Dates with daddy

Yesterday I went on a date.  I do that on occasion.  Yes I am married, but that doesn't stop me.  If I want to take out a girl, I do it, and Ashley knows all about it.  Of course, the girls I take out are my kids.  Yesterday, Cooper and I went high class baby.  That's how we roll. 

Yesterday Cooper was home all day with me.  She had a few chores to take care of during the morning which she did with little or no complaints.  That sounds like a shock, I know.  A five year old that actually listens!  Wow.  Cooper did her chores while I took care of some of my own.  Anyway, after it was all done we went to lunch.  I didn't expect to eat where we went, but I should have known.

I told Cooper to change clothes so we could go eat lunch.  Her first words were, "at Micky Dees?"  For those of you non-parentals, that is McDonalds.  I said maybe, then after seeing her big eyes and wild hair, off we went.  I must have blacked out because the next thing I know I was standing in line at McDonalds.  I don't remember agreeing to it, and I don't remember driving there.  But, there we were standing in line with Cooper smiling.

So we order our fast-food, unhealthy lunch.  We sit and eat, enjoying our grease burger and chicken breast nuggets (or so they say).  More than that, we enjoy a lunch without argument, without tattling, without stress.  We laugh a bit, eat some, and enjoy a daddy/daughter date. 

Cooper was very happy, as evidenced here.    

<blockquote><a href="http://www.quotecosmos.com/quotes/29195/view">The thing that impresses me most about America is the way parents obey their children..</a></blockquote><br> <a href="http://www.quotecosmos.com/authors/7785/Edward_Duke_of_Windsor">Windsor, Edward, Duke of</a><br> Quote from <a href="http://quotecosmos.com">Quote Cosmos</a>

Daddy jungle gym

"You will always be your child's favorite toy." 

~ Vicki Lansky, Trouble-Free Travel with Children, 1991

So far this is true.  For some reason my children not only see me as "daddy," but also as a jungle gym.  They will climb on, step on, pull and push on, my legs, back, stomach, head, and arms.  Some days I feel as though I was placed on this earth to serve as my childrens' personal tree to climb. 

Last night we were winding down the night.  I had just given Riley a bath and emerged as soaking wet as she was, only fully clothed.  She is nearly ten months old and has learned that splashing is fun, but splashing daddy is funny.  She laughs at my reactions to the unexpected drops of water that bounce off of my eye ball.  Its like she knows exactly when to splash, just as I turn my head around.  Anyway, I had just gotten her dried off and clothed when Ashley and Cooper came into her room.  Then my role as the toy began.

Ashley sat in the recliner while Riley was playing with Cooper on the floor. I was laying on the floor when Cooper decided I was her personal surf board.  She jumps onto my back, standing up, and begins to "ride the waves" while shifting her weight to stay up.  When she is tired of surfing my back, she decided I was better use as a horse.  So she began to sit on my back and bounce up and down in an attempt to get me to get up on all fours and walk her around.  

When she was younger, and smaller, I used to do that.  I had to be careful though because I never knew when the game was starting.  If I was on the floor for any reason she would run up and jump on, ready or not.  I would be bent over picking something up from the floor and got pounced on.  It was like she was a cat lying in wait for the prime time to strike because her timing was always perfect.  So out of the surprise I would pop up and the game was on.  

Ever seen "mutton bustin?"  If not, look it up.  It is ridiculously funny.  There are five and six year old children attached to the back of sheep running around the arena at a full out sprint.  The kids are hanging on for dear life, squealing and loving every minute of it.  That is similar to Cooper jumping on my back.  I bounced around the room while she grabbed me around the neck, holding on as tightly as possible.  I only stopped when the air supply to my brain was reduced and caused me to black out.  Well, not really, but I was getting choked.  

So, last night, I was again expected to be the mutton Cooper wanted to bust.  I just didn't have the energy.  So I would roll over and off she went.  Thinking I thwarted her plans, I would roll back onto my stomach and get jumped on again.  Apparently it was more fun to get tossed around every time I turned over.  So, a new game had begun.  

