My ride-along with an officer

Last night I spent four hours in a police car with Officer Morris, driving through the streets of Sherwood keeping an eye out for bad guys... and mischievous animals (but more on that later.) Sherwood is divided into three sections: South, Central, and North. We were assigned to Central, which just happens to be my stomping grounds. There weren't a lot of calls coming in (perhaps everyone was being on their best behavior for Mother's Day), so we drove in and out of neighborhoods keeping an eye out for anything that looked suspicious, watching for speeders, and calling in occasional license plates. After we stopped to help a guy on Kiehl who had spilled a bunch of junk from the back of his truck onto the road, we assisted with a minor accident at 107 and Brockington, and then Officer Morris asked me if there was anywhere in particular I wanted to go.

"We could go down my road," I suggested. "Ooh! I could text my husband and have him tell the kids to look out the window so they can see me driving by in a cop car and looking cool!"

Officer Morris was totally on board with my dorky request, and he said we could even stop for a few minutes to give the kids sticker badges and let them play with the blinky blue lights. I suddenly had this weird sense that he had somehow seen my facebook post from earlier that day. I had posted about getting ready for my ride-along, and my exact words were: "Think they'll give me a badge to wear for the evening? Or let me press the buttons to turn on the flashing blue lights?" I was amused that he was offering these options for my kids. I guess he thought I was too mature to want to press the buttons myself. So we stopped by the house, and the kids got to climb into the car and try out the lights and even the siren, very briefly. 

They thought it was so cool. Score one for Mom!

I gave the kids hugs and kisses and told them good night, then we set off on our next adventure. A couple calls came in: one was a medical emergency in a home, and the other was something about a crazy guy in the grass. Not sure what that was all about. The next call was the one we responded to, and it was about a big, mean raccoon hanging out on a balcony at an apartment complex. Officer Morris knew exactly where to go. He had dealt with this same call and same raccoon previously. Basically, this repeat offender has claimed a certain apartment building as his home. For some reason, animal control hasn't been able to catch him yet, and for some reason, animal control likes to have an officer presence when tenants call about the raccoon. 

We pulled into the apartment complex, and sure enough, the raccoon was exactly where Officer Morris said he would be. We parked and shined the spotlight on him. Moments later, another officer pulled in, so we all got out and stared at the raccoon for awhile. I actually think raccoons are pretty adorable, but this one was really large and feisty, and he had his eyes on us. He was sitting on a ledge just outside of one apartment where a visitor and his dog were stuck because they didn't want to come outside with the raccoon only steps away hissing at them. So the other officer decided to take matters into his own hands and see if he could get the raccoon to leave. He grabbed a broom and walked up to the second floor balcony and poked at the perpetrator. The raccoon ROARED. That's the only way I can describe it. I've never heard an animal make a noise like that. The officer scurried back down to where we were, and we continued staring at the beast from below. 

A few minutes later, another officer showed up--this time, a female. She admitted she came because she was bored and wanted to see the raccoon. When she heard that the other officer had tried unsuccessfully to get it to come down, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She walked up to the second floor balcony, grabbed the broom, and nudged the raccoon until it took a flying leap toward the ground. I had a brief moment of wondering if the raccoon might come straight for us (is this why they told me to wear close-toed shoes?) but instead he landed in the bushes and scurried away. We all patted ourselves on the backs for showing another Sherwood ruffian who's the boss, and we informed the trapped citizen that it was safe for him to come out now. The raccoon will be back, I'm sure, but it'll be a problem for animal control some other day. 

While we were tied up with the raccoon, another incident occurred in a church parking lot. A car was sitting in the shadows in the back of the lot, and another officer on duty just happened to see the car and decided to go check it out. There was a guy in the car doing who knows what, and the car was full of drugs. Needless to say, he got arrested, and we made our way over to see if there was anything fun left for us to do. Most of the excitement had died down by then. The car was still there waiting to be towed, so we waved goodbye to the other officer and continued on our way. 

My time was almost up, but we assisted a lady on Brockington who had run out of gas (another officer pushed her car to a nearby gas station while we provided some traffic control/protection for them), and then we escorted a tow truck to the previously mentioned drug car because he had been given the wrong location and was sitting in another church parking lot wondering where everyone was.  

I couldn't believe that my four hours were already up. I wasn't quite ready to leave! I had peppered Officer Morris with questions all evening and learned a lot about the job and how and why they do the things they do. Even though it was getting late, I felt wide awake and wouldn't have minded going on a high-speed car chase or two. But alas, it seemed that most of Sherwood was tucked safely and innocently into their beds, and it was time for me to do the same. I thanked Officer Morris for having me along for the ride, and I made sure to drive the speed limit the whole way home.

