Road Trippin'

Seven states... thirteen days... more than 3,600 miles of driving: the Richardson 2019 Wild West road trip was a success! It’s taken me some time to wrap my mind around our whirlwind trip. It truly was a once-in-a-lifetime trip, and while no vacation is absolutely perfect, we had lots of pretty perfect moments.  

We started our trip on Friday, September 20, as soon as Trey got home from work. I had stuffed our car to full capacity, dropped off the animals with family members, and purchased enough snacks to keep the whining at bay (and I’m not just talking about the kids here.) The first evening was just a few hours of driving to get us into Oklahoma. We had a minor hiccup when we discovered our coolant reservoir was completely empty, but we refilled it and poured in some amazing magic patching solution to plug the leak, and voila—good as new. (Unfortunately Trey didn’t screw the reservoir lid back on quite right, so we lost it somewhere along I40 and had to fashion a new one out of a plastic bag and a rubber band... but all’s well that ends well, and we made it home with the plastic bag still steadfastly doing its job.)

The next day was a long day of driving across Oklahoma and Texas, but we did briefly stop at the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo to let the kids try their hand at spray-painting cars buried nose-down in a cow field. The kids really got into the whole graffiti thing, spray-painting their names on every available surface, even the ground. I’ll have to let them graffiti their names on public property more often! (Just kidding. I, of course, will encourage them to use tag names rather than their real names.)

We stopped for the night at a cute little hotel on historic Route 66 in Tucumcari, New Mexico, where we ate green chili burgers for dinner and green chili scrambled eggs for breakfast. Sunday we drove to Santa Fe and explored their downtown art district, then spent a couple hours at Meow Wolf. I don’t know how to describe Meow Wolf. I guess you could call it a museum, or an art installation, or a psychedelic experience minus the drugs. It started as a house, then we were in an underwater coral reef, then we were in an ice cave, then we were in a treehouse, then we were in a space station, then we were in a dark room with lasers and OH MY GOODNESS THE LASERS MAKE MUSIC WHEN YOU TOUCH THEM! AND THE DRYER IS ACTUALLY A SLIDE! AND THERE ARE TWINKLY LIGHTS AND SECRET PASSAGEWAYS AND MISSING HAMSTERS TO FIND! I finally feel like I know what it feels like to be a person with ADD... everywhere I looked was something new and bizarre commanding my attention. 

After Meow Wolf we drove south to Albuquerque and had enough time to do a few uphill climbs at Petroglyph National Monument before going in search of our hotel for the night. Funny thing about booking hotels online is you don’t always know exactly what you’re getting. We realized pretty quickly that we weren’t in the best area of Albuquerque, but we’re pretty adventurous and don’t mind too much staying in a less-than-stellar hotel when all we need is a place to sleep. But after a rough check-in experience followed by a near electrocution in our room (the housekeeper was okay; the air conditioner wasn’t), followed by what appeared to be a drug deal in the parking lot, we decided this particular resort wasn’t exactly our cup of tea. For $14 more, we found a nearby hotel with an indoor pool, free breakfast, and a lot less creepiness.

The next day was another long day of driving through New Mexico and Arizona with brief stops to see the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest, where the kids earned their first junior ranger badges of the trip. We ended the day at a nice hotel about an hour’s drive from the Grand Canyon. (Side note... I was constantly confused about what time it was. We crossed from Central Time into Mountain Time, and I was doing okay with remembering we were an hour earlier than back home. But apparently Arizona doesn’t observe daylight savings time, so then we were two hours off... we never knew what time to go to sleep or wake up, with the result being that I woke up at 3:30 every morning Arizona time and sat in the bathtub reading and waiting for everyone else to wake up. By the time they were emerging from bed at 6 or 6:30, I was impatiently chiding them for sleeping the day away.)

Tuesday morning we finally made it to the Grand Canyon. I had hoped we would have a “wow” moment seeing the canyon for the first time, and I wasn’t disappointed! It was breathtaking. We spent the morning wandering along the rim trail, constantly telling each other how amazing and beautiful it was. We had a picnic lunch to enjoy the view and gorgeous fall weather. The wildlife was very friendly. Brielle met an excited chipmunk who tried to sample her hot chocolate, and Perrin actually had a squirrel crawl into his lap to try to take a bite of his ice cream cone (it obviously didn’t know my son very well... Perrin doesn’t share his ice cream with ANYBODY.) Even the elk were wandering around everywhere without a care in the world. 