Cooper isn't the only one.  Riley has also learned the fun of climbing on daddy.  Another time I was again lying on the living room floor, but this time on my back.  My eyes were closed because I thought, erroneously, that I could get a quick forty winks.  Riley had other plans.  She crawled across the room and slapped me in the face.  Oh so funny to get that surprise.  She proceeded to crawl onto my face, and over to the other side.  Then, she crawled back across my chest to get back to the toy Cooper had.

The funny thing about this is, it does not matter where we are, my children think I am their toy.  Hannah and Cooper have walked up to me while standing with other adults having a conversation.  Each will pick a side and walk right up next to me so that I have to move my arms up.  Thinking my children were being affectionate and wanting a hug, I raise my arms a little.  Seeing the opportunity they intentionally created, they jump and wrap their hands around my biceps and hang on.  They lift their feet off the ground and just dangle.  Now, had I been expecting it, I may have been able to prevent tragedy.  But, on one occasion, they fell to the floor, crashing down because my tree limbs cracked under the unexpected pressure.  My apologies to my children.  

As I get older, and the kids get bigger, I wonder how I will survive.  Ashley may need to stock up on ice packs and ace bandages so I can survive the next decade.  But in the end, injury and embarrassment are worth a few minutes of fun with my children.  Hannah already is to the point where she remembers climbing on me when she was younger and telling me how much fun the "daddy horse" was.

It is worth it to be "daddy jungle gym" for the sake of creating a few memories for them, and being their favorite toy...as long as I don't end up in traction.   

Daddy in training

Sometimes I hear the "Rocky" theme song in my head.  I think it is the soundtrack of my day.  You will understand why shortly.  There is nothing like waking up at 515 am and being wide awake.  The best part about it is that I have to work tonight.  Oh, boy.  I am so excited, can you tell?  There is at least one good thing about being up, so is Riley.  Actually, she is the reason I am up before the roosters.  Riley decided that daddy did not really need to sleep and should be up to entertain her.  So here we sit, eating our morning puffs and coffee.  I need the coffee.

As much as I hate to admit it, this is all my fault.  Were she not so adorable I would let her cry herself back to sleep, but as we all already know, daddy is a "suckaaaaaaa."  Much like Pavlov training his dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell, she has trained me to get her from the crib.  When I hear the whining I am motivated to go to the noise and retrieve the little person making it.  My child is a genius.

So here we are enjoying or morning routine.  Riley is now tired of the puffs and has moved on to the yogurt drops and throwing her water and juice mixture on the floor and laughs as daddy retrieves it, over and over.  Later she will enjoy a bottle which she will repeatedly toss to the floor to watch her egg-head daddy pick up while she enjoys a laugh at my expense. 

All of this makes me wonder, when did my children train me?  How is it that someone of superior intelligence and years of education and training is done in by a little person who has been on this earth less than ten months?  How is it that our five year old and nine year old daughters can train me to respond to their whims?  I am the adult here, right?

Realistically I know that my wife and I are in charge.  We run the household, not the heathens.  But every now and again I realize our authority is being chipped away at by the three combatants we share the house with.  Little by little they are training us, well actually training me, to be their puppet.  

In truth, I love it.  I need to enjoy times like these while they last.  One day my children will hate me for running off boyfriends, making them drive the family car instead of buying the car they want, and for generally embarrassing them in public by the way I dress.  So raise a glass folks.  Here is to the other fathers in training out there who wake up to "Gonna Fly Now," bed head and all.  We are off to watch Totally 80's videos on vh1 Classic.  Oh, boy. 

Let me see your war face...

Tonight we were sitting at dinner around our freshly cooked meal.  Actually, it was from Rosa's in Lubbock so it was not that fresh.  Anyway, Riley was in her highchair enjoying her Hawaiian inspired jar of organic baby food.  It was some pineapple, ham, and rice concoction that actually did not appeal to me, but Riley seemed to enjoy it. 

So there we sat when Riley decided I was not feeding her fast enough.  She let out a screech and made the funniest face.  Riley balled up her fists, pulled her hands up, and made the face.  She actually seemed angry for a second.  If she could speak, she would have likely started yelling at me that I was starving her and it wasn't fair.  Note:  She is in the 85th percentile in weight, she is not missing any meals.  Actually, that is what my other children act like.  So, we started laughing at her and Riley started laughing, too.

