Lively Conversations

A few months ago, the whole family was in the car for some reason. Probably running errands on the weekend.

Well, my kids cooked up the brilliant idea of going to the ice cream shop while we were out. And so commenced the begging. 

“Please, Mommy, please let’s go get ice cream.”

“Puh-leeeze! We really, really want ice cream, Moommeee!”

Being a rational parent who secretly wanted ice cream too but didn’t want to spoil their dinner, I said no.

Multiple times. There was lots more begging, whining, gnashing of teeth, ripping of hair, etc.

Finally, in an effort to put a stop to the incessant griping for ice cream, I told the children why we couldn’t stop. It was a very logical reason that I knew, once my kids heard, they would understand immediately.

I told them I had no cash and the ice cream place only accepted cash as payment.

So my extremely jaded yet wise son pipes up with the following comment.

“Just go by Title Max and get cash back.”

 Ah, the joys of parenthood.

How proud I must be, knowing my child can recite commercials for places that give you high interest loans. 

Fast forward to tonight, the kids and I are on our way home and lo and behold, what did we drive by?

A Title Max. So we reminisced about that lovely afternoon.

Which then led to a discussion about the logistics of loans. I didn’t go into much detail though. We’re talking about an eight year old and a five year old here so the grasp of finances was somewhat limited.

Anyway, as the conversation was coming to a close, my girl asks the following question.

“Mommy, who do you borrow from when you need $2?”

I said “You can ask me for that.”

“Who do you borrow money from when you need $10?”

My son adds, without any hesitation, “Daddy.”

My job is done here. I have taught them well. If only Sarge knew that he’s just another Daddy Warbucks to his kids.

Ask Sarge, Part . . .

In honor of Sarge’s birthday today, we’re going to have another installment of Ask Sarge. 

I need to give you a forewarning though, I don’t know how cooperative he’ll be.

So here goes. 

“As you have now successfully navigated through another year, what has your biggest accomplishment been this year?”

(As I ask this question, I am the receipient of a disgruntled look from Sarge.) I don’t know. Buying this house. 

“What has been the biggest disappointment?”

That I haven’t been promoted yet. 

“If one of your children wants to become a police officer, what are going to tell her/him?”

NO. Then he laughs. One might say slightly maniacally but not me. I’m a loyal wife. 

So I question him further “That’s it?”

If they want to be a police officer that’s fine with me yet I would attempt to steer them to something else. 

“If you weren’t a police officer, what do you think you would be doing?”

SIGH. Really, really big sigh.

I don’t really know.

Now Sarge is on the end of a very disgruntled look from his wife. Seriously, I have no idea. 

“Do you wish you had stayed in the National Guard?”

No. 

Note inserted: Can you tell from his answers that Sarge is not really a talkative fellow? This is how most of my interactions are with him. Me talking non-stop and him answering with mono-syllabic responses. 

“What has your favorite job been in the police department?”

I don’t know, each one has had its ups and downs.

“No single one stands out?”

Probably being the department’s spokesman because I got to be so famous (said with a fair amount of sarcasm).

“You work for an average of two years in each specialized unit and you’re at your two year limit with Narcotics. Do you want to stay or do you want to transfer out?”

I would like to get promoted to Lieutenant and get transfered out. Other than that happening, I’ll stay. 

Second note inserted: He didn’t take the hint. Personally, I am ready for him to transfer out but alas, my manipulations have been to no end. It just all goes straight over his head.

“Where would you want to transfer to, if you could have your pick of anything?” 

I don’t know. Really, I’ve . . . I got no idea. 

“Do you talk more to the guys at work than you do me?”

No. I talk to you a bunch, babe. 

Of course you do, dear. That has been so clearly in evidence for the duration of this conversation.

And so ends another segment of Ask Sarge. 

Here’s hoping he had a good birthday. Because it’s certainly not something he’s going to talk about or elaborate on or basically act semi-human about and so on and so forth. 

