A bit of a rough start to Christmas this year.
I was already kinda bummed about working Christmas Eve, but I stayed positive hoping it would at least be a really quiet shift. Well, not so much. We had a car run off the interstate into a tree. We had a 3 car pile-up that became a hit & run when the guy at fault decided he was gonna get his jolly happy ass out of there. We had some damn kids throwing rocks at cars, which turned into five different people wanting five different reports about damage to their cars.
We had a demented person. A nice family came home from Christmas festivities, and as they unloaded their car a strange woman walked up, got inside their car, and closed the door. A little stunned, the family asked the woman to get out of their car. She said no. A quick 9-1-1 call later and I was talking to the car squatter. I asked for her i.d., and she handed me the Rand McNally road atlas.
Awful lot of pictures on your i.d., aren't there ma'am?
We had a domestic dispute where a grandmother insisted her 18 year old grandson be immediately thrown out of her house, where he had been living with her for years. Some people say "Merry Christmas! I love you!" in the wee hours of Christmas day.
Grandma said "Get the fuck out!"
Last, but certainly not least, I had to shoot another deer. Deer got hit, and I pulled up to see it laying in the road looking blankly off into nothing. I walked up and unholstered my gun just as the deer turned and stared at me. The freakin' deer stared at me. Then I shot it. Walked back to the victim's car to see the old lady in the passenger seat was crying because I shot the deer. I got the victim out of there, and as I dragged the deer carcass off the road - leaving a bloody smear on the asphalt - I thought to myself "Christmas Eve sure has changed from the days when I would stare out my window at night trying to spot Santa."
So maybe I had a bit of a blue Christmas for most of my shift tonight. I'm not going to let it spoil the rest of Christmas. Work is work - it's always gonna be at least a little rough regardless of what holidays come around. Even the nights that are a little rougher than usual are still a blessing so long as I get to go home to my family at the end of them.
I hope you have a very merry Christmas, because I certainly will!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Statistical Improbabilities
So last night I ended up reading through some old internet journals, and wound up reading the Weirdo's online journal from when we first started dating. There were some people that were openly (maybe even forcefully?) against the idea of us talking about marriage so quickly. She was 19 and I was 21, we had been dating for 2 months when we started openly talking about how we were getting married.
Talked to the Weirdo about it this morning too. We had a couple laughs, a couple sarcastic eye rolls thinking about back in the day.
I can't shake the feeling of being a little miffed by the doubters - even 6 1/2 years later.
I get it. To the normal, rational, logical person we were crazy. Nuts. Who talks about getting married after knowing a person for 2 months? And one is still a teenager for God's sake! I get it. Looking back, I have no doubt that every single person in our lives had their doubts - even if silently.
But then again, maybe that's the whole point. The people that loved us, that, despite their doubts, wanted the very unlikely to actually become a happy story, never really voiced their doubts. They were concerned, but they kept it to themselves because they saw how happy the Weirdo and I were together. They hoped that it really would work out for us, regardless of the statistical improbabilities.
Here's the problem with openly voicing your serious concerns about a newly budding relationship: you're setting yourself up one way or the other. If the relationship lasts, you're the guy who challenged that it would. If it doesn't, you're the asshole with the "I told you so" condescension. Furthermore, when you openly speak out against someone's new love for whatever reason you're not just being a concerned friend (most especially if you're not even a close friend to begin with). You're questioning the judgement and on some level even the intelligence of two people - two people who are busy falling in love.
So I'll end with this: people are going to fall in love. It's almost guaranteed that most of us have or will, at some point, fall in love with the wrong person. That's part of being a human being. I think the best thing you can do for a lovestruck friend is to hope for the best, wish them well, and be ready to catch them if they fall.
And after 6 1/2 years I still love my Weirdo <-->, just like I said I would.
Talked to the Weirdo about it this morning too. We had a couple laughs, a couple sarcastic eye rolls thinking about back in the day.
I can't shake the feeling of being a little miffed by the doubters - even 6 1/2 years later.
I get it. To the normal, rational, logical person we were crazy. Nuts. Who talks about getting married after knowing a person for 2 months? And one is still a teenager for God's sake! I get it. Looking back, I have no doubt that every single person in our lives had their doubts - even if silently.
But then again, maybe that's the whole point. The people that loved us, that, despite their doubts, wanted the very unlikely to actually become a happy story, never really voiced their doubts. They were concerned, but they kept it to themselves because they saw how happy the Weirdo and I were together. They hoped that it really would work out for us, regardless of the statistical improbabilities.
Here's the problem with openly voicing your serious concerns about a newly budding relationship: you're setting yourself up one way or the other. If the relationship lasts, you're the guy who challenged that it would. If it doesn't, you're the asshole with the "I told you so" condescension. Furthermore, when you openly speak out against someone's new love for whatever reason you're not just being a concerned friend (most especially if you're not even a close friend to begin with). You're questioning the judgement and on some level even the intelligence of two people - two people who are busy falling in love.
So I'll end with this: people are going to fall in love. It's almost guaranteed that most of us have or will, at some point, fall in love with the wrong person. That's part of being a human being. I think the best thing you can do for a lovestruck friend is to hope for the best, wish them well, and be ready to catch them if they fall.
And after 6 1/2 years I still love my Weirdo <-->, just like I said I would.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Chilly Bathrobe
It's been a cold, icy night. The temperature has been hovering right around freezing since the shift started, and we've had the car accidents to prove it. On a four lane divided highway earlier tonight we had two cars lose it on the same patch of black ice and wreck. One officer checked out with the first wreck. That driver had jumped the grassy median and wound up facing the opposite way from whence he came.
I pulled in behind the second driver, who had hit the ice and bounced and spun from curb to guardrail to median. One of his tires had been ripped free from it's wheel. The driver was a Hispanic guy wearing a bathrobe. Normally this is when I would start a little investigation into Mr. Bathrobe. First question would have been something like "Why the hell are you wearing a bathrobe?"
But, my mind was a little occupied. The Weirdo had just called to say she was heading home from her parent's house with the Monkey in tow. I was standing in the median panicking. There were two wrecked cars in sight, a third had rolled over a little while ago, and a fourth wreck had happened just before my shift started. There was black ice all over the roads and my wife and kid were driving home. Oh, and just minutes ago I saw a friend's Facebook status about how she had been in a wreck with her baby in the car. Because of the ice.
I lit up a cigarette, not really caring about looking professional, and covered my bases with Bathrobe:
What happened?
Uhh... I skidded.
You want an accident report?
No.
You want a wrecker?
Yes.
The wrecker was called, and I stood there in the median. A big van came slushing by, and about 100 feet past me I watched the van suddenly veer left, fishtail to the left, then to the right, and somehow manage to catch it and keep going. I took a puff, imagining the Weirdo fishtailing all over the highway.
She's a good driver. She always bragged about how she really enjoyed hydroplaning in the pickup truck like a freak.
Moments later the Weirdo called, saying she had spotted my patrol car where I was working the wreck with Bathrobe. From that point I was counting in my head, estimating exactly how long it would take her to get home. Right on cue, she called again to say she was safe in the driveway.
The police stuff I can handle. Domestic dispute? Someone's got a gun? Let's do it! But give me half a reason to think my family may be in danger and I become a chain smoking nut. Thank God they made it home safe.
Hmmm.
Hey Bathrobe! C'mere a minute...
I pulled in behind the second driver, who had hit the ice and bounced and spun from curb to guardrail to median. One of his tires had been ripped free from it's wheel. The driver was a Hispanic guy wearing a bathrobe. Normally this is when I would start a little investigation into Mr. Bathrobe. First question would have been something like "Why the hell are you wearing a bathrobe?"