I immediately thought of the scene from "Full Metal Jacket" when Hartman was talking to Joker.  The scene was when Hartman wanted to see Joker's "war face."  I asked Riley to see her new war face.  She squealed and screeched and made her face.  Then, I fed her again.  The war face is frightening, especially when she is hungry. 

Riley has now perfected yet another expression.  Now we have a war face, as shown here:

 

My first car

Every teenager cannot wait to turn sixteen and I was no different.  Why?  No, not my sweet sixteen party because I am a guy and we don't do such foolishness.  Two words:  driver's license.  My sixteenth birthday was somewhat disappointing because I didn't get my license.  No friends, I waited until I was seventeen.  Bummer.

After the license came the car.  I got my first car when I was a senior in high school.  The last semester in high school.  I remember it clearly.  Actually, I remember day dreaming about what my first car would be.  I wanted a truck, or some sporty job with a racing stripe.  Ohhhh, a jeep would have been nice, too.  No.  I got nothing like that.  What was my first car you ask? 

The year was 1992, late spring to be exact.  I knew my first automobile would be used and I did not care.  I just wanted something nice, and cool, and I wanted a non-granny car.  What I imagined myself driving was a Chevy pickup.  What I got was a blue 1986 Ford Tempo.  It's okay to laugh, I still do.  I got a granny car.  Bummer.

So there I was driving to school in a Tempo.  I was proud for about a week, until some snob decided to clown on me.  My sister was happy because she thought of me and my not-so-fine automobile as a taxi service.  I was pleased because I no longer walked to school.  But I didn't think so much about the car.  It wasn't cool!  It wasn't sporty!  It didn't have a racing stripe!

So, I worked at the YMCA in high school.  It's okay to laugh, I still do.  I loved that job though.  I had fun and stayed in crazy shape.  Anyway, my car was parked in the lot one day while I was teaching a swim lesson or something. I walked outside to leave and saw this huge white streak down the side of the car.  I knew immediately.  Some clown drove away and side-swiped my car.  What a punk.  My dad was furious.  He was convinced I was lying and just knew I had an accident.  I tried to explain it, but, no dice.  There was one positive I guess.  I now had my racing stripe, sort of.  And, it didn't make the car any cooler.

After three long months with my first car, it died.  That's right, after twelve whole weeks and it decided to put itself out of its misery.  I was heart broken.  Actually, I was.  Now I had to ride a bicycle wherever I went, or drive my parent's MINIVAN.  Oh how cool, seventeen and in a minivan.  And I wondered why I got no dates in college.

I think about my first car and was grateful my parents spent money on it.  They trusted me enough to drive it, or just wanted me to help chauffeur my siblings around.  Either way, they bought me a car and I was happy.  So now I think about the cars my kids will have.  Hannah, I'm thinking will be driving what my brother drove, an Olds Cutlass, or "Cut-Dog" as he so affectionately named it.  Cooper, maybe needs a Chevy of some type.  And Riley, well she will be out of luck since we will be to broke to buy her a car because her sisters' insurance will be out of control.  Maybe she can have the minivan I plan to have at the time she will be driving.  Hey, it was good enough for me.  

Morning fun with Riley

Here I sit at 6am when I should be sleeping.  I worked all night and need to get to bed, but here I sit next to the cutest snot-faced, booger-nosed 9 month old in the world.  I will save the descriptors of that, but you parents of infants know what I see in front of me.  Riley had been up since about 525am.  I was sitting in the living room on the couch, minding my own business, watching Vh1 Classic 80's videos.  I know what you are thinking.  Why watch those old hair-band videos?  Nothing except infomercials is on at this hour.  

Then, out comes the cry letting me know she is awake and wants desperately out of the evil crib her mother and I banished her to for the night.  I am so zoned into the Go-Go's video, I try to ignore it.  But Riley gets louder and more insistent that I go and save her from her captivity.  So when the David Coverdale video comes on I get up and rescue my baby.  Hey, I don't like him anyway. 

I walk in and she smiles as if to say, "Suckaaaaaaaa."  Riley laughs knowing her father is a complete pushover.  I will argue that I am too tired to fight it and just go get her, but we know the truth.  Anyway, I take her from the crib and see she is still wearing the clothes from yesterday.  No pajamas, but the same outfit she wore most of the day.  Why Mama, why?