Peace out.

Odd Happening

Most blogs have a feature where you can look at all your statistics. Like how many views you have in a given day. Like what internet searches led people to your page. 

So today, I was looking through this information. And I read something from the internet search list that disturbed me on so many levels. 

On this Friday night, I want you to feel the heebie-jeebie vibe that I’ve got going on.

Someone put “wife shaves husbands balls” in an internet search.

And that search led them here.

I’m baffled, disturbed, discombobulated, and who knows what else.

I’ve really been trying to wrap my brain around this one. I know I am a wife. I know I’ve written about my husband here. I know I’ve also mentioned his shaving habits (actually, the lack of). There may actually be something written about soccer balls here too.

But there’s been no talk of . . . well, I can’t even go there. That would just fall into the “Too Much Information” category.

Have a lovely weekend and here’s hoping nothing strange occurs in your life.

Disappointment

“The size of your success is measured by the strength of your desire; the size of your dream; and how you handle disappointment along the way.” ~Robert Kiyosaki

These pictures have absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand. 

In the last two months, two lieutenant positions were opening up in the police department Sarge works for. 

Awhile ago, Sarge passed the written test for the lieutenant promotion and he also passed the role-playing assessment. A month or so later, he submitted his resume to be rated. Once that was done, he was placed on a list of eligible people to be promoted. 

Of course, he doesn’t know what his rating is or where he is placed on the promotion list. 

And Sarge just found out today that he did not get either of the two positions.

I don’t know if he was really banking on it but it was still a disappointment all the same.

He’s been with the department for 12 years. He’s been a sergeant for three years so I guess he’s still fairly green when it comes to supervision of employees. But he is a workaholic. He never hesitates to stay late. He never leaves his guys hanging. Five of the guys who work for Sarge came to help us move. They seemed very respectful of Sarge but also seemed to genuinely like him. 

In fact, I can attest to the fact that he is very passionate about his work. Not necessarily to the detriment of his family but there are times when I feel the kids and I compete with the job. 

In light of this not-so-good news, I felt we needed some comic relief as well as inspiration. 

Hence these pics of my boy and his stylin’ and profilin’ glasses. 

Who knows? Maybe one day Sarge will be a police chief. 

For the meantime, let’s just hope he gets promoted to lieutenant soon. Real soon.

Because Sarge has decided to grow his goatee/beard until he get promoted, as a protest gesture. 

Help me now. That man is really, really hairy.

And I want to get a family portrait made for our Christmas card.

Some nasty, long, stringy goatee is not going to cut it for my annual card.

Tales of the Dumb and Stupid

Edited: I called Sarge at work to check my recall of the facts and he had several comments/corrections. They are highlighted below. 

Today was only the second day of school and I am already exhausted.

But I’ve been wanting to relate this story about one of Sarge’s work days and it’s been brewing in my head for awhile. So here goes. 

To prepare for the actual writing of this story, I decided to enter the above title of this post into a search engine on the internet. 

The first two hits, ironically, went to “Dumb Criminals”- or “Stupid Criminals”-type websites. 

And that’s exactly what I am going to write about. The not-so-swift adventures of Sarge’s clientele.

It was a lovely Friday evening and an investigator that works in Sarge’s unit had been working these two fellows to score several kilos of cocaine. 

On a side note, cocaine is measured in kilos and marijuana in pounds. Something I didn’t know until Sarge so condescendingly educated me a couple of weeks ago. 

“I did not condescendingly educate you, I just educated you.” Strong emphasis on the “educated.”

Anyway, the two guys were a little reluctant to part with their drugs. The investigator set up a buy where he would purchase a kilo in advance. I am assuming this would be a good faith gesture on the part of the investigator to show the budding entrepreneurs that he was legitimate.

“They weren’t reluctant to give up their drugs. They just wanted to conduct the transaction on their terms. And we wanted to do it on our terms for safety reasons.” Duly noted there, Sarge. 