Police Academy, week one

I have a great life, and there really isn't much that I would change about it if given the chance. But my day-to-day activities are a bit... vanilla. I work. I homeschool the kids. I clean the house and cook dinner. We take walks as a family and go to church on Sunday. Then repeat. Over and over and over again. 

Now that the kids are getting a little older and a little less needy (supposedly), I'm trying to push myself as a writer. I spent about five months working on a novel (it's finished but not what I would consider publishable.) I taught a couple of writing classes to junior high and high school kids at our co-op. I got a devotional published. Now I'm trying to consider my next project, and I keep coming back to fiction writing. I love fiction. So what's the problem? It's hard to be creative and write imaginatively when your life is dull (see paragraph one.)

I decided I would try to push myself in other ways this year and attempt things that I wouldn't normally do. I'm very much an introvert and would probably be content to spend all of my free time alone on the couch or outside on our deck with a good book. But I seldom take advantage of opportunities to try new things or meet new people, which I think are key elements for fostering creativity. So I did something totally out of character: I signed up for the Sherwood citizens police academy training. 

We meet twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Last week was our first week, and I was pleasantly surprised by how interesting it was. The first night we met the chief and several officers and got to see an international gold-medalist give a self defense demonstration. Thursday night we learned some tricks of the trade for traffic stops, went outside to see a demonstration of Sherwood PD's drone, then came back in for a lecture on narcotics (they piled a table full of drugs and drug paraphernalia they had procured from various drug busts, so we got to see real examples of the things they were telling us about.)

Here's a picture the drone took of our group:

 

We have some other fun activities coming up--a K9 demonstration, a tour of the jail (I've heard rumors that they'll offer to feed us there), range time with the SWAT team, and something I'm equally excited and scared about: a drive-along next weekend in a cop car. When we signed up for drive-alongs, the officers told us to wear close-toed shoes (in case we need to run???) and warned us that if the officer gets a call that we're not allowed to go on, it's possible we could get dropped off on a street corner until they can radio someone else to come pick us up. Hmmm... what am I getting myself into? I don't know the answer to that question, but I do know that I'll take advantage of the momentary excitement and hopefully get at least a few good blog posts out of this whole experience.

Why Lent?

Want to know how you can tell when your sugar cravings have gotten out of control? When your husband brings home red weed-eater line and it makes you salivate because it reminds you of twizzlers, that might be a clue. I don’t even really like twizzlers, but the weed-eater line is looking strangely scrumptious to me right about now.

I’m on day 36 of Lent, and I’ve chosen to give up sweets, candy, dessert, etc for the 40 days leading up to Easter. I chose to do this partly because of these ridiculous sugar cravings that need to be told who’s boss. But mostly my reasons are more spiritual in nature.  So, why Lent? It’s a bit strange that I would decide to observe Lent considering I had never even heard of Lent until I was nearly out of high school. That’s right—I grew up in church, I’ve been a Christian most of my life, and I didn’t even know what Lent was until I was about 16. Even then, my knowledge of it was limited and my general feelings on the topic hovered somewhere between suspicion and disdain. Perhaps my aversion to Lent in the past is because I was raised in Protestant churches where anything that smacked of salvation by works was avoided. I remember an acquaintance of mine in high school sharing that she was giving up sodas and chocolate for Lent and in the next breath bragging about her recent sexual exploits. I self-righteously concluded that I would never do something so trite as to make a sacrifice for Lent under the misguided assumption that it would earn me favor with God.

So, why Lent? In some ways my opinion hasn’t changed—I’m fully aware that my avoiding dessert won’t earn me any brownie points with God. (See what I did there?) So why bother? Right now, for example, I would really like to eat some chocolate chips. Why deny myself?

 First of all, self-denial is a good spiritual discipline. It’s rare that I have to deny myself anything of consequence. If I want new shoes, I buy them. If I want to go on a weekend trip with my family, I make plans and go. If I want to eat chocolate chip cookies, I eat them. I’m in a position where I can say “yes” to nearly every (realistic) craving that comes along.  While I do have to exercise self-control in many areas of my life on a daily basis, I find myself saying “yes” to my whims and desires far more often than I say “no.” Contentment isn’t a result of giving ourselves everything we want; it’s a result of refusing to feed our fleshly appetites and appreciating what we already have. Celebrating Lent is a small reminder to me to find joy in self-denial.

Second, Lent is about repenting and refocusing our lives on Jesus. I use my cravings for sugar as a reminder to spend time praying and reading the Bible. Frankly, this whole experience has been much tougher than I expected it to be. It’s shown me how weak I am and how quickly I turn to comforts of this world when I’m stressed out, exhausted, angry, and emotional. Observing Lent has allowed me to recalibrate and turn to the only One who can truly satisfy me.