So Riley is laughing and squealing at me as I walk to her rocking chair.  I made a ridiculous attempt to rock her back to sleep.  I lay her head on my shoulder and rest mine on the back of the recliner.  We start to rock and I realize something is wrong.  Do you know the feeling you get when you are being watched?  I got it.  So I open my eyes to see Riley with a wide mouthed smile showing her one tooth.  She is smiling and laughing again, making me realize that I actually am a "Suckaaaaaaaa."

We walk into the living room and she hears the overly synthesized 80's jams on the television and becomes interested.  Maybe it was the flashy neon colors on that guys face.  So there we sit, her on my chest, watching some guy wearing too much make up and sporting huge hair.  She quickly realizes, as I do, that it sucks and we go to the kitchen for a snack.  So here we sit eating apple-strawberry flavored puffed grain and a sandwich.  I pound away on the keys as she pounds the tray on her high chair begging for more puffs because she is obviously starving and wasting away.  At her last appointment she was in the 85th percentile in weight and 95th in height.  She isn't missing any meals folks.

Well momentarily I expect me tired wife ,who was awakened by the cries for food from my child, to walk in and ask me the same thing she asked me yesterday morning at about the same time, "What are you doing?"  She knows, as I do, I should be sleeping.  But she also knows, as I do, I am a softy and my 21 pound baby has her 230 pound daddy wrapped around her finger.  

I love being a daddy.  Now, off to change the morning doo-doo diaper.  Wish me luck... 

       

Family time

I have a family like many others.  We are spread all over the country.  I have a brother in California, one in Wisconsin, a sister in Louisiana, and my parents in Louisiana.  All of my siblings are married and only one is childless, well, for now.  That makes the holidays tough.  I remember growing up having everyone together for the holidays.  We always celebrated together and then something happened.  We grew up.

As I said, we are scattered all around.  We have our families, and our careers.  It makes it difficult to get together often.  I haven't been home to Louisiana since 2008.  I truthfully don't remember the last time the whole family, including all of our children, were together.  We have met for football games but someone was always missing.  We went to weddings, but again, someone was always missing.  Hannah lives on the California, so coordinating visits with the family is tough.  She is here for the summers but we haven't taken any trips since the trip in 2008.  Hopefully we can change that, and get the entire family together.

I find that as I get older I want that.  I want us all to get together and share family time.  I like our family gatherings.  Usually they go something like this.

When Mike was drafted we all went to my dad's house for the weekend.  Mike, Jonathan, my brother-in-law Jon, and I stayed up until after 3am playing dominoes and quoting movie lines.  We had a ball.  When Jonathan was up to be drafted we did the same thing again.  We were up all night and at 4am decided to go to Harrah's in New Orleans.  We gambled a little, went home, and crashed.  What a long night.  But again, it was fun.  We stayed in the garage cracking each other up playing cards and dominoes, and had complete conversations in movie lines.  Great times.

When Jonathan got married we stayed outside the hotel into the wee morning hours.  When Mike got married...similar results.  When we got together, we would talk about memories from our childhoods, and laugh at the things we did and clowned on each other.  Even my parents would get in on those conversations.  My sibling's spouses get in on stuff, too.  They clown with us and get in on the stories and we have a ball.

Of course now, as we get older and have families, our stories change.  We laugh at the things our kids do, and compare the things they do to what we used to get into.  And we still have good laughs.  I miss that stuff.  I get together with Ashley's family and have a great time.  We have good conversations and fun times.  I love my in-laws and the family.  But there is something I miss about hanging out with my siblings and parents, especially around the holidays.

One day maybe we can get the whole family, including all of our kids, together for a large family meal.  I don't mean in a restaurant, but in a home where we all do the cooking.  I miss that.          
 

Christmas light adventures

Tonight we ventured out on our annual Christmas light sight-seeing tour with some dear friends.  We got together and showed the kids the lights around Lubbock, because lets face it, there is not much around Levelland.  This year went much the same as last year...with a few exceptions. 