The dudes show up at the pre-arranged buy site and whoops! They get arrested. 

“Well, we met them a day before and showed them some money. Then the next day, they gave us a sample and then they did the final deal . . .” Man, my memory must really be going because I am definitely having a hard time keeping all the facts straight.

Yet another side note and something else new I learned. Cocaine is a drug that is often mixed with other ingredients also known as “cut.” There is a test you can do to determine the quality of cocaine. You put the powder in liquid bleach. The cocaine floats at the top. Anything that falls to the bottom is just the cut. The more stuff at the top, the better the quality.

Very interesting. Not that I’ve ever even seen the stuff much less conducted any experiments on it. 

Anyway, they do a field test (not the bleach test as Sarge also corrected me on tonight) and it’s not cocaine. In hindsight, I guess it would be a little difficult to be carrying around bleach and just whipping a glass out on the side of the street.  

So what could this mean? 

An intrepid investigator smelled the “kilo” at this time. His first reaction was that it smelled like drywall.

As Sarge related to me, it smelled like a new house under construction right after they’ve put up the walls and have sanded the seams. 

Lo and behold, it was drywall. 

These highly intelligent gentlemen had crushed up a bunch of drywall and tried to pass it off as cocaine. 

The really bad thing is they still went to jail even though they weren’t selling real drugs. 

I can only imagine these guys thought to themselves. “Oh, I’m not really selling drugs. I’m just pretending to. So maybe I won’t get in trouble.”

Their actual charge was “conspiracy to traffic cocaine.”

And it wasn’t even real cocaine.

And yes, they will be in jail for a fair amount of time.

“I gotta go back, back, back to school again . . .”

Can anyone name that song/musical movie?  

What, nothing?

Well, it’s an old classic, one that many of you will recall once I tell you the name. 

Grease 2. Yes, that bastion of great moviedom that launched Michelle Pfeiffer. 

My personal favorite song from the movie was “Cool Rider”. Alas, my dark coloring did not allow me to imitate Michelle as well as others. That didn’t keep me from trying though. 

Anyway, back to my original train of thought. Today was my kids’ first day of school.

A time of new shoes . . .

new clothes . . . 

and strange starts to our day.

You see, this is what Sarge discovered this morning when he went to wake up our boy. 

An empty bed. 

So being the brilliant part of our duo, I went straight to my girl’s room and this is what I saw. 

Look closely and you can see my barely clothed boy sleeping away with his sister. 

(To explain the blurriness, my daughter changed positions while I took this pic.)

Apparently, my poor, sweet boy had a nightmare last night and he came to sleep with his sister. 

And his loving sister stole his covers. 

After I took the first few pictures, I immediately covered him up. 

Then it finally hit me. He had a nightmare the night before his first day of kindergarten. Maybe he was anxious or worried or scared or something. 

Something I hadn’t picked up on because I so blindly thought he was excited to be going to kindergarten. In all honesty, it was my own excitement at not having to pay for childcare anymore that blinded me to the turmoil my son was going through. 

I was a terrible mother. So it was with a heavy heart that I walked with my kids to the bus stop. Thankfully, Sarge accompanied us as I was bound to turn into an emotional basketcase. 

Children, wait for me. Mommy wants to take a picture of the two of you together.

Seriously, kids, come here a moment. Mommy really needs to get a picture of you two smiling. You can get out of the bus line for just a second for one itsy, bitsy photo. 

Son, you didn’t give me a kiss. You’re my baby and you’re starting kindergarten. Doesn’t that at least warrant a look back at me? A quick hug? A tear or ten?

Baby? Oh my sweet babies! Why don’t you love me any more? 

And here they are after the first day right as they got off the bus. Did I get that hug? Or a happy grin? 

No, what I got was mad, grumpy child. 

Why you may ask? Did he have a bad day? Did he miss me so terribly that he just couldn’t recover? 