But, my mind was a little occupied. The Weirdo had just called to say she was heading home from her parent's house with the Monkey in tow. I was standing in the median panicking. There were two wrecked cars in sight, a third had rolled over a little while ago, and a fourth wreck had happened just before my shift started. There was black ice all over the roads and my wife and kid were driving home. Oh, and just minutes ago I saw a friend's Facebook status about how she had been in a wreck with her baby in the car. Because of the ice.
I lit up a cigarette, not really caring about looking professional, and covered my bases with Bathrobe:
What happened?
Uhh... I skidded.
You want an accident report?
No.
You want a wrecker?
Yes.
The wrecker was called, and I stood there in the median. A big van came slushing by, and about 100 feet past me I watched the van suddenly veer left, fishtail to the left, then to the right, and somehow manage to catch it and keep going. I took a puff, imagining the Weirdo fishtailing all over the highway.
She's a good driver. She always bragged about how she really enjoyed hydroplaning in the pickup truck like a freak.
Moments later the Weirdo called, saying she had spotted my patrol car where I was working the wreck with Bathrobe. From that point I was counting in my head, estimating exactly how long it would take her to get home. Right on cue, she called again to say she was safe in the driveway.
The police stuff I can handle. Domestic dispute? Someone's got a gun? Let's do it! But give me half a reason to think my family may be in danger and I become a chain smoking nut. Thank God they made it home safe.
Hmmm.
Hey Bathrobe! C'mere a minute...
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Baby, It's Cold Outside
Well, the cold has finally reached town. The air outside is hovering around 17 degrees with the wind chill. In certain ways I don't like the cold. First and foremost, as a parent the cold makes me nervous. I get worried about my toddler getting cold in our poorly insulated 60 year old house. I get nervous that the Monkey won't be warm enough in the car. Aside from the Monkey, the cold is generally irritating when you're dealing with frozen cars in the morning, leaving faucets dripping at night - which our house does automatically for us (60 years old), and a big portion of your fun, outdoor activities list made impossible for all but the legally insane.
It's not all bad though. Christmas comes with the cold, and I love Christmas. Cold weather can mean hot chocolate in a cozy living room. It can be cuddling up with a blanket on the couch watching a movie - but not It's A Wonderful Life. I tried watching it with the Weirdo once and she immediately scolded poor George Bailey for letting people walk all over him. I told her I always felt a little like ol' George - without the suicidal impulses of course. More the desire to help others. Her line was something like:
Every time a bell rings, quit feeling sorry for yourself and grow a pair.
The Weirdo and I do have a Christmas tradition we really love. We always listen to the same radio host when we're driving around at night during the holidays. It's partially for the Christmas music, partially for the nutty people that call in, and partially for the advice or musical response the host responds with. It goes something like this:
Caller: Hi, I'm just calling in to say I miss my best friend. She's in South America studying Aztec ruins and I just miss her a lot because we always spend time together on Christmas.
Host: Aww, you miss your friend don't you? You're together in your hearts. Here's a song for you.
*cue music* I want a hippopotamus for Christmas...
There are some things I like about the cold weather that aren't related to Christmas too. If I don't have to be outside long, and I can just step outside for a few moments, that rush of freezing air can be exhilarating. The cold weather also seems to bring such incredibly still nights. Summer nights are full and alive. Winter nights are so quiet and serene, like the entire world is sleeping.
Last but not least, winter gets me excited at the thought of snow. We get maybe an inch or two each winter, and it almost always falls in just one day - gone the next. I miss snow from growing up in the Northeast. I don't really miss shoveling driveways or skidding all over the road, but I do miss the fun parts of snow. I don't think I'll ever get to an age where the sight of snow doesn't make me want to go outside and start throwing snowballs. I like the idea of building a snowman with the Monkey someday.
Well, I cracked a car window to fully appreciate the cold I've been rambling about and now my hands are frozen. Time for some hot coffee!
It's not all bad though. Christmas comes with the cold, and I love Christmas. Cold weather can mean hot chocolate in a cozy living room. It can be cuddling up with a blanket on the couch watching a movie - but not It's A Wonderful Life. I tried watching it with the Weirdo once and she immediately scolded poor George Bailey for letting people walk all over him. I told her I always felt a little like ol' George - without the suicidal impulses of course. More the desire to help others. Her line was something like:
Every time a bell rings, quit feeling sorry for yourself and grow a pair.
The Weirdo and I do have a Christmas tradition we really love. We always listen to the same radio host when we're driving around at night during the holidays. It's partially for the Christmas music, partially for the nutty people that call in, and partially for the advice or musical response the host responds with. It goes something like this:
Caller: Hi, I'm just calling in to say I miss my best friend. She's in South America studying Aztec ruins and I just miss her a lot because we always spend time together on Christmas.
Host: Aww, you miss your friend don't you? You're together in your hearts. Here's a song for you.
*cue music* I want a hippopotamus for Christmas...
There are some things I like about the cold weather that aren't related to Christmas too. If I don't have to be outside long, and I can just step outside for a few moments, that rush of freezing air can be exhilarating. The cold weather also seems to bring such incredibly still nights. Summer nights are full and alive. Winter nights are so quiet and serene, like the entire world is sleeping.
Last but not least, winter gets me excited at the thought of snow. We get maybe an inch or two each winter, and it almost always falls in just one day - gone the next. I miss snow from growing up in the Northeast. I don't really miss shoveling driveways or skidding all over the road, but I do miss the fun parts of snow. I don't think I'll ever get to an age where the sight of snow doesn't make me want to go outside and start throwing snowballs. I like the idea of building a snowman with the Monkey someday.
Well, I cracked a car window to fully appreciate the cold I've been rambling about and now my hands are frozen. Time for some hot coffee!
Friday, December 3, 2010
A K-9 & 20 hours
So I'm wrapping up my second night of officially being the shift supervisor. There have been plenty of times in the past where I've stood in for the supervisor in his absence. Sarge had a vacation day or sick day, so I ran the shift. On Wednesday Sarge was moved back to a day shift, leaving me as the go-to guy for the shift. Not a stand-in supervisor, the supervisor.
Two moments stand out thus far:
Last night the shift was together, about to order up a round of late night cheeseburgers. Dispatch suddenly called my number, saying that the next town over wanted to know if we had a K-9 unit available to assist them. I asked what they needed the K-9 for. They replied that two armed suspects had just opened fire on an officer and then fled into the woods. The officer was OK - unharmed - but now they were cordoning off the woods where the two suspects had fled. They wanted the K-9 to go into the woods after the bad guys.
It was a weird mix of feelings that came flooding in after that. Given the exact same situation, if they had been asking me for my help, I would say yes and be on my way there in a heartbeat. The danger would of course be a constant reminder to be safe, but I would go without question. Those assholes needed to get caught. But they didn't want my help, they wanted my officer's help. I glanced at him across the table and he was, of course, already nodding his head to indicate he would go. I wanted to let him go just as much as I wanted to go myself, but the fact that it was my choice made me want to be damn sure I was making the right one. I held off on the approval and started asking questions. How many officers do they have out there now? How big of an area is cordoned off? Have they called for a chopper? Is there a medical crew standing by? Do they have someone that will stay with my K-9 unit while he goes through the woods?
Hmm. When did "the" K-9 become "my" K-9?
After I was reasonably assured that a small army of cops was assembling to look for the bad guys I cleared him to go. Then I sat in my car and waited for an hour. It was horrible. The tension, the anticipation, my mind running what-ifs over and over. What if he gets shot?
It's on your head. You sent him.
While waiting I of course had another officer dropping subtle hints like "I should be there helping them." Well, join the club! My response sounded straight out of Sarge's old playbook: We need adequate coverage here in our city before we can help anybody else.