We had a great time.  We piled into a Suburban and hit the streets.  First stop...the enormous line of cars at Chick-Fil-A.  Yes folks, it was about 630pm.  That is right at the heart of dinner time.  We arrive in time to pull into the rear of the line behind a string of cars that wrapped around the building. I said that right, around the building.  Chris and I were less that thrilled with the wait.  I am not that patient.  But, we sat because our wives and kids were in the car.  Three words...Keep The Peace.

Anyway, the wait was rather short considering the number of families feasting on chicken nuggets and waffle fries.  We got our fare and again, went on our way.  We ate and looked at lights around Lubbock.  Then we go to...Starbucks.  Ahhh yes.  We always find our way to a Starbucks to get something hot to sip on as we gaze upon the twinkling decorations.  Even the kids get in on some Starbucks.

Oh my friends, Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha.  It should be illegal.  I waited for Chris to order his first so all I had to say was, "I'll have the same."  It is embarrassing to order, but oh so good.  I used to have a Caramel Apple Cider, but no more.  I have been ruined by the peppermint and white chocolate goodness.

So, we finish our trip as the kids are falling asleep one by one, and enjoy grown-up conversation.  This is important for parents because it helps maintain sanity.  It helps to talk to someone and enjoy a conversation where I don't have to worry about hearing of some child's boo boo, which child ate all the glue at school, or try to decipher baby babble.  Don't get me wrong, I love it when Riley babbles at me trying to call me "MaMa."  But sometimes, I, like other parents, need to talk to other adults.  

So we complete our trek "in town" and head back to Levelland.  Sounds like a pleasant evening right?  A great time was had by most.  Riley was tired and cranky so she wasn't as thrilled.  But, let me recount for you the adventure that was last year's outing.  These nights are not always so pleasant.

Last year Hannah was here and Ashley was still pregnant with Riley.  We still had our Yukon so there was room for us all in there, even though every seat had a behind in it.  Luckily, Chris and I were in the front seats.  We had plenty of room, unlike everyone else packed into the rear seats.  So we pile in the Yukon and head out.  We had dinner and Starbucks, then hit the streets to see everyone's best light shows. 

As I said, Chris and I were in the front seats.  Ashley and Liz were in the middle row with Cason.  Cooper and Hannah were in the rear seat.  We all had our respective hot beverages.  Again Chris and I had our Peppermint White Chocolate Mochas.  Every time I think about it I want to go get one, but I don't want to go back to town.  Anyway, Ashley and Liz had something.  Ashley probably had a Chai of some type.  Hannah and Cooper had hot chocolate.  Here is where our story gets fun.

We decide to go to Ransom Canyon to look at the lights.  I had heard the residents there really go all out and decorate their homes very nicely.  I have to agree because everything looked great.  For those who have never been there, it is the most curved roads in the county.  That area has the curviest (is that a word?) roads on the Caprock.  They are not as bad as the mountains of Central California, but close enough for West Texas.  Parents, you may know where I am going.

So we are gazing at the lights.  It is cold outside and starts to rain a little on us, which due to the temperature is more like snow.  Everything looks great and everyone is having a good time.  All is well until I hear one of my children say, "Daddy, I'm gonna be....."  

Let me stop you.  If you have a weak stomach, skip over the next several paragraphs.  This statement was not stopped because she forgot what she was going to say or because she changed her mind.  The statement was stopped because of the vomiting that ensued.  Yes, Hannah got car sick.  I warned you to skip ahead.

I will spare the gross details.  However, I will tell of the comedy.  Hannah vomits from the back row.  Ashley, Liz, and Cason are in front of her.  Two words friends...projectile vomit.  It is a wonderful thing.  Nothing clears a car faster.  Adults are jumping from the car into the cold, freezing rain with no coats on.  People are yelling "Eeeewwwwwwwwwwww."  Cooper is freaking out and crying because everyone left her with the vomiting child.  She is screaming at the top of her lungs.  Only children remain in the car because they are buckled in, and hey, they can't get out.

I figured those who are exposed to the car crashes, emergency rooms, and all manner of gross would be okay with a little vomit.  Not so much.  So who comes to the rescue?  The nurse?  No.  The paramedic/firefighter/cop?  Wrong.  No, it is daddy who flies in and saves the day, sort of.  I snatch Hannah from the car and we run into the field.  Again, no coat on.  Hannah is puking on me while I stand over her making sure she is okay.  Ashley tends to Cooper and calms her down.  When asked why she was crying, she retorts, "Hannah threw up on me."  The look on her face was good though.  It was one of confusion because her parents would ask such a stupid question.  Even she knew that was dumb to say. 