No, he was mad that I wouldn’t let him play video games.

All is right again in my world. My babies are home. I’ll take them anyway I can get them.

Indoctrination

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.

Well, it’s no good if you don’t get that picture.

And I did not take my camera with me tonight while we went to eat dinner with my sister’s family.  

After dinner, we (as in all the adults and the four children) played my brother-in-law’s complete set of all the Guitar Hero games. 

This was a moment, though, that I didn’t want to miss. Hence, these really fuzzy photos taken with my phone. 

My boy playing Guitar Hero II. 

He looks good, doesn’t he? He’s rocking it out to Cheap Trick’s “Surrender”. 

It’s a good thing these photos are so blurry because just about ten seconds later, the song failed. 

I wish I had thought to get a view of his face as he was concentrating. It was just plain comical to see his five year old little brain trying to keep up with the multitude of notes. 

All I can say is he just needs to wait a few years and he’ll be an expert. 

Because, you know what they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

Sarge was right there along with him, playing guitar to my son’s bass.

Basically showing him how easy it is to get completely sucked into playing video games for hours on end.

Adjustment Difficulties

I originally thought to title this “Adjustment Disorder” but as a social worker, I couldn’t really do that.

You see, Adjustment Disorder is an actual diagnosis of a mental health disorder. While I am somewhat crazy (using the layman’s term and in a very loose sense), I would not say I have a diagnosable condition. 

At least, not at this moment in time. As things seem to swing wildly for me on a day-to-day basis, this could change. 

Starting Monday, the kids are going to have to get used to only seeing their daddy for a few short minutes in the morning (on the days he actually gets up with us) and on the weekends. 

This change tends to throw our house into chaos. It’s already started for me as I have been back at work these last two weeks. 

I see Sarge for about, oh, two or three seconds in the morning as he is laying in bed sound asleep and I go to kiss him good bye.

We do this for five days then we all get to enjoy the weekend together. And on Mondays, the cycle starts all over. 

We (as in the kids and I) all have difficulty getting used to this. Sarge, not so much.

Over the summer, we’ve come to enjoy and take for granted the amount of time we get to spend together as a family in the mornings/early afternoons before Sarge goes off to work. 

Come fall, it’s like Sarge is only partially present in our home and family life. 

To make matters worse, things are obviously very stressful at work for Sarge. Every time I try to call him, he can’t talk because there’s always something going on. There’s been lots of mutterings about the FBI doing such and such and another agency losing pounds of marijuana and so on and so forth. 

I would like to say I’m a “glass is half full” person but during these times of change, I’m a wee bit of a pessimist.

This then progresses into pity. I start to feel sorry for myself because I get no relief at night from the various kids’ activities and  the chauffeuring around. To add insult to injury, I then think about how Sarge gets his “alone” time back in the mornings and it’s “game over” for me. 

If it were the holiday season, I would be muttering “Bah humbug” under my breath. Here’s hoping a nice, relaxing weekend will put me back on the right track.

“Demented and sad, . . .

. . . but social, right?”

It’s a quote from one of my favorite movies of all time. Not because it’s a classic or won an oscar or anything else that might be considered socially redeeming. 

It’s a fave because it reminds me of my adolescence and I could identify with all of the characters in some fashion or another. 

The Breakfast Club–a cult classic from the 80s. 

And why would I be thinking of this particular quote, you may ask?

Well, tonight, the kids and I went out to dinner with two other families. One family we have known for over three years (our girls were in kindergarten together and now are BFFs). 

The other family also has a daughter the same age as my girl but we met through this other family. Ironically, we bought our house from this family. So we’ve become friends. Kind of weird but also kind of nice. 

Anyway, the husband/dad of the new family and I were sitting next to each other at dinner and he was an excellent conversationalist. 

I’m fairly weak in that regard so it was a good thing he sat by me. He asked loads of questions about Sarge and me. 