Thankfully, my K-9 came back without much of a story. They walked around, didn't see anything. His call that he was returning to the city brought another new understanding of the word relief.
And then there was tonight. One of my officers told me earlier this week that she needed some training before the year is over. State law requires every officer to get at least 20 hours of training every year or they lose their arrest powers. It can be any kind of law enforcement related training, so long as it's at least 20 hours. When my shift ended yesterday morning I spent 30 minutes with the training Lieutenant figuring out scheduling and availability so I could get this officer the required training before the end of the year. We got it figured out, and I felt all happy with myself having solved the problem of someone on my shift.
I come to work tonight and let the officer know that I had it worked out. The officer tells me she had actually talked to Sergeant XYZ last night, and that Sarge had offered to get her the training she needed.
Wait a damn minute.
I could see if you went straight to the training Lieutenant with this. That would make sense. Why would you go to another shift supervisor? I almost felt like I had been cheated on. Then came the anger. Ooh you're just gonna get what you want from whatever supervisor ya can huh? I don't think so. You're going to the class I'm sending you to because this is my shift and what I say goes.
As this all played out in my head a little thought popped in there. It's something the Weirdo always says to me when I'm getting mad and loud: de-puff. Like that fish that puffs itself up. After being told to de-puff seventeen thousand times the order now apparently presents itself in my mind without the Weirdo even needing to be in the room.
So I relaxed, and figured that it doesn't matter one way or the other as long as the officer gets the required training.
So, two shifts, two nights, and I've covered both protectiveness and feeling betrayed.
Glad I've got the weekend off!
Two moments stand out thus far:
Last night the shift was together, about to order up a round of late night cheeseburgers. Dispatch suddenly called my number, saying that the next town over wanted to know if we had a K-9 unit available to assist them. I asked what they needed the K-9 for. They replied that two armed suspects had just opened fire on an officer and then fled into the woods. The officer was OK - unharmed - but now they were cordoning off the woods where the two suspects had fled. They wanted the K-9 to go into the woods after the bad guys.
It was a weird mix of feelings that came flooding in after that. Given the exact same situation, if they had been asking me for my help, I would say yes and be on my way there in a heartbeat. The danger would of course be a constant reminder to be safe, but I would go without question. Those assholes needed to get caught. But they didn't want my help, they wanted my officer's help. I glanced at him across the table and he was, of course, already nodding his head to indicate he would go. I wanted to let him go just as much as I wanted to go myself, but the fact that it was my choice made me want to be damn sure I was making the right one. I held off on the approval and started asking questions. How many officers do they have out there now? How big of an area is cordoned off? Have they called for a chopper? Is there a medical crew standing by? Do they have someone that will stay with my K-9 unit while he goes through the woods?
Hmm. When did "the" K-9 become "my" K-9?
After I was reasonably assured that a small army of cops was assembling to look for the bad guys I cleared him to go. Then I sat in my car and waited for an hour. It was horrible. The tension, the anticipation, my mind running what-ifs over and over. What if he gets shot?
It's on your head. You sent him.
While waiting I of course had another officer dropping subtle hints like "I should be there helping them." Well, join the club! My response sounded straight out of Sarge's old playbook: We need adequate coverage here in our city before we can help anybody else.
Thankfully, my K-9 came back without much of a story. They walked around, didn't see anything. His call that he was returning to the city brought another new understanding of the word relief.
And then there was tonight. One of my officers told me earlier this week that she needed some training before the year is over. State law requires every officer to get at least 20 hours of training every year or they lose their arrest powers. It can be any kind of law enforcement related training, so long as it's at least 20 hours. When my shift ended yesterday morning I spent 30 minutes with the training Lieutenant figuring out scheduling and availability so I could get this officer the required training before the end of the year. We got it figured out, and I felt all happy with myself having solved the problem of someone on my shift.
I come to work tonight and let the officer know that I had it worked out. The officer tells me she had actually talked to Sergeant XYZ last night, and that Sarge had offered to get her the training she needed.
Wait a damn minute.
I could see if you went straight to the training Lieutenant with this. That would make sense. Why would you go to another shift supervisor? I almost felt like I had been cheated on. Then came the anger. Ooh you're just gonna get what you want from whatever supervisor ya can huh? I don't think so. You're going to the class I'm sending you to because this is my shift and what I say goes.
As this all played out in my head a little thought popped in there. It's something the Weirdo always says to me when I'm getting mad and loud: de-puff. Like that fish that puffs itself up. After being told to de-puff seventeen thousand times the order now apparently presents itself in my mind without the Weirdo even needing to be in the room.
So I relaxed, and figured that it doesn't matter one way or the other as long as the officer gets the required training.
So, two shifts, two nights, and I've covered both protectiveness and feeling betrayed.
Glad I've got the weekend off!
Friday, November 26, 2010
Turkey Picker
I had a really great Thanksgiving today.
You might not have guessed that would be my final opinion of the day if you had been around this morning. The Weirdo and I went out with my brother and sister last night. My sister lives in Philadelphia, which is a bit of a drive from Atlanta, so I don't get to see her very often. In addition to the usual Thanksgiving traditions we wanted to go out drinking while she was in town. So we started with dinner and some surprisingly good beer, and then it was coffee and drinks at a cafe. There was a nice moment at the cafe, when we were all sitting around the table laughing and talking way too loud. We were out in the city with people we love having a good time. It was exactly how I pictured "Happy Adult Life" when I was young. Took a great picture with my brother and sister outside the cafe.
Then it was off to the bars. I drank way too much, and at some point my brother started pole dancing. Ended the night at this odd little bar that we will almost assuredly return to with Bestie & the Firefighter. Can't really explain it, but the beer was cheap, the dance floor was full, and the music ranged from Sweet Caroline to Thriller.
It was a consciousness-in-spurts car ride back to my parent's house, where the Monkey was sound asleep and I quickly followed suit. Four hours later the Weirdo was awake, tired, and irritated at her husband's hangover. We got home and I went back to sleep. She later told me that while I slept she watched all the shows on the DVR that we normally watch together because she was mad at my uselessness. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I reminded her of the numerous times I have taken care of things without complaint when she drank herself into oblivion or caught some nasty cold. We pretty much dropped it, though in my head I silently crowned her the Double Standard Queen of Hypocrisyland.
Once I was back among the living we went to my parent's house for Dinner # 1. At the start of the feast my dad went around the table asking everyone what they were thankful for. The Weirdo said "Sober husbands" and fired the death look at me. No she didn't - but you believed it, didn't you? As my dad went around the table he, as a joke, asked the Monkey what he was thankful for. Maybe it was because my dad spoke to him, maybe it was because everyone at the table was looking at him, but immediately upon being asked the question the Monkey held up a piece of tomato and shouted DAAAH! Not even two years old and his comedic timing is perfect. What a kid!
After dinner the men tossed a football back and forth in the front yard while the women sat on the patio talking, sipping drinks, and yelling at us when the ball came too close. The Monkey was running all over the yard, and I had one of those mental pictures burned into my head for all eternity of the Monkey running across the yard smiling and shouting, the wind blowing his hair up and away from his face.
In the early evening we left my parent's house and went to Dinner # 2 at the Weirdo's parents' house. The feast there was great too, but was enhanced by the multitude of children. There was the Monkey of course, but also a two and a half year old, a one year old, and a week old infant. The Weirdo and I love kids. We get excited talking about the future and a crazy house full of kids running around. When our kids are older we want to have Cousin Camp at our house during the summer. Where the idea of roughly eight kids in your house terrifies most people, the Weirdo and I relish the thought of it.