We are all cold, wet, and stinky.  I use whatever I can find to clean up the vomit and hot chocolate from the back seats so people can get back in the car.  I brave the stench and mess and get stuff sort of situated.  Everyone gets back in and of course, the car smells.  I put Hannah in the front seat so I can shove her out the door if she starts to get sick again.  Not really, but I wanted her to be able to get out fast without climbing over other people.  I have the windows cracked a bit to ventilate with the clean, fresh smelling, outside air.  We drive from Ransom Canyon back to Wolfforth with all four adults with their faces pressed against the windows to breath fresh air.  Ever seen a betta fish come to the surface to breath.  Short quick breaths at the surface with wide open mouths.  Ok, all of us are basically doing that at the crack in the windows.  Were it not for the rain/snow mix, I would have just rolled my window down and drove home with my head hanging out like a dog.

We make it home.  The excitement and fun of the evening turned to odors and grossness.  four adults who had been so excited to hang out and look at lights with the kids are now wet, cold, and smelly.  The kids are tired and not feeling great themselves.  Hannah felt bad, and thought she ruined the evening.  I reassured her that it was okay, and that used to happen to daddy, too.  She comes by it honestly. 

In truth, nights like these are for making memories.  Regardless of the circumstances, we made good memories.  Our families hang out together and we will remember these times.  Our children will talk like my siblings and I do..."Remember that time when..."

Last year it wasn't as funny as it is today.  And, tonight went much better.  No car sickness, just a tired baby who let us know she was ready to go home.  The kids did great and the adults, well, we drank our coffee, visited, and enjoyed the company of family.   

A hit and run, and some anarchy

It is hard to think of something funny to write about when a doo doo day was had by your wife and kids yesterday, and you are tired after working all night.  But here we go. 

Yesterday some coward hit my wife's car in Lubbock then left the area without telling anyone.  To that cracker-nut...thank you. 

Really, I mean it.  Thank you for bringing chaos and stress to my wife.  Thank you for delivering to us a bill for our insurance deductable that we have to pay because of your stupidity and cowardice.

Ashley was parked in Lubbock on her lunch break and came back to the car to discover someone had hit the car, and fled.  Great.  Of course that is just what we needed.  She was able to get the car back to the hospital, but could not make it home.  So our car is now at the shop to be repaired.  Outstanding.

Then, there is Cooper.  Yesterday she apparently decided she was done taking instructions from her teacher.  Yes friends, she staged a one-student revolt in her kindergarten class.  Anarchy reigned for several minutes.  She decided that instead of sitting down as instructed, it would be a great idea to run around the room like a heathen child to draw attention to her anti-establishment protest.  Then she slammed some poor child's finger in a door (truly an accident).

But we are not done.  Displeased with the restraint showed by her teacher towards the rampage, she decided to attempt to recruit a fellow student to take part in the social disorder and an argument ensued.  I think the other child was not hip to the revolt and stated the disagreement, which displeased Cooper.  Her reaction?  Run around the halls and library.

Well, ultimately she got some attention, although not the attention she desired.  Ashley and I received phone calls from the PRINCIPAL.  Cooper was crying, maybe because she knew she was in trouble, or maybe because her attempted uprising against the man failed.  Either way, she bawled on the phone while recounting the events of the day to Ashley.  Welcome to our world.

I love Cooper, as I do my other children, but I don't always love her behavior.  I make light of it to retain some sort of sanity.  She misbehaved and we will deal with it accordingly.  At least Cooper accepted her punishment and owned up to her behavior. 

Oh, and to the hit-and-run coward...no, I don't like you or your behavior.  When you decide to act more grown up than my 5 year old, call me.     

Boys and Girls...not so different

Sometimes I think my daughters are more like...well, boys.  No I don't wish I had boys, and I don't dress them as boys.  Well, except for the one time Riley wore boys clothes.  But that was only because it was cold and I put sweat pants on her.  Yes, I was resourceful.  Ashley thought I was just lazy.

