I spent the morning on the phone with lawyers - re GFG17 and other matters, then difficult child's DJO, then difficult child himself texting relentlessly. Says he wants to come home. Says I have to let him come home. Says he'll behave. Yeah, right. Oh, and says he needs money. So I'm finally eating lunch, after all the phone calls, and the doorbell rings. Not expecting anyone. Go to answer, no one is there. Walk back to desk, see difficult child thru the kitchen window, rush to shut blinds on patio doors. Then I spent about 20 minutes or so locked in the bathroom, listening to him try to get in. All the while he's texting me, asking when I'll be home. Since my truck wasn't here, he thought I was gone. I called husband who, obtusely, finally understood what was going on and called the police. I came out after they got here. All three of them. In three separate cars. I swear, I'm going to be evicted from the city one of these days. Listened to the whole "you have to let him in, he's 17, blah, blah, blah, CO says, blah, blah, blah". Told the officer fine, arrest me, charge me with a misdemeanor, I'm sure your jail is very nice. He declined, but offered to come inside with difficult child to "get some stuff". I gave difficult child the $20 I had on me, told him he still has $45 available - of his own money which I have - and they all left. Oh, and they gave difficult child a ride to where he was staying. Called my lawyer back, called the DJO back, left messages for all to contact that flippin' judge and have him make a DECISION, LIKE TODAY! Upside, I guess, is that the officers told difficult child to call them if he needed stuff from home and they go with him. Told me to call as well if he showed up without calling them first. Downside, besides my totally shot nerves, is that the little so-and-so broke the storm door. But, according to officers, "it's okay" because he LIVES HERE. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.