We spent the afternoon and early evening riding the free shuttle bus so we could see the canyon from different overlooks. We stayed the night at one of the hotels right on the rim. We walked outside in the evening to look at the stars, then we got up early the next morning and stepped right outside our room to watch the sun rise over the canyon.

On Wednesday after spending a few hours enjoying our last glimpses of the Grand Canyon, we got back in the car and drove several hours north into Utah. We stopped briefly at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary and the kids got to feed some bunnies and play with kitties (which maybe wasn’t the best idea because I had to explain about a dozen times that no, we COULD NOT take a kitty on our road trip with us). That evening we arrived at our hotel just outside of Zion National Park, which was Garden-of-Eden-level beautiful.  

Thursday was a day for hiking and exploring Zion. Trey nixed the Angel’s Landing trail, which has a ridge near the top with 1,000 foot drop-offs on either side. Instead we hiked the beautiful Riverwalk trail and the Lower Emerald Pool trail (still tons of beauty; far less risk of death).

Friday we got up early (again... are you sensing a pattern with my vacation style? I might have driven my family a little crazy) and drove about an hour and a half to Bryce Canyon National Park. The elevation here was higher (8,000-9,000 feet above sea level in some places), and we did a very strenuous hike down into the canyon and back up. As difficult as it was, and although we all sounded like a family of wheezy nicotine addicts on the upward portion of the hike, I’m really glad we challenged ourselves and did this amazing hike. We went down several switchbacks, through a slot canyon (narrow path with towering canyon walls on both sides) and hiked among the hoodoos, which Bryce is famous for. The hike back up had amazing views (i.e. good excuses to stop: “No, I’m not dying for lack of oxygen. I just want to see the pretty hoodoos. Again.”)

 

We were pretty beat by dinner time, but we still took time to walk around and explore the adorable town of Bryce before bed.

Saturday was another driving day, this time to the eastern side of Utah. We took the scenic route so that we could stop at Capital Reef National Park for a picnic lunch. We visited the apple orchards and picked several varieties of apples for our lunch (except for Perrin, who spent most of the time in the orchard giving the wild turkeys some exercise). 

Then we hit the road again and drove straight on to Moab. We had a couple hours of daylight remaining (and I couldn’t let that go to waste, could I?) so we did a couple of short hikes at Arches National Park before turning in for the night. 

Sunday we got up and drove to Canyonlands National Park. We did an easy but beautiful hike to Mesa Arch and saw some amazing views. We could see for about 150 miles from some of the overlooks. The only problem is that it was super windy that day, to the point that the sand was stinging our arms and legs. All of our pictures show us clutching our sunglasses and hats and smiling with closed mouths to keep the sand out of our teeth (we learned that the hard way). 

Monday was a full day to explore Arches. We did a hike classified as “difficult” because it was very steep, but the views of Delicate Arch at the end were worth the pain. We motivated Perrin with the promise of snacks at the top (and he got some good laughs along the way out of a rock that he dubbed “toilet rock.” In all fairness, it was shaped like a toilet.)

Tuesday we left Moab and drove into Colorado. We spent the morning going horseback riding on a lovely ranch. Bri rode Spirit, Perrin was on Dog, I rode Oreo, and Trey was on Chunky Monkey (who tried several times to stray off the trail to snack on some grass or leaves. I think Trey felt he had found a kindred spirit. I mean the straying-off-the-trail-to-snack part, not the eating-grass-and-leaves part.)

The rest of that afternoon and evening we spent at Mesa Verde, where the kids received their 8^th and final junior ranger badges of the trip. We bought tickets to tour the Cliff Palace, which has 150 rooms. Any time my kids start complaining about having to go all the way out to the end of our driveway to get the trash can or check the mail, I’m going to remind them of the hand and foot holds we saw that were carved into the rocks for the cliff dwellers to climb in and out of their homes. 

The next two days were long days of driving to get back home. I think the family was secretly grateful for two days of sitting in the car and not having Mom urging them on like some kind of crazy vacation drill sergeant (“Hurry up! Hurry up! We’ve got to go have more fun! NOW!”) I admit we kept up a hectic pace for the two weeks we were gone, but we were thankful that we got to see and do as much as we did. (Right, family? RIGHT??)