Third, Lent allows us to partake in the sufferings of Christ. Now, let me be very clear: my giving up sweets for 40 days IN NO WAY qualifies me to understand or identify with the kind of suffering Jesus went through. The very idea is laughable and probably borderline blasphemous. But I repeat: this has been much harder for me than I expected it to be. My teensy tiny itsy bitsy bit of “suffering” has given me a new appreciation for Jesus, who truly suffered and denied himself even to the point of death. I gave up something small and insignificant. He gave up everything. I am slowly (slooooowly) learning what it means to be sacrificial, and perhaps God will use this seemingly trivial period in my life to prepare me for deeper levels of suffering and sacrifice.

Finally, observing Lent makes us appreciate Easter that much more. Easter is a day to rejoice and celebrate and shout hallelujah and cry tears of joy—suffering doesn’t last forever. Death is defeated. Jesus is Lord. There’s nothing sweeter than that.

House envy

I have a confession to make: If you and I are friends and you have at some point invited me over to your house, I can admit with some certainty that I have walked into your house, done a quick estimate of your square footage and number of bedrooms/bathrooms, admired your updates and decor, and left feeling jealous and dissatisfied. I've driven away thinking the same toxic thoughts that have gone through my brain a thousand times in the last few years: I don't know ANYONE else who has to share one tiny bathroom with her husband and two kids. I don't know ANYONE else who has such a small, old house in such an ugly neighborhood. Why am I the only one who has to put up with this injustice? 

A couple years ago, Trey and I thought we were on the brink of building a home. We put our house on the market... and it sat. And sat. The few people who came to look at it voiced the same concerns we had: it's too small. I was praying the house would sell, but at the same time, I was praying that if this wasn't the right timing, our house wouldn't sell. Our house never sold. We finally took it off the market because I was exhausted from months and months of keeping it in pristine cleanliness while homeschooling two very messy children. (I distinctly remember one particularly frustrating day when we were in the middle of our schoolwork and I got a call that a realtor would be showing the house to someone in twenty minutes. I threw all of our books, papers, pencils, crayons, rulers, math blocks, and science supplies in a closet, speed-cleaned the kitchen, and rushed the kids out to the car where they finished getting their shoes on while I peeled out of the driveway. Minutes later, it started raining and the couple decided not to come look at the house after all.)  

On the other hand, a tiny house comes with a tiny mortgage payment. I've only worked part-time since Perrin was born, and Trey took a new job with a pay cut about a year ago, and yet we've never truly struggled financially, nor have we ever gone into debt.

Our tiny house has allowed us to enjoy life in ways that we wouldn't be able to if we were stuck under the burden of a house we could barely afford. We've been able to take vacations, remodel our kitchen and bathroom, and give to our church and others in need. Our house is a haven filled with good memories, complete with a huge backyard for the kids to play in and situated in a safe neighborhood where we take walks as a family nearly every day. What more do we need? Would a bigger house really make me happy, or would it simply cause me to find something else to be discontent about?

I'm not going to lie--I still have plenty of moments of discontent. Sunday mornings are the worst when we're all trying to get ready in the bathroom at the same time. We have NO privacy in this house. I'm used to one (or two! or three!) people barging in on me while I'm trying to take a shower. But I'm slowly (sloooooowly) learning to be grateful. I'm grateful that our house is easy to clean. I'm grateful that our house keeps us from buying things we don't need (because if we don't have a place to put it, we don't buy it). I'm grateful that I can talk to my kids and hear them no matter where I'm standing in the house. I'm thankful for the memories we're building here--huddling around backyard bonfires, reading books on the deck, walking to the nearby field to launch rockets, working together on Saturday mornings to clean the house or rake the leaves or plant new flowers. Our house is just a house, but it's allowed us to have a lifestyle that fits our values and has protected us from a lot of unnecessary stress.

Maybe one of these days I'll be able to walk into your beautiful house, compliment your fireplace or granite counter tops or tray ceilings or covered patio, then climb into my car with a genuine smile, thinking that you and I are both so very blessed to have a wonderful place to call home. I think I'm almost there.

Trey's date

Tonight Trey is on a date... without me. He's having the time of his life this evening with a beautiful girl who thinks he is the best man in the world. He planned a special evening for her, dressed in his nicest suit, and escorted her to a ballroom for a night of hors d'oeuvres and dancing. 

And despite her best efforts to be as poised and grown-up as possible, she couldn't help squealing and singing along when the song "Let it Go" from Frozen came on. She also got Trey to play along with an impromptu version of Hide and Seek among the other dance guests. But those are things that are bound to happen when you go on a date with a four-year-old.