At one point I stepped outside for a smoke. The kids were inside running and making messes, the adults were tending to the kids and talking and enjoying time together. I took a moment to really appreciate how much I loved the Weirdo's family. My family, I corrected myself. They are my family every bit as much as they are the Weirdo's. The thought occurred to me that if something unspeakable happened, if I lost the Weirdo, I would still be there on Thanksgiving. I would be picking up that cute little one year old and making funny faces at her. I'd be looking at toys on sale with the two and a half year old. I'd still be the designated turkey picker - which is the incredibly important job of picking all the meat off the turkey after dinner has ended. I would be there with the Weirdo's family - my family - because I wanted to be there. I finished my smoke and went back inside just in time to discover the Monkey had an absolutely foul smelling diaper.
And so, like I said, I had a really great Thanksgiving today. I try to learn something new every day, and maybe today's lesson is this: whether you're out drinking, playing football, or turkey pickin', Thanksgiving is about being there with your family and remembering just how lucky you are to have them.
You might not have guessed that would be my final opinion of the day if you had been around this morning. The Weirdo and I went out with my brother and sister last night. My sister lives in Philadelphia, which is a bit of a drive from Atlanta, so I don't get to see her very often. In addition to the usual Thanksgiving traditions we wanted to go out drinking while she was in town. So we started with dinner and some surprisingly good beer, and then it was coffee and drinks at a cafe. There was a nice moment at the cafe, when we were all sitting around the table laughing and talking way too loud. We were out in the city with people we love having a good time. It was exactly how I pictured "Happy Adult Life" when I was young. Took a great picture with my brother and sister outside the cafe.
Then it was off to the bars. I drank way too much, and at some point my brother started pole dancing. Ended the night at this odd little bar that we will almost assuredly return to with Bestie & the Firefighter. Can't really explain it, but the beer was cheap, the dance floor was full, and the music ranged from Sweet Caroline to Thriller.
It was a consciousness-in-spurts car ride back to my parent's house, where the Monkey was sound asleep and I quickly followed suit. Four hours later the Weirdo was awake, tired, and irritated at her husband's hangover. We got home and I went back to sleep. She later told me that while I slept she watched all the shows on the DVR that we normally watch together because she was mad at my uselessness. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I reminded her of the numerous times I have taken care of things without complaint when she drank herself into oblivion or caught some nasty cold. We pretty much dropped it, though in my head I silently crowned her the Double Standard Queen of Hypocrisyland.
Once I was back among the living we went to my parent's house for Dinner # 1. At the start of the feast my dad went around the table asking everyone what they were thankful for. The Weirdo said "Sober husbands" and fired the death look at me. No she didn't - but you believed it, didn't you? As my dad went around the table he, as a joke, asked the Monkey what he was thankful for. Maybe it was because my dad spoke to him, maybe it was because everyone at the table was looking at him, but immediately upon being asked the question the Monkey held up a piece of tomato and shouted DAAAH! Not even two years old and his comedic timing is perfect. What a kid!
After dinner the men tossed a football back and forth in the front yard while the women sat on the patio talking, sipping drinks, and yelling at us when the ball came too close. The Monkey was running all over the yard, and I had one of those mental pictures burned into my head for all eternity of the Monkey running across the yard smiling and shouting, the wind blowing his hair up and away from his face.
In the early evening we left my parent's house and went to Dinner # 2 at the Weirdo's parents' house. The feast there was great too, but was enhanced by the multitude of children. There was the Monkey of course, but also a two and a half year old, a one year old, and a week old infant. The Weirdo and I love kids. We get excited talking about the future and a crazy house full of kids running around. When our kids are older we want to have Cousin Camp at our house during the summer. Where the idea of roughly eight kids in your house terrifies most people, the Weirdo and I relish the thought of it.
At one point I stepped outside for a smoke. The kids were inside running and making messes, the adults were tending to the kids and talking and enjoying time together. I took a moment to really appreciate how much I loved the Weirdo's family. My family, I corrected myself. They are my family every bit as much as they are the Weirdo's. The thought occurred to me that if something unspeakable happened, if I lost the Weirdo, I would still be there on Thanksgiving. I would be picking up that cute little one year old and making funny faces at her. I'd be looking at toys on sale with the two and a half year old. I'd still be the designated turkey picker - which is the incredibly important job of picking all the meat off the turkey after dinner has ended. I would be there with the Weirdo's family - my family - because I wanted to be there. I finished my smoke and went back inside just in time to discover the Monkey had an absolutely foul smelling diaper.
And so, like I said, I had a really great Thanksgiving today. I try to learn something new every day, and maybe today's lesson is this: whether you're out drinking, playing football, or turkey pickin', Thanksgiving is about being there with your family and remembering just how lucky you are to have them.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
A Baby & A Knight
First and foremost, I want to say congratulations to my brother in law and his wonderful wife, who gave birth to their son this morning. I haven't met the new baby yet, but I should get to see him in the next day or two.
The Weirdo, the Monkey, and I were up at the hospital last night while she was still in labor. The Weirdo was in the delivery room helping out while I had the monkey out in the lobby. I hadn't been in that part of the hospital since the Monkey was born, and it brought all kinds of memories flooding back. I remembered the lobby being filled with family and friends, all full of anticipation. I thought about walking back and forth down that long hallway to give updates to everyone in the lobby. Most of all, I remember feeling almost numb at times when the Monkey was being born. Like my mind was on a loop saying "Look what's happening! You're about to become a father! Remember every second of this! Look look look!" I remember when the Monkey's head was out but the rest of him wasn't the doctor started turning his head. I instantly thought the doctor was nearly breaking my half-born child's neck and was ready to knock her out of the way.
Just being in the maternity wing is a little exciting. To think that so many lives start there, so much joy is delivered all in one section of one hospital. I'd be lying if I said I didn't catch a little baby fever while I was there. I cooled off a little when the Monkey removed his shoe and dunked it in my sweet tea.
The Monkey and I went home for the night, leaving the Weirdo in the delivery room. I put him to bed and settled in for the night. Around 3 AM my phone went off with a new text message from the Weirdo asking if I was awake. I texted back that I was, and she called me a few minutes later. The Weirdo had a sinus infection that had gone from crappy to really bad in a pretty short time. She had a fever over 102 and felt awful. The problem was I had the car since I had the Monkey, so she had no way home. She asked if I would come get her.
I jumped up as if spring loaded. This was a rare opportunity! The Weirdo actually asking for help! The Weirdo is a very strong, independent woman and I love that about her. The other side to that is I don't get to play knight in shining armor for her too often. So I got the Monkey up and loaded into the car by 3:15. He woke up in the car and looked around before turning to me with a puzzled look and asking "Mama?"
How a toddler under 2 years old seems to intuitively know his mother is the reason he was pulled out of bed in the middle of the night is beyond me. He already knows a lot about women for his age.
So I got the Weirdo home and the Monkey back to bed. Made her breakfast in bed this morning and took care of the Monkey all day. Grabbed lunch, some groceries, and her prescription while the Monkey napped. Spent the evening catching up with the DVR. I'm sad that we didn't get to go have that time at the hospital with the new baby, but glad that I got to take care of my girl today. It fills that deep, instinctual need that guys have to feel like they've taken care of their family.
And now, the Weirdo and the Monkey are both soundly sleeping, the house is warm and secure, and there's food in the fridge for tomorrow. I can go to bed a happy man.
The Weirdo, the Monkey, and I were up at the hospital last night while she was still in labor. The Weirdo was in the delivery room helping out while I had the monkey out in the lobby. I hadn't been in that part of the hospital since the Monkey was born, and it brought all kinds of memories flooding back. I remembered the lobby being filled with family and friends, all full of anticipation. I thought about walking back and forth down that long hallway to give updates to everyone in the lobby. Most of all, I remember feeling almost numb at times when the Monkey was being born. Like my mind was on a loop saying "Look what's happening! You're about to become a father! Remember every second of this! Look look look!" I remember when the Monkey's head was out but the rest of him wasn't the doctor started turning his head. I instantly thought the doctor was nearly breaking my half-born child's neck and was ready to knock her out of the way.