But as they say, there’s no place like home, and it’s good to be back safe and sound with plenty of fun memories to look back on (not to mention about 50 gazillion pictures . . . I had planned to print them and put them in a photo album, but I’m pretty sure they don’t make photo albums that big). Because Perrin’s in 4^th grade this year, he got a National Parks 4^th-grader pass that got us in free to all the parks. Now Brielle’s planning her 4^th grade trip, so it looks like we might have to hit the road again in a few years. Maybe by then we'll have recovered from this trip.

In the land of pack rats

I made a big mistake this week. Actually, it all started as a brilliant idea: yesterday while the kids were gone to Vacation Bible School, I decided I would clean out their rooms and throw some junk away. I filled up two large trash bags with odds and ends from their rooms--wads of bubble wrap, broken pencils, cheap McDonald's toys, used-up coloring books, artwork (which, in Perrin's case, involved mostly stick figures with butts), old birthday cards, empty water bottles. This is the definition of trash, correct? I bagged everything up, and because my hands were full with some games and books that belonged elsewhere in the house, I stuck the bags in the hallway outside the kids' bedrooms and told myself I'd come and get them in a few minutes. That was my big mistake.

After putting the other things away, I remembered I needed to move a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. Then I took a peek at my work email and realized I needed to respond to something. Then I looked outside and saw that my poor gardenias were turning brown and wilting, so I watered them. While I was outside, I saw that the hummingbird feeder needed to be refilled. It was like a terrible grown-up version of "If you give a mouse a cookie." Then it was time to get the kids.

You can probably guess what happened. The kids saw all of their beloved possessions bagged up, ready for the trash can. Pandemonium ensued. They both sobbed as they attempted to rip open the bags and rescue their treasures. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting the stupid bags. Perrin held up a styrofoam cup with a hole in it and asked WHY I would dare to throw away the megaphone he made five years ago. Clearly, I'm a monster.

Fortunately, a lot of the stuff I'd taken from their rooms was hidden under about fifty sheets of bubble wrap (don't ask... Perrin's a hoarder), so even though I had to dig out a few things that they noticed, I managed to actually get some of the junk out to the trash can. Success! ...Or so I thought. For the next 24 hours, the kids kept noticing things that were missing from their rooms, and the tears would start all over again. Perrin can never seem to remember what he did at co-op or Royal Rangers an hour after the fact, but he apparently had a mental map of every piece of trash strewn about his bedroom floor. "Mom, where is the blue cord? It was very important to me! Mom, there was an envelope sitting on top of my dresser! That wasn't trash! Mom, I liked that crumpled-up paper bag!" I drew the line at the paper bag, but I did end up retrieving some things from the big smelly trash can. FIVE TIMES. I can't decide if that means I'm compassionate or just a big wuss.

I know every parent can probably relate. Kids never want to throw anything away, and as cute as their little drawings and crafts are, there comes a point when you have to say enough is enough. Just take it from me and don't forget to get rid of the dang evidence. 

The bike bug

A few weeks ago I bought myself a bike, and I've really been getting into it! You know those people you see down on the river trail hunched over their road bikes, huffing and puffing and sweating as they push their muscles to the limit to achieve maximum speed? Yeah, that's not me. I bought a bright purplish-pink cruiser with a basket and a cup holder and giant seat for my big... well, let's just say it's comfy. It has back pedal brakes, just like the bike I had when I was a kid, and no fancy gears to mess with. All I need is a bell, and I'll be all set!

The fun thing is that the kids have really been getting into riding their bikes too. We've enjoyed bike rides along the river trail and to Two Rivers Park as well as daily rides through our neighborhood. Brielle is doing great riding like a big girl (no training wheels), and I think she loves the attention. Everywhere we go, people smile and say "Awwww" when they see this tiny cyclist with her unicorn helmet. Perrin told me yesterday that riding his bike feels like a roller coaster ride. I'm all in favor of free thrills.

Even though the kids like riding bikes, sometimes I'm the one trying to convince them to go for a ride with me.

Me: Hey kids, can we go for a bike ride now?
Perrin: Maybe in a few minutes, Mom. I'm kind of busy.
Me: (Waits two seconds) Okay, now?
Perrin: Mom! We can go soon, okay? Just be patient.
Me: (Whining) I wanna go now!

