Roughly 10 years ago I discovered what it means when a sheriff's car pulls directly behind your moving van and follows at close range for a mile or two. They're radioing your license tag in at headquarters to search for prior convictions of driving under the influence. Let me explain. Please.

Driving a large vehicle with eight children aboard is not a responsibility to be taken lightly. Besides counting heads to make sure you haven't inadvertently left one behind, there is the usual routine of checking for buckled seat belts and admonishing the youngest ones to stop bugging, poking or "borrowing" toys from each other.

With the exception of trips to the dentist, snacks are mandatory when the ride will last more than 45 minutes. And that's just for me.

But since the kids tend to get whiny if I'm eating and they're not, food for the whole gang is advisable. On the rare occasion this is forgotten, those gas station marts that are placed at 10-mile intervals along the rural highways are quite handy. The last time I visited our local mart, there were so many pizza and hot sandwich ovens in the main area, the milk had to be removed from the normal refrigerator and set in a back cooler, just to keep it cold enough. (Hey, I hear some people even buy gas as these places.)

On the particular day in question, I dropped by a convenience store to purchase a dozen cookies, encased in nuclear-resistant plastic packaging.

A smart person would have opened them before she drove down the road, but sometimes it's hard to make intelligent choices when one's been sleep-deprived for nearly 15 years. In retrospect, I shouldn't have attempted this while driving, but I did and there were one or two ever-so-tiny adjustments to the steering.

With the children happily passing around cookies in a re-stabilized vehicle, I noticed a sheriff's cruiser following me closely. Despite the occasional cookie infraction, exceeding the speed limit was not my habit.

However, that sight in my rear view mirror called for a nervous glance at the dashboard. The speedometer confirmed my legality and though slightly puzzled, I drove on, secure in the knowledge that kids whose mouths and tummies are filled cannot distract their mother.

Weeks later, a county worker with access to a police scanner approached me in church. It seems the family name had been heard over the airwaves — in connection with checking for prior DUI's.

My chuckling acquaintance probably assumed I was not driving under the influence, possibility rendered absurd by an alcohol-free diet. That's part of what made it so amusing, as well as somewhat mortifying.

The short-lived and half-forgotten experience of sheriff surveillance all made sense. And I'm glad for the knowledge that our county is being protected. For a brief period there, it was even protected from me.

A toast then, to anonymity. And letting others open the cookies.