Anyway, as I said, sometimes they act more like boys.  Cooper belched the other day at the table.  She brought the thunder and shook the picture hanging on the wall.  Yes, I am so proud.  And Cooper isn't the only one.  Hannah burped so loud, and unexpectedly, I shuttered.  Wow.

And what is it about them not wanting to blow their nose.  I remember seeing little boys with their mothers running away to keep from getting a Kleenex wiped under their noses.  It is like a badge of honor or something to have snot running from their noses.  My daughters...yes, the same.

Here is a recent conversation.  "Cooper, go blow your nose."  Reply:  "No."  You have "boogers."  Reply:  "So."  "That's gross."  Reply:  "No it's not."

Huh?  The child is grossed out by a spider running up the wall but not by snot and boogers streaming from her face.  I don't get it. 

Why this job?

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."
English philosopher Edmund Burke 

I have been trying for over an hour to think of something funny to write about.  Tonight, I just don't have it.  I got nothing.  I have been typing and erasing for most of that time, because as an officer I cannot always say exactly what I want.  It is frustrating at times. 

I came across something tonight that I have forgotten about.  I stumbled on a website that has poems dedicated to fallen officers, being a police officer/deputy/trooper, and to the job.  Some of them reminded me of officers and friends we have lost, and others reminded me what it is to do the job I love. That means the good and the bad of it all.  Here is where I edited a lot.

This job is not what people think it is.  And I think that the general public really does not want to know although they ask.  Sure, I have been asked about the scariest, most violent, or worst calls I have been on.  And yes, I have been to some funny calls, but people want to know about the bad stuff.  To those of you who have asked me, or will ask me...I am sorry.  There are just some things that you don't want, or need to know.  There are things I don't want to discuss with anyone, especially a stranger or someone I don't know that well.

And let's face it...you probably don't really want to know anyway.  And after I tell you, it's too late.  Think of it as me protecting you.  I am keeping you from having the nightmares we have had.  I am keeping you from becoming as pessimistic as we can become.

I can put up with the donut jokes, the name-calling, and the ridicule.  I can overlook the profanities I have been called for writing a ticket.  I can't forget what I see, nor can any other officer.  Our profession has some of the highest rates of suicide, divorce, depression, and alcoholism.  Does anyone every stop any wonder why, or care why we are the way we are?

We are a unique bunch of people.  We get put down by the very same people who later call us for help (I say that from experience).  Why?  Why do this job knowing that I could not come home one night?  Why subject myself, and my family, to such a prospect?  Why put myself through the things I see and experience?

I am not a very social person anymore.  What I mean is, I don't make a lot of friends.  I have a close circle of trusted friends that I would not trade for anything.  I have a loving and supportive wife who has only known me as an officer, and yet, she married me anyway.  She is more social than I am, and I am sure that makes her crazy when I don't always have as good of a time as she does at parties with people I do not know.  I scan the room looking for the bad things, or people.  People find out what I do for a living and want to share a bad cop story or a bad experience they had and ask me why they were treated the way they were.  I don't really want to discuss the cop who wrote you a ticket for speeding.  I don't want to speculate why he did not take a report for what you called him for.  Again, I am sure all of it frustrates her, but can she blame me?  I don't want to discuss my day sometimes, with anyone.  I don't want to tell her everything because I want her to sleep nights, even on nights like this where I can't sleep.  I don't want her to become as non-social as I am. 
 
But why do this? Why be one of those guys in blue?  For me, it is simple.  I believe in something.  I believe that evil has to be dealt with.  I believe those who commit a crime against another need to face the repercussions of their actions.  I believe in helping those who cannot always help themselves.  I believe in doing the right thing.  I believe good men are needed to stand in those roles.  I believe us to be good men.  We are not perfect men, but good men.

Like any other profession, we have bad days.  We may not smile.  We may not wave.  We may not want to engage in conversation.  We may want to just simply sit alone and eat our meal, undisturbed for a few minutes while we contemplate the events of our day to that point.  Don't take it personally, we don't.

Some will read this and have smart ass remarks.  Some will think of an officer they know and give a kind word.  I am not trying to provoke a reaction, but simply writing for myself.  It's sort of therapeutic I think.  At least it has been thus far.

Now, off to try to sleep before an early day, and the start of my week.