Thankfully, they're good sports and are just about always up for a bike ride with Mom.

Last night we were biking at Two Rivers and it was starting to get dark, so we turned back. We were nearly back to the bridge when we went through the forest, which was significantly darker than the path we'd been on through the open field where all the deer were hanging out. Fireflies were glowing everywhere--it felt like a magical, enchanted forest straight out of a fairy tale.  

I haven't been able to quite put my finger on what it is about being on my bike that brings me so much joy, but I think in a way it makes me feel like a kid again--in a good way. It feels like freedom and fun and energy and exploration. It feels like fresh, clean air and a sense of being alive. It feels like quality family time. And this morning it feels a tiny bit like soreness too. But that's okay. I love my bike. 

2017--the good, the bad, and the death of dreams

It's been a long time since I've posted anything here. I was thinking today about the past year and how much has happened and what a great year it was. I started forming a blog post in my mind of all the things I'm thankful for from 2017--Trey finally getting hired on full time by BCBS; a family trip to Kentucky and, more recently, Disney World; and our biggest news--a new house. It's been a good year, and I'm incredibly thankful. But as I started forming this blog post in my mind, I realized that it was an incomplete picture of the past year. I'm guilty of the same thing most of us are guilty of--I tend to share only the highlights on social media, which makes my life probably seem much better/easier than it really is. I don't do this on purpose--I'm not trying to impress anyone or paint a false picture. But I'm by nature an optimist, and I simply prefer to dwell on the happy things.

Even so, there's some benefit to acknowledging that my life, like everyone else's, is full of bumps and dead ends and disappointments. Yes, I'm thankful for Trey's job situation and for the family fun we've had and for our new, spacious house and for a million other little things. It would be easy for me to announce the good parts without explaining all the difficulties that led us to those points. Take Trey's job, for example. Working in the IT industry means lots of risk of outsourcing, downsizing, etc. We've been married for nearly 12 years and have dealt with almost non-stop tumult associated with his jobs. For over a year before he finally got hired on to his current full-time position, he was a contractor with no benefits (meaning no health insurance for our family). I won't go into all the long and boring details, but let's just say I was stressed to the max. I'm breathing easier now, and I have a new sense of gratitude for job stability and awesome perks like being able to go to the doctor when I'm sick. But it's certainly been a long, hard road leading to this point, and I harbor no delusions that we'll never experience job-related upheaval again. There's a lot of good to celebrate, but there's been a lot of bad to wade through too.

Or take the situation with our house. I'm really thankful for it, and we're enjoying buying new furniture and getting it set up just right. But most people who hear our good news and see our pictures of it probably have no idea that this blessing is only possible because of the very painful death of another dream. For the past few years, our goal has been to build a house on land we own. We've spent countless hours researching, getting quotes, meeting with contractors, etc. We poured over home plans and spent almost $1,000 working with an architect to design the perfect plan. We spent another $400 or so on a perc test. We've paid hundreds in property taxes the last few years. And all of our attempts to build ended in failure. It seemed like nothing worked out right, no matter how hard we tried. We dealt with contractors who would fail to call us back, or contractors who would meet with us several times to start the process only to tell us they wouldn't be available after all. We saved and saved money only to realize it wasn't going to be quite enough. We tried to sell our house only for it to sit on the market for nine months while we kept it spotlessly clean in hopes that a buyer was just around the corner.  We finally admitted defeat, and it was heart-crushing. But I had to let that dream die to see what else God might have in store for us. I'm content with where we landed, but it's not the path I thought we would take, and it wasn't without pain and disappointment. By contrast, the buying and selling process that allowed us to move into our new home a few weeks ago was an absolute breeze, as if the path had been perfectly laid out for us. I don't completely understand it, but this was simply meant to be. It's made it a little easier to let go of my former dream to make room for a new dream. I'm excited to see how God uses us in this house and in this neighborhood. But in the midst of all the joy, there is some sadness too as I continue to release my own plans and desires.

I've been thinking a lot about this "death of a dream" concept because it seems that most people I know are experiencing it too in some form. Maybe someone is desperate for a new relationship or a baby or a new job or a house or some other good thing. Maybe it seems like everyone else has it, whatever "it" is. I can think of an area of my life besides the house thing where I'm struggling to let go of another dream. This particular dream may come to fruition someday, but for now it seems to be the wrong timing. Letting go of it for now doesn't mean I'm letting go of it forever, but it's still hard. But like I said, I'm an optimist. And sometimes letting go of a dream means allowing room for doing whatever God wants me to do or being wherever He wants me to be right now. 