Here she is, the only other girl in the world who is allowed to date my husband. I curled her hair and let her pick out which dress she wanted to wear for her date with daddy. She was so excited. 

Trey got ready and then left the house so that he could come ring the doorbell and pick her up properly. She ran to the door and invited him in for pictures. Aren't they sweet together? I love her adoring gaze. My sister mentioned that this is a picture we'll have to save to use in a slideshow on her wedding day.

So, with the two of them going on a date tonight, I figured Perrin and I should do something fun, too. I asked him what we should do for our date. He screamed, "McDonald's!" I guess we're not quite as classy as the other two members of the family. But here we are, ready for our McDonald's date.

Trey texted me pictures throughout the night of our sweet girl having the time of her life. She danced with daddy; she danced alone; she danced with a brownie; she danced with a balloon. She danced until they were pretty much the last couple in the ballroom. As she munched on the catered food, she told Trey, "I love daddy and chicken." Which I think is her way of telling him she'll never forget this special night with the most important man in her life, who is teaching her exactly the kind of love and respect she should expect from the future most important man in her life.

Christmas rat

I saw a video on youtube not too long ago of a pet rat doing all kinds of amazing tricks. The video actually made it look like fun to own a rat. I even brought it up to Trey as a possible Christmas present for Perrin. Even though I showed the video to Trey ("See? It's cute! And fuzzy! And smart!"), he wasn't convinced. So I filed the "pet rat" idea away with the rest of my list of things that are unlikely to ever happen (along with "Perrin learning to close the dang door when he goes to the bathroom" and "Brielle going to sleep without needing to have a story, a kiss, a prayer, a cup of water, and 5,000 stuffed animals." Some battles just can't be won.)

Fast forward to today. The kids decided to set out a live trap sometime recently. Since we live in a neighborhood in the middle of town, I wasn't too concerned about actually catching anything. They checked the trap today, and guess what? We were the new owners of a pet rat... for a few hours, anyway. They named him Little Paws and stuck pieces of bread through the cage to feed him. He sat happily munching in his cage for most of the afternoon until Trey made it home from work. 

I didn't want to set him free at our house where he might decide to crawl under the crawlspace and make himself cozy in our walls and nibble on our wires. And the kids were horrified at the possibility of Trey killing their "pet." So we found a wooded area far away from any other houses and set him free. The kids caught one last glimpse of him as he climbed up a tree (which I thought was weird that he went straight up a tree. Apparently I don't know much about rats. We'll consider it our science lesson for today.)

Kuddos to Trey for going along with our crazy scheme to relocate the rat, which was a lot nicer for Little Paws than what Trey actually wanted to do with him. Maybe next year he'll even reconsider the pet rat idea... we do have experience now, after all!  

It's kind of cute, don't you think?

The day a tree smooshed our house

It's been about two and a half weeks since Trey's birthday. We went out to dinner as a family and got stuck at a restaurant in Little Rock as we waited for a crazy storm to pass through. Weather reports were saying that winds were blowing up to 80 mph. When it finally calmed down enough for us to drive back, we came home to (surprise!) a tree on our house. Happy birthday, Trey.

Since it was raining in our living room and bedroom, we quickly packed some overnight bags and crashed at my parents' house for the next two nights before moving into an extended-stay hotel. Although I'm starting to feel a little homesick, it hasn't been too bad... free breakfast, an indoor pool and hot tub, and someone else makes the beds and vacuums the floors. The kids think we're on vacation. I was feeling them out a few days after it happened, trying to decide if they were traumatized by the situation at all. Their response? "Can we go swimming again?!? Yippie!" (Although they're not quite so enthusiastic about having to share a bed.)

I don't know how much longer we'll be without a home. Part of me is very tempted to worry and complain and whine about how hard life is. But I think about friends and family members who have gone through true tragedies, and I realize a tree falling on our house does not qualify as a bad day. We are all safe, healthy, and happy, and our home can be fixed. 

I've even wondered if we might laugh about this someday or use it as one of our stories to tell at dinner parties. "Remember the year when you got a tree for your birthday? Ha ha!" I admit I can't laugh about it yet, but I can imagine a day where perhaps I can allow others to laugh about it without me wanting to kick them in the head. 

Even though I can't laugh about it yet, I can feel thankful. Thank you, God, for getting us out of the house that night so that my children wouldn't have to experience something so scary. Thank you for our wonderful family and friends who have been so supportive and encouraging. Thank you for trustworthy neighbors who are keeping an eye on our house. Thank you for a safe, clean, and fun place to stay. Thank you for my husband who has taken on the burden of dealing with the insurance companies and contractors so that I don't have to.  

Oh, and we're all set with firewood for the next millennium.