As always, Sarge’s job became a major topic in our conversation. The hardest part for me is explaining his schedule. While he works a fairly set schedule (Monday through Friday 2:30 p.m. to 11:00 p.m.), the constant rotating through the various shifts and the rotating days off sometimes throw people. 

What makes it so difficult is that I’m become fairly desensitized to Sarge not being home at night. The kids and I, for the most part, just go our own way. 

One of the questions the husband asked me tonight was whether I was used to Sarge working at night. My immediate response is usually yes. But as we continued talking and he kept asking questions, I came to the realization that out of the 11 years we’ve been married, Sarge has only worked a traditional day shift for about two years of that time. 

It’s even more shocking to realize that those two years have been broken up into various increments of time.

One year, three months, five months and a few weeks here and there. 

When this is disclosed to someone in conversation, they seem to have a weird look on their face. 

I can’t pinpoint it though. It just always makes me think of that quote. 

The social part doesn’t exactly fit but the sad and demented . . . Well, if the shoes fits.

Obsession

I’m not talking about the Calvin Klein perfume that debuted sometime in the 80’s–although it was a personal favorite of mine. 

Why, you may ask? 

Because my old high school boyfriend wore it and it just brings back those lovely memories associated with young love. And foolishness. And well, I’ll get back to the topic at hand. 

I love to read but I have a wee bit of a problem. One might say my love of reading could borderline a true obsession.

Once I start a book, I have a very hard time putting it down. I’ve been known to read books in a matter of days. On a few, rare occasions, I’ve finished a book in one day.

Scary, I know. I need a life.

Not that my two kids and new house with loads of boxes to unpack don’t count as a real life. Or the fact that I work, have piles of laundry all over the place and now, a really big house to clean.

But let’s not go there. Too much reality. 

I also have very wide interests in my reading choices. 

I’ve done a few of the classics (Jane Austen is a particular favorite). Bodice rippers (my aunt calls any romance novel this) are another top choice-especially during the summer when I am basking by the pool. Mysteries, popular fiction and even kids’ books (particular faves include The Sisters Grimm series and the Harry Potter books) are all fair game in my book. Yes, pun intended.

But last summer, I discovered a new author, Stephenie Meyer, who has written a series. For young adults.

This didn’t keep me, an old, married adult, from reading it and enjoying it. These are the first three books.

I’m not going to give anything away but it’s a story about a human girl, Bella, and a vampire boy, Edward. There are also many other characters who come into play, along with great plot lines. You just have to be open with a little fantasy/non-traditional story lines in your reading. 

 

Stephenie Meyer is a great author. I thoroughly enjoy her writing style and even recommended her to my fellow social worker colleagues. One friend at work has already read the first book in two days. She is a woman after my own heart.

That friend also thought Bella, the main character, reminded her of me. You see, Bella is a bit of a klutz, as am I. One day, I shall tell you the lovely story of how I broke my leg, which has resulted in me having one leg a quarter of an inch shorter that the other.

The clincher in this fictional character, Bella, and me being alike is Bella passes out at the sight of blood. Yep, I definitely have that problem. 

And Breaking Dawn is the book that has taken me out of commission for the last five or so days.

So much so that this is what I did during my weekend without children. 

I read.

A lot. 

I also stayed up very late the last several nights.

To read.

I was late for work on Tuesday because I stayed up past midnight.

To read. 

You see, Breaking Dawn, was the climatic conclusion to the whole saga. And I had to finish it.

So I didn’t do any household chores. I didn’t get my kids their back-to-school clothes. I didn’t check in with all my favorites blogs (much less my own). I even cooked Pop-Tarts for dinner one night so I could get back to reading. 

It’s pathetic, I know. 

But I’m done. I finished it today. So here’s hoping I can get my life back on track. 

Until the next, brand new, really compelling, can’t-put-it-down book comes my way. 

Any suggestions? Because no one, including me, wants to get started on my laundry.