Poor Clint called me from work the other morning with the bad news that his car battery had died and he was trying to find someone to give him a jump. He called back with the news that the Parkland police had helped him out and he was on his way home. This chain of events was the most exciting thing to happen to Charlie in a while (I know, we need more excitement in our life), and he immediately began peppering me with questions about the battery, the car's engine, whether a tow truck was needed, whether daddy needed to take the car to the garage, whether the car could be fixed at all, what the police officers said, what daddy said, why the battery broke, why daddy was wanting a jump, what is a jump, etc. He has been very interested in all things police officer lately (our favorite song is "Patrick the Police Officer" and our favorite story is Richard Scarry's "A Day in the Life of a Police Officer," about Sergeant Murphy, or, in our house, "Sergeant Charlie"). He jumped into police officer mode, demanding a badge, a hat, and to be referred to only as Officer Charlie or Sergeant Charlie. He zipped around the house on his police scooter fixing batteries in cars (which apparently involves a lot of yelling and scooter riding). At one point I saw him bent down on the floor, pretending to "fix" a battery, and overheard him saying, "Daddy is sitting in the car crying. Officer Charlie is fixing his battery. I'm a hero!" Poor Clint--I am not sure how he came out of this looking so helpless. In reality, he handled the whole thing quite well (and with none of the drama that Charlie imagined :).