Just being in the maternity wing is a little exciting. To think that so many lives start there, so much joy is delivered all in one section of one hospital. I'd be lying if I said I didn't catch a little baby fever while I was there. I cooled off a little when the Monkey removed his shoe and dunked it in my sweet tea.
The Monkey and I went home for the night, leaving the Weirdo in the delivery room. I put him to bed and settled in for the night. Around 3 AM my phone went off with a new text message from the Weirdo asking if I was awake. I texted back that I was, and she called me a few minutes later. The Weirdo had a sinus infection that had gone from crappy to really bad in a pretty short time. She had a fever over 102 and felt awful. The problem was I had the car since I had the Monkey, so she had no way home. She asked if I would come get her.
I jumped up as if spring loaded. This was a rare opportunity! The Weirdo actually asking for help! The Weirdo is a very strong, independent woman and I love that about her. The other side to that is I don't get to play knight in shining armor for her too often. So I got the Monkey up and loaded into the car by 3:15. He woke up in the car and looked around before turning to me with a puzzled look and asking "Mama?"
How a toddler under 2 years old seems to intuitively know his mother is the reason he was pulled out of bed in the middle of the night is beyond me. He already knows a lot about women for his age.
So I got the Weirdo home and the Monkey back to bed. Made her breakfast in bed this morning and took care of the Monkey all day. Grabbed lunch, some groceries, and her prescription while the Monkey napped. Spent the evening catching up with the DVR. I'm sad that we didn't get to go have that time at the hospital with the new baby, but glad that I got to take care of my girl today. It fills that deep, instinctual need that guys have to feel like they've taken care of their family.
And now, the Weirdo and the Monkey are both soundly sleeping, the house is warm and secure, and there's food in the fridge for tomorrow. I can go to bed a happy man.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Deer, Speed, & Ass Cheeks
It all started when "I Got A Feeling" started coming through the car speakers. The song wasn't even half over before the first of three out of the ordinary events of the night got started.
Car wreck with a deer. Got there and saw an old pickup parked on the shoulder. The deer was still alive but badly injured. Seeing an animal in pain is just horrible. The poor deer couldn't even stand up. It tried, but it's broken body was nothing more than dead weight. A few moments after I got there it just laid it's head down, waiting for the inevitable. I couldn't help but wonder: if a deer realizes it's going to die and looks completely defeated, what must that feel like for a human being?
So I stopped traffic on the highway, praying to God that none of the headlights had any small children behind them. I walked up close to the deer. It looked at me, then looked blankly off into nothing. There was no flight or fight response, just the assumption that I was a predator and it's time was up.
A single shot rang out in the night. The deer did that awful twitchy thing for a few seconds, and then I let traffic go. While waiting for the wrecker to get there I remembered that a person had been killed very near this same spot only a few weeks ago. My imagination flared up and I immediately had thoughts of a ghost possessing deer to run out into the road in front of oncoming traffic.
Great, I shot the ghost's deer.
The driver's son showed up to give him a ride home, as his truck's radiator was trashed. The son took a moment to walk over and have a look at the deer. He was a hunter, and mentioned that the deer would be no good to eat because of the wreck.
Don't taunt the deer ghost dude. Not cool.
A few hours later I was on the interstate running the laser, looking more for people going 20 under (likely DUI) than actual speeders. The headlights all blur together after a while, and real speeders aren't as common as you might think. The vast majority of cars on the highway are going between 10 and 15 over, which is not enough to get my attention. I was out there for about an hour and had only gotten one, and I had a growing need to get to a bathroom. Stupid free fountain drinks for cops. Suddenly I noticed one set of headlights was moving a hell of a lot faster than all the other headlights. In the maybe half second it took to bring up and aim the laser I realized those headlights were going really, really fast.
106 in the laser display. 65 on the speed limit sign.
The car blew past me without hitting the brakes. I slammed my Crown Vic into gear and punched it, kicking up dirt and gravel on the side of the road. I floored the gas pedal. 70. 80. 90. The speeder, a Honda, didn't seem to be getting much closer. At 115 I hit the blue lights and flipped the siren on. I was still about 500 feet behind the Honda, but slowly gaining. This was the moment of truth. The Honda had barely slowed, if at all, from when he first shot by me. I wasn't entirely sure if this was a pursuit or if the driver was waiting to see if I was willing to work to get him.
A few seconds after the blue lights lit up the highway I saw the Honda brake and begin moving to the right. Thank God. We pulled over onto the right shoulder a full 2 miles from where I had been sitting. My hands shook just a little bit as I put it back into park. Going from sitting in one spot bored half to death for an hour to suddenly racing down the highway at breakneck speed plays absolute hell with your nerves.
The driver hung both hands, one clutching his driver's license, out the window of his car. I walked up and aimed my flashlight into his car. The driver briefly looked up at me with sad eyes, and then dropped his head down to his chest. He looked exactly like that deer.
Finally, a couple hours later, I was in the mood for another free fountain drink. I bounced into my favorite gas station just after 4 AM. I walked through the door and, like most cops, took just a moment to note my surroundings. There was my buddy the clerk behind the counter, and a woman walking down one of the aisles towards me. I began telling the clerk the tale of my 106'er on the interstate as the woman passed by me. My voice may have faltered when she did. The woman from the front appeared to be dressed normally. When she walked by me it was revealed that there were no backs to her... um... I guess you might call them pants. Where the back of her pants was supposed to be was instead a very thin and completely transparent mesh of sorts. There was a piece of fabric in an inverted V shape that covered her BoomBadaHeyHey. So basically it was legs and ass cheeks walking through a gas station at 4 in the morning.
As a happily married man who tries very hard to be a gentleman, I took the high road and hid in the corner until she left. It's only a few degrees above freezing outside tonight, so I mentally willed the clerk behind the counter to ask her the question burning in my mind: aren't you cold?
I got back to my car just in time to see the poor girl drive off down the highway... right towards ghost deer.
May God have mercy on herass cheeks soul.
Car wreck with a deer. Got there and saw an old pickup parked on the shoulder. The deer was still alive but badly injured. Seeing an animal in pain is just horrible. The poor deer couldn't even stand up. It tried, but it's broken body was nothing more than dead weight. A few moments after I got there it just laid it's head down, waiting for the inevitable. I couldn't help but wonder: if a deer realizes it's going to die and looks completely defeated, what must that feel like for a human being?
So I stopped traffic on the highway, praying to God that none of the headlights had any small children behind them. I walked up close to the deer. It looked at me, then looked blankly off into nothing. There was no flight or fight response, just the assumption that I was a predator and it's time was up.
A single shot rang out in the night. The deer did that awful twitchy thing for a few seconds, and then I let traffic go. While waiting for the wrecker to get there I remembered that a person had been killed very near this same spot only a few weeks ago. My imagination flared up and I immediately had thoughts of a ghost possessing deer to run out into the road in front of oncoming traffic.
Great, I shot the ghost's deer.
The driver's son showed up to give him a ride home, as his truck's radiator was trashed. The son took a moment to walk over and have a look at the deer. He was a hunter, and mentioned that the deer would be no good to eat because of the wreck.
Don't taunt the deer ghost dude. Not cool.
A few hours later I was on the interstate running the laser, looking more for people going 20 under (likely DUI) than actual speeders. The headlights all blur together after a while, and real speeders aren't as common as you might think. The vast majority of cars on the highway are going between 10 and 15 over, which is not enough to get my attention. I was out there for about an hour and had only gotten one, and I had a growing need to get to a bathroom. Stupid free fountain drinks for cops. Suddenly I noticed one set of headlights was moving a hell of a lot faster than all the other headlights. In the maybe half second it took to bring up and aim the laser I realized those headlights were going really, really fast.
