Normally, I try to write all things amusing and lighthearted as the world can be a rather a grim place as is. However, this morning, I received my reality wake-up in the form of Numero Uno pounding on the door at 7am. After letting him in with a whoosh of cold air, I went to rouse the kids, including the one who had stealthily slipped into my bed after Numero Uno's departure early this morning. All the joyful, chaotic noises of morning rose and I sat down on the couch for two minutes of snuggles before the daily rush out the door. Abby had run to N.U., chirping, "Hi. Dada." and was curled against his chest, sucking on her fingers. Savannah had instructed me, "Here, Mom. Sit HERE!" and was cuddled against my side, cup of milk in hand. Drew had relocated to the loveseat, re-initiating the hibernation act with coverings from head to toe.
N.U.: You remember the party we were supposed to go to on Saturday?
Me: (nodding silently as loquaciousness comes with consciousness)
N.U.: The guy who was throwing it killed himself last night.
We hadn't missed the party because we had wanted to but because NU had picked up an overtime shift.He had originally wanted to go because, being new to the department, it was the first time he had been invited to anything by his fellow officers after the training had been completed.
My mouth hung open for a moment and all the sweet drowsiness cleared from my head.
Me: Oh no! What happened?
NU: (shrugging) He's been going through some stuff, I heard. He always seemed like a really upbeat guy to me.
Me: (slowly) I'm guessing he's divorced?
NU: Yeah. A really nasty one that's still going on.
Me: Kids? (mentally crossing my fingers that the answer will be in the negative.)
NU: One.
I leaned back, Savannah re-tightening her grip on my shirt, just in case I feel like getting up without her consent. Having been a LEOW (law enforcement officer wife) for several years now, this, sadly, is not the first time I have heard news like this about NU's fellow officers but it is the first time in this department. Every time, even not knowing the officer personally, it's the same response - my heart hurts. It hurts for the officer - for all the pain he/she must have been in and the utter despair and crushing hopelessness that must accompany the decision to take his/her own life. It hurts for those left behind to pick up the pieces of a life cut short and the anger that must surely accompany that.
There are no comforting words to eliminate this pain, this sense of loss, but I strive to remember this - cherish the life around you. Make sure people know that you love them through both word and deed. Keep your eyes open for those who need a smile, a friendly word, affirmation that they are valued. People will make their own choices but you might never know if your kindness tips the balance towards that positive decision.
My heart is heavy today and I'm going to kiss my kiddos now. I kissed NU goodbye as he left.
Cherish it. I know I will.
The links below are links for confidential crisis referral services for first responders. JIC
http://www.facebook.com/safecallnow
http://www.facebook.com/1stResponderTreatment
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Genetics at its finest
Every so often, I am reminded these are MY children as they do something so completely Gaylenelike that it would be impossible not to attribute it to my DNA or potentially blame it on Brandon's input as I am wont to do. Sometimes, it's a look or a gesture that gives this genetic link away. Other times, it is a preference or refusal that would tip you off. Recently, my monkey boy has begun to decline bananas, claiming he hates the way they feel in his mouth. Oh son, you are my progeny! However, today was another reminder all its own.
For those of you who know me, this comes as no surprise to you. I am NOT a morning person. I don't dislike the morning but it simply comes so early and I would rather bypass at least part of it by not rising to consciousness until at least 8:00 or later if I can get approval from the Stalinesque munchkins who dictate my schedule. When I say, "I'm not a morning person," this also means I like to stay up too late and thus when you bother me before 7am, my first instinct is to say, "GO THE H*^& AWAY" in the nicest tones possible which may not be that nice if I didn't get to bed in the hour that my declining age recommends.
Prior to last year, Drew was our early bird and woke up at 6am on the dot, EVERY SINGLE DAY, EVEN SUNDAYS. While this trait was exceptionally helpful during the school year, Numero Uno and I loathed it on the weekends and have sunk to exorbitant levels of bribery just to busy him for another twenty minutes of shut-eye.
In an unexpected answer to our muttered weekend pleas to above, all that changed last year. I began having to drag (not figuratively-literally) Drew from his bed in order to foist food down him, shove his clothes upon his wiry frame, and have him semi-ready prior to his ride arriving for school. For those inquiring minds, my best time is 4 minutes, 24 seconds and yes, handing him a barely heated egg and sausage burrito totally counts as breakfast.
