. "He'd just marry some other lady."