106 in the laser display. 65 on the speed limit sign.
The car blew past me without hitting the brakes. I slammed my Crown Vic into gear and punched it, kicking up dirt and gravel on the side of the road. I floored the gas pedal. 70. 80. 90. The speeder, a Honda, didn't seem to be getting much closer. At 115 I hit the blue lights and flipped the siren on. I was still about 500 feet behind the Honda, but slowly gaining. This was the moment of truth. The Honda had barely slowed, if at all, from when he first shot by me. I wasn't entirely sure if this was a pursuit or if the driver was waiting to see if I was willing to work to get him.
A few seconds after the blue lights lit up the highway I saw the Honda brake and begin moving to the right. Thank God. We pulled over onto the right shoulder a full 2 miles from where I had been sitting. My hands shook just a little bit as I put it back into park. Going from sitting in one spot bored half to death for an hour to suddenly racing down the highway at breakneck speed plays absolute hell with your nerves.
The driver hung both hands, one clutching his driver's license, out the window of his car. I walked up and aimed my flashlight into his car. The driver briefly looked up at me with sad eyes, and then dropped his head down to his chest. He looked exactly like that deer.
Finally, a couple hours later, I was in the mood for another free fountain drink. I bounced into my favorite gas station just after 4 AM. I walked through the door and, like most cops, took just a moment to note my surroundings. There was my buddy the clerk behind the counter, and a woman walking down one of the aisles towards me. I began telling the clerk the tale of my 106'er on the interstate as the woman passed by me. My voice may have faltered when she did. The woman from the front appeared to be dressed normally. When she walked by me it was revealed that there were no backs to her... um... I guess you might call them pants. Where the back of her pants was supposed to be was instead a very thin and completely transparent mesh of sorts. There was a piece of fabric in an inverted V shape that covered her BoomBadaHeyHey. So basically it was legs and ass cheeks walking through a gas station at 4 in the morning.
As a happily married man who tries very hard to be a gentleman, I took the high road and hid in the corner until she left. It's only a few degrees above freezing outside tonight, so I mentally willed the clerk behind the counter to ask her the question burning in my mind: aren't you cold?
I got back to my car just in time to see the poor girl drive off down the highway... right towards ghost deer.
May God have mercy on her
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Long-Term Storage
The Monkey is getting to the point where he could be making his first permanent memory any time now. I don't know exactly how old I was, but I do remember being in diapers. So what, two years old? The Monkey is fast approaching his second birthday and I'm beginning to wonder what his first memory might be.
I'm forming memories of him all the time. Just to name a few:
Recently he's decided he likes sitting on the back porch swing with me. He'll be playing out back, picking up sticks and rolling his trucks across the deck, when suddenly he'll come tromping over and climb up next to me on the swing. He never sits too close - he still needs his space. That's a child of the Weirdo for sure. So he'll climb up and I push the swing. He'll look out into the yard, seemingly lost in wonder at the sight of the world. And then just for a few moments he'll look over at me and smile, or babble, or just look at me while I talk to him.
The other night it was time for bed. The Weirdo and I told the Monkey this, and he of course went into "But how can you put me to bed while I'm so cute and loving on you?" mode. The Monkey crawled up onto the couch and tucked himself between her and the couch cushions. He laid there with her, doing his very best impression of an infant, while every few seconds cutting his eyes up to see if I was still there.
It's little moments like these that will stay in my mind forever. But what will be his first memory? Will it be one of these moments that is meaningful to me, or will it be some random point in time when his little brain finally figures out the whole long-term storage thing?
Regardless of when he starts making his first memories, I hope they're good ones.
I'm forming memories of him all the time. Just to name a few:
Recently he's decided he likes sitting on the back porch swing with me. He'll be playing out back, picking up sticks and rolling his trucks across the deck, when suddenly he'll come tromping over and climb up next to me on the swing. He never sits too close - he still needs his space. That's a child of the Weirdo for sure. So he'll climb up and I push the swing. He'll look out into the yard, seemingly lost in wonder at the sight of the world. And then just for a few moments he'll look over at me and smile, or babble, or just look at me while I talk to him.
The other night it was time for bed. The Weirdo and I told the Monkey this, and he of course went into "But how can you put me to bed while I'm so cute and loving on you?" mode. The Monkey crawled up onto the couch and tucked himself between her and the couch cushions. He laid there with her, doing his very best impression of an infant, while every few seconds cutting his eyes up to see if I was still there.
It's little moments like these that will stay in my mind forever. But what will be his first memory? Will it be one of these moments that is meaningful to me, or will it be some random point in time when his little brain finally figures out the whole long-term storage thing?
Regardless of when he starts making his first memories, I hope they're good ones.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Blah
Feeling like absolute hell at work right now.
The shift was chugging along happily when all of a sudden my nose was bothering me. Then I started sneezing. Before I knew it my eyes were watering, I was sneezing almost constantly, and my nose was somehow both stuffed up and running.
Just a couple more hours to get through, and then it's home for some wonderful sleep.
Had a great weekend with the Weirdo & the Monkey. Party on Friday night was a lot of fun, even if the Weirdo went home early. Got to actually have some drinks with some friends! Seems like such a big deal to me because it happens so rarely these days. Not complaining, just commenting. Drinking gets too expensive anyway. Although I would like to drop in to the new bar in town still. Hmmm..
Made a lot of progress on the house since the tree fell too. The street department guys pretty much did everything except delimb the tree - which I did with a hand saw. That was a great idea. Tree is gone now, and the stump/trunk shoved back into the neighbor's yard from whence they came.
Anyway, back to the grind.
The shift was chugging along happily when all of a sudden my nose was bothering me. Then I started sneezing. Before I knew it my eyes were watering, I was sneezing almost constantly, and my nose was somehow both stuffed up and running.
Just a couple more hours to get through, and then it's home for some wonderful sleep.
Had a great weekend with the Weirdo & the Monkey. Party on Friday night was a lot of fun, even if the Weirdo went home early. Got to actually have some drinks with some friends! Seems like such a big deal to me because it happens so rarely these days. Not complaining, just commenting. Drinking gets too expensive anyway. Although I would like to drop in to the new bar in town still. Hmmm..
Made a lot of progress on the house since the tree fell too. The street department guys pretty much did everything except delimb the tree - which I did with a hand saw. That was a great idea. Tree is gone now, and the stump/trunk shoved back into the neighbor's yard from whence they came.
Anyway, back to the grind.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Three Moms, Three Kids
The last twelve hours have given me three different looks at kids and their moms. I thought I'd share:
The first was the Monkey. Just after I clocked in at work I went back home to our neighborhood. Met up with the Weirdo, the Monkey, and a few more family members that were taking the Monkey and his cousin trick or treating. It was a slow night for Halloween, so I got to take the Monkey up to the doors of several houses and get some candy - most of which he probably won't eat. The Monkey, not quite 2 yet, was having a great time. He was walking and babbling, enjoying the company of his family while occasionally stooping to put a nice looking rock or leaf into his jack-o-lantern candy bucket. He didn't have a care in the world and was only concerned with whatever stimulus he received from one moment to the next. I headed back to work, leaving the Monkey with the Weirdo. Happy times!
Fast forward a few hours.
A mother calls 9-1-1 because her 9 year old has run away - again. She brought her kids to work with her because she has no childcare available to her. The 9 year old had just been punished today because he had gotten in trouble at school. So, the mom wouldn't let him go trick or treating tonight. Having missed his opportunity for free candy the 9 year old took off from his mom's work. I found him walking a few blocks away, and when he saw me he started running. I caught him and brought him back to mom. I had a few minutes to talk to the kid.