Then we moved and it was summer and it was glorious and I didn't really think about the need for schedules and we all woke up whenever we darn well pleased and it was AWESOME! And then it was August and there was talk of school and education and I couldn't hear the muttering that I heard last year as I realized my school had been taken over by aliens babbling about test scores and unemployment and subject collaboration with a low muttering keen that I later discovered was the repressed growls of teachers who were wondering why they couldn't just teach and be done with it. Since this was an experience I missed this year, I didn't think about Drew's need to be to school on time until I realized that, hello, he needed to be to school on time.
The only problem with this plan is that Drew, like his mother, is NOT a morning person. He has evolved from a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed sort to the kid who glares at you when you turn on the light and has at least twelve reasons why bed is better than getting up. (I'm not disagreeing with his logic, people, just his location.) These reasons include the extraordinary level of exhaustion, legs unable to function, disagreeable temperatures (that's a new one), desire to stay home in order to play with his sisters in a way that won't leave them screaming for Mom, and not feeling well unless cookies are on the menu for breakfast in which case, he'll have six with a side of milk.
This morning, Drew came crawling into our bed after Numero Uno had vacated the premises, leaving his warm side of the bed available and unguarded. He wrapped himself up in our patchwork quilt with a sigh of delight and burrowed his head under the pillows. I got out of the bed, because of course I was running late already and mentally wondering what I could put off till tomorrow from my Get Er Done list, and turned on the reading light directly over the bed as an incentive to wake lil Procraster up. I started some laundry, packed his lunch, unloaded the dishwasher, and came back to find all the lights out and Drew completely ensconced within the blankets from head to toe. You may think that my soft mother heart hesitated before I reached to pull to blankets off his little warm body but you would be wrong. If I'm not sleeping in cause he needs to go to school, he's not sleeping in! The family that suffers together...well, I'm sure they attend therapy together at some point. Felt bad? Yes, but only a little. Hesitated? Heck no.
I pulled the blankets back and that stinker was O-U-T. He was such buddies with the Sandman, it took a few minutes of cold air on his skinny legs before he opened his eyes and gave me a truly unpleasant look from the little slits that were his eyes.
Me: (pulling up the shades so light pours it and turning on the other lights for good measure) Good morning! Time to get up!
Drew: No.
Me: (cheerily) You have to get up for school. You are already running late. Up and at 'em! (When all else fails, fake it!)
Drew: (A look of complete disdain and dislike shooting out of his eyes at me) No.
Me: Come on. Don't you want to go and see your friends? See Ms. Greene?
Drew: No.
At this point, I was starting to feel like I was in some Freaky Fridayesque experience and Savannah or Abby had actually taken over Drew's body, explaining the single word rejection to all of my commentary.
Me: Let's go! What would you like for breakfast?
Drew: (grumpily as he begins to slide out of bed) Nothing. I'm not hungry.
Me: Okay. Well, go do your jobs and maybe you'll be hungry in a bit.
Drew: Fine. (He didn't stomp but I think it's just because he was still achieving conciousness.)
A few minutes later, I stuck my head in his room to ensure that the Master Procraster hadn't, once again, taken over. Upon seeing him, still in his jammies, reading a book upon his unmade bed, I realized, once again, that he was and is his momma's boy and not only have I passed down my dislike for the early rise, I have passed down the predilection for book immersion in lieu of punctuality or properly coiffed hair or even clothes at all. These genetic traits, now demonstrated in Drew, assure me of one very important thing - we are probably never going to be on time to anything in the a.m. again. Forgive us, people. Books and bed will do us in every single time.
For those of you who know me, this comes as no surprise to you. I am NOT a morning person. I don't dislike the morning but it simply comes so early and I would rather bypass at least part of it by not rising to consciousness until at least 8:00 or later if I can get approval from the Stalinesque munchkins who dictate my schedule. When I say, "I'm not a morning person," this also means I like to stay up too late and thus when you bother me before 7am, my first instinct is to say, "GO THE H*^& AWAY" in the nicest tones possible which may not be that nice if I didn't get to bed in the hour that my declining age recommends.