So, yes, 2017 has been an amazing, wonderful year. And it's been a painful, difficult year. And probably 2018 will be more of the same. I'm trying to hold my dreams loosely and be flexible because the coming year almost certainly won't go as planned (for any of us). So here's to 2018 and all the great unknowns! May we forever be thankful for every dying dream that leads us to exactly where we're meant to be, and may we trust the One who holds our dreams, sees our pain, and knows better than to give us everything we desire.

I went to jail last night

Last night our citizens police academy group took a field trip to the Pulaski County Regional Detention Facility. It was eye-opening, exciting, depressing, and fascinating all at once. Sheriff Doc Holladay welcomed us into a room with a couple of long tables set up and went over some background information and ground rules while we were served dinner—the exact meal the inmates had been served that evening. The meal came in a hard plastic tray and consisted of a mystery meat patty, some yellowish mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, cooked carrots, a roll, and cornbread. Each meal only costs 89 cents (which made me feel a little better considering most of the food our group was served ended up in the trash can.) The daily meals are very specifically designed to meet certain nutritional criteria—2300 calories for an inmate who is active (has a job of some sort within the facility) or 2100 calories for an inmate who is sedentary.

Sheriff Holladay blessed the food for us (the Lord knows that food needed some blessing), then told us a little about the facility. It’s HUGE. I wish I’d had a tape recorder with me so I could verify all the facts, but I believe he said it’s over 400,000 square feet. It holds 1,200 inmates, and they’re nearly at capacity. They have some juveniles in the 14-17 age range who are being tried as adults. They have seven pregnant inmates currently. The facility is basically a small, concrete town: they have medical services, a library (where inmates often go to read up on the legal system and prepare for their cases), a commissary, a huge kitchen, and laundry facilities with machines that can handle about 600 pounds of laundry at a time. Whew. Imagine doing laundry for 1,200 inmates. In our house, it only feels like I’m doing laundry for that many people because my kids think that if a piece of clothing touches any part of their body for any amount of time, it’s automatically dirty.

Anyway, Sheriff Holladay warned us that we might overhear inmates saying things that aren’t very nice and mentioned that they tend to show off a bit when new people come around. He asked us to please not engage them in conversation and to make sure we still had our phones with us when we left the prisoner units. Wait, what? I didn’t realize we were actually going to be in there with the inmates. The sheriff told us that the inmates weren’t segregated based on crimes, meaning a rapist or murderer might be strolling about in the unit with a person who hasn’t paid their traffic fines. There would be no way for us to know which was which when we were in there with them.

Our tour guide for the evening was Toni Rose, captain of security and housing. She’s been there over 20 years, and while you can tell that she has a sweet side, she also has to be tough as nails to do what she does. When asked if anyone had ever attacked her, she showed us a scar on her hand where she’d been bitten.

The tour started with a trip past the room where deputies control all of the cell locks and video cameras for the facility. Then we toured the kitchen and laundry room where piles and piles of orange and blue jumpsuits were stacked and waiting to be used. One staff member told us that he has to order about 300 new jumpsuits every few weeks.

The first unit we went into was a unit for the boys under 18 who are being tried as adults. They’re kept in a separate unit from the men, and their crimes are pretty serious. We didn’t go very far past the entrance because one boy was taking a shower, and the shower doors are only partial doors. A few of the boys were in the courtyard, which is a big concrete block with a chain link roof and a basketball hoop on one wall. We (and the guards) could watch them through glass. They didn’t really pay much attention to us at all. I was sad to see these kids throwing a basketball around just like it was a normal Tuesday night at the park, but really life is anything but normal for these kids who have already made terrible life decisions due to drugs, gangs, etc. Captain Rose told us that they don’t try to separate gang members from rival gangs—all the Crips and Bloods are mixed together in the units—but they do ask each inmate if he has any personal enemies who are already there, and they make sure to keep them in separate units.  