I hate my mom.
I don't want to live with my mom.
And so on and so forth. He didn't really hate his mom. She didn't give him everything he wanted and always let him have his way so he was angry. The mom said each time he didn't get his way he would try to run away.
A few more hours later.
Teenager with a blown tire on I-85. On his way back to Alabama, coming from a concert here in Atlanta. He was struggling just a little with changing his tire, so I helped him out. He surprised me when he said he was thankful his mother had showed him how to change a tire. I guess I kinda expected him to say his dad had taught him. The Weirdo would not be pleased at my gender-based assumptions. She might tell me to go blog about it.
Anyway, I guess weather you're trying to be a good mother to a toddler, a preteen, or a full-blown teenager with a driver's license, there really is no set job description. That's probably true for good fathers too. Trick or treating, punishment, or emergency road service - it's all included with a million more things.
A big thank you to all the good parents out there!
The first was the Monkey. Just after I clocked in at work I went back home to our neighborhood. Met up with the Weirdo, the Monkey, and a few more family members that were taking the Monkey and his cousin trick or treating. It was a slow night for Halloween, so I got to take the Monkey up to the doors of several houses and get some candy - most of which he probably won't eat. The Monkey, not quite 2 yet, was having a great time. He was walking and babbling, enjoying the company of his family while occasionally stooping to put a nice looking rock or leaf into his jack-o-lantern candy bucket. He didn't have a care in the world and was only concerned with whatever stimulus he received from one moment to the next. I headed back to work, leaving the Monkey with the Weirdo. Happy times!
Fast forward a few hours.
A mother calls 9-1-1 because her 9 year old has run away - again. She brought her kids to work with her because she has no childcare available to her. The 9 year old had just been punished today because he had gotten in trouble at school. So, the mom wouldn't let him go trick or treating tonight. Having missed his opportunity for free candy the 9 year old took off from his mom's work. I found him walking a few blocks away, and when he saw me he started running. I caught him and brought him back to mom. I had a few minutes to talk to the kid.
I hate my mom.
I don't want to live with my mom.
And so on and so forth. He didn't really hate his mom. She didn't give him everything he wanted and always let him have his way so he was angry. The mom said each time he didn't get his way he would try to run away.
A few more hours later.
Teenager with a blown tire on I-85. On his way back to Alabama, coming from a concert here in Atlanta. He was struggling just a little with changing his tire, so I helped him out. He surprised me when he said he was thankful his mother had showed him how to change a tire. I guess I kinda expected him to say his dad had taught him. The Weirdo would not be pleased at my gender-based assumptions. She might tell me to go blog about it.
Anyway, I guess weather you're trying to be a good mother to a toddler, a preteen, or a full-blown teenager with a driver's license, there really is no set job description. That's probably true for good fathers too. Trick or treating, punishment, or emergency road service - it's all included with a million more things.
A big thank you to all the good parents out there!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
That Damn Tree
Another few days in the record books for the Weirdo and I.
On Wednesday The Weirdo came home around 3 PM, let the dogs out, and then left to go pick up the Monkey. I woke up around 4 PM. I stretched, got dressed, and ambled through the house towards the back door for a smoke. I stopped dead in my tracks when I looked out the back windows and saw a tree on my back deck. My mind raced:
Did the Weirdo bring home a bunch of branches for some project she has in mind? Why would she leave them there? They're big too - how did she move them? I hope she's not juicing...
My brain began processing the rain that had been drenching the area before I went to bed. Then it all clicked: the rain & storm knocked the tree over. Great.
To say this was a big tree would be a bit of an understatement. This tree fell from my neighbor's yard just on the other side of my fence, went across my entire back yard, damaged the fence on the other side, and covered half my driveway. It ripped down the gutters on the back of the house, the fascia board behind the gutters, and the plastic underside of the porch. The fence is completely demolished where the tree fell. The roof is damaged. The back deck railings were knocked aside like balsa wood, and to top it all off some electrical wires were torn down. And there were the dogs, looking nervously between me and the tree as if to say "I didn't do it..."
So I called the Weirdo to fill her in. Then it was a call to my best friend the Fireman. Then the Weirdo's dad. Then the utility company. The Fireman and the utility guys showed up around the same time it started raining again. The electrical wires were determined to be safe enough that close to 5 PM and quitting time. Soon I was on the phone with the insurance company, who promised a meeting with the adjuster within 48 hours.
47.5 hours later the insurance guy shows up. He spent about an hour and a half inspecting, poking, prodding, snapping pictures, and jotting notes down. I thought he was pretty nice, although my opinion will not be officially made up until next week when I know if we'll get enough to repair everything. He left Friday afternoon, and I went to work Friday night.
The Weirdo and her Bestie went out Friday night, so I had to come home halfway through the shift to walk the dogs one last time before putting them in their kennels for the night. I let them out the back door, then went back inside for a few minutes. I came back out and called them to the back door to get them inside for the night. Just as the dogs came onto the deck so did one of our cats. The bulldog and the cat did not get along, and as always the bulldog immediately began to chase the cat. Only this time, with the downed tree covering half the deck, the cat had nowhere to go. The dog caught and killed the cat in a matter of seconds. If that damn tree hadn't have fallen the cat would have gotten away like always.
Got off work at 7 AM, nearing the 24 hour mark of being awake. The Weirdo would be waking up and coming home soon, and I didn't want any gruesome sights waiting for her. So I buried the cat, used a rock to mark the grave, and went to bed.
It's the unexpected cause and effect that's got my mind so occupied. A tree fell, and we immediately assumed the worst part of everything was that the house was damaged. We never in a million years would have guessed that the tree falling would result in the cat getting killed two days later. In addition, the tree falling has already screwed up our plans for next week. The Weirdo has to go out of town for two days for work training and our plan was that me and the Monkey would go with her. Now, with the fence down, we can't leave the dogs out and have a friend put them inside at night so me and the Monkey are staying home.
I'm really going to enjoy taking a chainsaw to that tree.
On Wednesday The Weirdo came home around 3 PM, let the dogs out, and then left to go pick up the Monkey. I woke up around 4 PM. I stretched, got dressed, and ambled through the house towards the back door for a smoke. I stopped dead in my tracks when I looked out the back windows and saw a tree on my back deck. My mind raced:
Did the Weirdo bring home a bunch of branches for some project she has in mind? Why would she leave them there? They're big too - how did she move them? I hope she's not juicing...
My brain began processing the rain that had been drenching the area before I went to bed. Then it all clicked: the rain & storm knocked the tree over. Great.
To say this was a big tree would be a bit of an understatement. This tree fell from my neighbor's yard just on the other side of my fence, went across my entire back yard, damaged the fence on the other side, and covered half my driveway. It ripped down the gutters on the back of the house, the fascia board behind the gutters, and the plastic underside of the porch. The fence is completely demolished where the tree fell. The roof is damaged. The back deck railings were knocked aside like balsa wood, and to top it all off some electrical wires were torn down. And there were the dogs, looking nervously between me and the tree as if to say "I didn't do it..."
So I called the Weirdo to fill her in. Then it was a call to my best friend the Fireman. Then the Weirdo's dad. Then the utility company. The Fireman and the utility guys showed up around the same time it started raining again. The electrical wires were determined to be safe enough that close to 5 PM and quitting time. Soon I was on the phone with the insurance company, who promised a meeting with the adjuster within 48 hours.
47.5 hours later the insurance guy shows up. He spent about an hour and a half inspecting, poking, prodding, snapping pictures, and jotting notes down. I thought he was pretty nice, although my opinion will not be officially made up until next week when I know if we'll get enough to repair everything. He left Friday afternoon, and I went to work Friday night.