Prior to last year, Drew was our early bird and woke up at 6am on the dot, EVERY SINGLE DAY, EVEN SUNDAYS. While this trait was exceptionally helpful during the school year, Numero Uno and I loathed it on the weekends and have sunk to exorbitant levels of bribery just to busy him for another twenty minutes of shut-eye.
In an unexpected answer to our muttered weekend pleas to above, all that changed last year. I began having to drag (not figuratively-literally) Drew from his bed in order to foist food down him, shove his clothes upon his wiry frame, and have him semi-ready prior to his ride arriving for school. For those inquiring minds, my best time is 4 minutes, 24 seconds and yes, handing him a barely heated egg and sausage burrito totally counts as breakfast.
Then we moved and it was summer and it was glorious and I didn't really think about the need for schedules and we all woke up whenever we darn well pleased and it was AWESOME! And then it was August and there was talk of school and education and I couldn't hear the muttering that I heard last year as I realized my school had been taken over by aliens babbling about test scores and unemployment and subject collaboration with a low muttering keen that I later discovered was the repressed growls of teachers who were wondering why they couldn't just teach and be done with it. Since this was an experience I missed this year, I didn't think about Drew's need to be to school on time until I realized that, hello, he needed to be to school on time.
The only problem with this plan is that Drew, like his mother, is NOT a morning person. He has evolved from a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed sort to the kid who glares at you when you turn on the light and has at least twelve reasons why bed is better than getting up. (I'm not disagreeing with his logic, people, just his location.) These reasons include the extraordinary level of exhaustion, legs unable to function, disagreeable temperatures (that's a new one), desire to stay home in order to play with his sisters in a way that won't leave them screaming for Mom, and not feeling well unless cookies are on the menu for breakfast in which case, he'll have six with a side of milk.
This morning, Drew came crawling into our bed after Numero Uno had vacated the premises, leaving his warm side of the bed available and unguarded. He wrapped himself up in our patchwork quilt with a sigh of delight and burrowed his head under the pillows. I got out of the bed, because of course I was running late already and mentally wondering what I could put off till tomorrow from my Get Er Done list, and turned on the reading light directly over the bed as an incentive to wake lil Procraster up. I started some laundry, packed his lunch, unloaded the dishwasher, and came back to find all the lights out and Drew completely ensconced within the blankets from head to toe. You may think that my soft mother heart hesitated before I reached to pull to blankets off his little warm body but you would be wrong. If I'm not sleeping in cause he needs to go to school, he's not sleeping in! The family that suffers together...well, I'm sure they attend therapy together at some point. Felt bad? Yes, but only a little. Hesitated? Heck no.
I pulled the blankets back and that stinker was O-U-T. He was such buddies with the Sandman, it took a few minutes of cold air on his skinny legs before he opened his eyes and gave me a truly unpleasant look from the little slits that were his eyes.
Me: (pulling up the shades so light pours it and turning on the other lights for good measure) Good morning! Time to get up!
Drew: No.
Me: (cheerily) You have to get up for school. You are already running late. Up and at 'em! (When all else fails, fake it!)
Drew: (A look of complete disdain and dislike shooting out of his eyes at me) No.
Me: Come on. Don't you want to go and see your friends? See Ms. Greene?
Drew: No.
At this point, I was starting to feel like I was in some Freaky Fridayesque experience and Savannah or Abby had actually taken over Drew's body, explaining the single word rejection to all of my commentary.
Me: Let's go! What would you like for breakfast?
Drew: (grumpily as he begins to slide out of bed) Nothing. I'm not hungry.
Me: Okay. Well, go do your jobs and maybe you'll be hungry in a bit.
Drew: Fine. (He didn't stomp but I think it's just because he was still achieving conciousness.)
A few minutes later, I stuck my head in his room to ensure that the Master Procraster hadn't, once again, taken over. Upon seeing him, still in his jammies, reading a book upon his unmade bed, I realized, once again, that he was and is his momma's boy and not only have I passed down my dislike for the early rise, I have passed down the predilection for book immersion in lieu of punctuality or properly coiffed hair or even clothes at all. These genetic traits, now demonstrated in Drew, assure me of one very important thing - we are probably never going to be on time to anything in the a.m. again. Forgive us, people. Books and bed will do us in every single time.
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