Next we went into a men’s unit. Policy says there must be one officer on duty for every 80 inmates. I believe this particular unit had about 96 men, so there were two officers over it. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t like those odds if I were one of the officers! We trooped into the unit and had a look around. It looked a lot like the one we had just come out of, but we were able to walk in a little farther and see a little more. Each unit is two floors. The bottom floor is a common area where men can watch TV, play checkers, or go outside to the concrete courtyard. Cells line the walls on the lower and upper floor. Fencing has been installed throughout the stairways and upper railings to keep anyone from trying to commit suicide.

The men in this unit seemed far more interested in our group’s presence. The ones inside looked up from their TV and games and seemed genuinely curious. Several who were in the courtyard wandered over to the glass and began peering through it and pointing at us. I glanced over, and a couple of them waved at me. I felt really uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to seem like a snob or like we were a group of tourists coming to look at them like animals in a zoo. So I gave them a quick wave back. That was probably a mistake. For the next ten minutes, they seemed to be playing a game of trying to see who could get me to wave at them. One of the ladies in the group turned to me with a frown and said, “I think they’re waving at you.” I purposefully kept my eyes averted and told her I was going to pretend to be in deep conversation with her until we left.

Strangely enough, I really didn’t feel frightened of the men. The women were another story. When we went into one of the women’s units, they were being pretty rowdy. A couple of them were having a very vocal argument about something, so we hung back for a few minutes waiting for things to settle down. Rather than being curious about our presence, the women seemed annoyed that we were there. They were lined up with cups of water, ready to get their daily dose of medications from the nurse. Apparently nearly every inmate is on medication of some sort. Captain Rose told us that the women weren’t allowed to have makeup, but we noticed a few that seemed to have on lipstick or eyeshadow. Captain Rose told us that they buy skittles or M&Ms from the commissary and use the color from the candies as makeup. She also told us that she very much prefers working with the men than with the women. “The women are so whiny,” she said.

The next unit we ventured into was the scariest by far—the isolation unit. This unit is used not because of the severity of the crime that got the person put into jail in the first place, but is based on their behavior once they get here. Inmates can be sent to the isolation unit anywhere from five days to 180 days if they’re really causing problems (attacking officers, for example.) The inmates in the isolation unit are locked in their cells 23 hours a day. Each door has a slot where their food is delivered. They heard us come in, and a few peered at us through the tiny window in their door. Then the yelling started. And the banging. It sounded like wild animals, and one inmate getting riled up caused all of the others to get riled up. It felt like a very dark and depressing place, and I was thankful to leave.

We also took a tour through Intake, which is an offender’s first stop when they arrive. This is the place where the officers do their paperwork to admit someone, and it’s where the inmates are fingerprinted, searched, photographed, and placed in a holding cell while they wait to see if they’ll make bail or change into a uniform for a longer stay. Several people were being processed when we got there. One girl (and I say girl because she looked like she couldn’t have been over 18), was wearing a green tunic rather than the standard orange or blue jumpsuit. Captain Rose explained that she was a suicide risk. Each person gets asked a series of questions, and depending on how they answer, they can be flagged as a suicide risk. In those cases, they’re dressed in a green tunic and sent to a cell with only a blanket, no bed. This particular girl looked so sad to me. I wondered what her story was and what had led her to this place and to whatever poor choices she had made.

One guy was handcuffed to a little nook in the wall while he waited. Captain Rose explained that he might be there for a couple of hours. He shouted back, “Five hours so far!” But if he was looking for sympathy from our group, he wasn’t going to get it. Hopefully the experience will be unpleasant enough that it will keep him from wanting to come back. The reality though is that 50% of the inmates will be back within three years—that’s what Sheriff Holladay told us.

Like I said, it was fascinating, but also pretty heartbreaking. Sheriff Holladay admitted that while they provide many programs to allow inmates to improve themselves (such as classes on conflict resolution, parenting,  finances, etc), there isn’t a lot of rehabilitation going on. Captain Rose said when she first started working there, her heart would break for the women who were sobbing things like, “I miss my baby!” Once she saw those same women come through for the second, third, or fourth time, she had to acknowledge to herself that if these women really missed their babies that much, they wouldn’t keep doing the things they’re doing. So what makes a person return to a life of crime over and over again? I have no idea. But I do know what can keep them from returning to a life of crime over and over again: nothing but a powerful, life-changing encounter with the God of the universe, who can take their cold, hardened hearts and make them new. I’m saying a prayer for all 1,100+ inmates of the Pulaski County Regional Detention Facility, that the truth would set them free.

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.