The Weirdo and her Bestie went out Friday night, so I had to come home halfway through the shift to walk the dogs one last time before putting them in their kennels for the night. I let them out the back door, then went back inside for a few minutes. I came back out and called them to the back door to get them inside for the night. Just as the dogs came onto the deck so did one of our cats. The bulldog and the cat did not get along, and as always the bulldog immediately began to chase the cat. Only this time, with the downed tree covering half the deck, the cat had nowhere to go. The dog caught and killed the cat in a matter of seconds. If that damn tree hadn't have fallen the cat would have gotten away like always.
Got off work at 7 AM, nearing the 24 hour mark of being awake. The Weirdo would be waking up and coming home soon, and I didn't want any gruesome sights waiting for her. So I buried the cat, used a rock to mark the grave, and went to bed.
It's the unexpected cause and effect that's got my mind so occupied. A tree fell, and we immediately assumed the worst part of everything was that the house was damaged. We never in a million years would have guessed that the tree falling would result in the cat getting killed two days later. In addition, the tree falling has already screwed up our plans for next week. The Weirdo has to go out of town for two days for work training and our plan was that me and the Monkey would go with her. Now, with the fence down, we can't leave the dogs out and have a friend put them inside at night so me and the Monkey are staying home.
I'm really going to enjoy taking a chainsaw to that tree.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The Lonely Loner
In a weird place right now.
I'm training a new hire at work, and will be for at least the next week or two. She's nice and easy to get along with. She's been in this line of work four times longer than I have, so I don't really need to train her on how to do the job - just the particulars of how this city wants it done. So the training itself is easy. It's something else...
Every time I'm training someone my mind quickly starts to fast forward to when I've got my car to myself again. I like being alone in my car. I like going where I want, when I want, and doing what I want without need for reason or explanation. I don't get irritated or upset, I just get anxious to be alone again. It's weird, because to me the only thing better than having my car to myself is meeting up with a coworker during the shift to shoot the breeze. I like being alone, as long as I can go meet up with a buddy whenever the need arises. It's weird.
I guess when I've got the car to myself I can decide when to hang out with a coworker for a few minutes and when I want to drive around practicing my Bobby Darin or Billy Joel karyoke performances. It's a Piano Man meets Mack the Knife kinda thing.
The real irony is that despite my strong desire to be alone at work I rarely want to be alone when off work. The Weirdo has endured my whining about missing being at home with her and the Monkey since I went to a night shift back in August. The Weirdo and I have discussed our individual need for alone time. It's not a lack of love or desire to be together. I think on some level it's just human nature. We all put on a little bit of a game face when we're with another person. My game face for the Weirdo is pretty thin - even transparent in some places, while the face I use for work is unbelievably thick.
So the Weirdo and I both value alone time. She gets hers in the evening, with a book or her writing or (lately) Ghost Whisperer while me and the Monkey play in the living room. I usually get my alone time at work - unless I'm training someone. The past couple days I've been in this weird state of wanting to be with the Weirdo and the Monkey in one instant and wishing for a few solitary hours in the next.
I don't know how, but I think the solution to this is a karyoke night. I've got a Black Crowes song in mind that I'm a little nervous about, but we'll see how it goes.
I'm training a new hire at work, and will be for at least the next week or two. She's nice and easy to get along with. She's been in this line of work four times longer than I have, so I don't really need to train her on how to do the job - just the particulars of how this city wants it done. So the training itself is easy. It's something else...
Every time I'm training someone my mind quickly starts to fast forward to when I've got my car to myself again. I like being alone in my car. I like going where I want, when I want, and doing what I want without need for reason or explanation. I don't get irritated or upset, I just get anxious to be alone again. It's weird, because to me the only thing better than having my car to myself is meeting up with a coworker during the shift to shoot the breeze. I like being alone, as long as I can go meet up with a buddy whenever the need arises. It's weird.
I guess when I've got the car to myself I can decide when to hang out with a coworker for a few minutes and when I want to drive around practicing my Bobby Darin or Billy Joel karyoke performances. It's a Piano Man meets Mack the Knife kinda thing.
The real irony is that despite my strong desire to be alone at work I rarely want to be alone when off work. The Weirdo has endured my whining about missing being at home with her and the Monkey since I went to a night shift back in August. The Weirdo and I have discussed our individual need for alone time. It's not a lack of love or desire to be together. I think on some level it's just human nature. We all put on a little bit of a game face when we're with another person. My game face for the Weirdo is pretty thin - even transparent in some places, while the face I use for work is unbelievably thick.
So the Weirdo and I both value alone time. She gets hers in the evening, with a book or her writing or (lately) Ghost Whisperer while me and the Monkey play in the living room. I usually get my alone time at work - unless I'm training someone. The past couple days I've been in this weird state of wanting to be with the Weirdo and the Monkey in one instant and wishing for a few solitary hours in the next.
I don't know how, but I think the solution to this is a karyoke night. I've got a Black Crowes song in mind that I'm a little nervous about, but we'll see how it goes.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
A Great Fall Day
If I got paid for putting miles on my car's odometer I would have made a lot of money today!
Started the day early when the Weirdo woke me from my peaceful slumber by turning the lights on and hinting at a potential for domestic violence if my drowsiness made us late. After my aerosol shot of nicotine I was finished waking up, and then it was time to get the Monkey up. I can already see he's going to be a morning person like the Weirdo because he was literally bouncing up and down in his crib in anticipation of starting the day. I can't remember the last time I was that eager to get out of bed. Am I wrong for lacking such enthusiasm for life, or has the Monkey just not yet come to appreciate the greatness of sleep? I'm leaning towards the latter, but I digress.
The Weirdo sent me out to fill up the car with gas, which I was happy to do. I love running little errands. Dropping off the gas bill, dropping off dry cleaning, running to the store for milk & eggs, whatever needs doing! Maybe I like having something to do, or maybe I like being given a clear goal that I can reach with ease so I get that little sense of accomplishment.
"Weirdo my love, you tasked me with fetching you milk and a book of stamps. I bring them to you now knowing your heart is bursting with love and admiration. I will now accept my butt pinch in reward."
Anyway, with the Weirdo and the Monkey ready to go we piled into the car. We picked up the Weirdo's other significant other (her best friend), and set out for the mountains. A few hours later we arrived at the 2010 Hillbilly Hog BBQ Throwdown. Much to my disappointment I didn't see a single "Get er done" hat or t-shirt. We had some great 'cue (that's what us insiders call it), some Italian ice, and I posed in front of the "Best Butt In Town" sign.
Had one of those "moments" while we were there too. No, not a Viagra moment - where the Weirdo is eating 'cue, gets sauce on her chin, I wipe it off with my napkin, and she smiles at me all coy and knowing. If that happened in real life I'd be pelting her with little BBQ sauce containers from McDonalds all the time. No, it was one of those "Life is beautiful" kinda moments. It was my turn to chase the Monkey, and after a few goes down the slides I decided to bring him over to the Sheriff's tent for a free balloon. We got balloon # 1 and I gave it to the Monkey. I hovered over him as he delighted in his lightweight new best thing ever, confident that when he inevitably let it go I would snatch it from the air and return it to him. I underestimated the power of fresh helium, and when he let it go it soared up into the sky. The Monkey watched it intently, pointing at it and providing commentary:
"Bah dah dah.. booowwll."
I wanted to kick myself for letting his balloon get away, and I expected a total Monkey meltdown any second for it's loss. The nice Deputy gave me balloon # 2, and with it firmly in my own grasp we headed back over to where the Weirdo and her bestie were sitting. We tied the balloon onto the Monkey's belt loop, and he seemed to enjoy it for a bit. I figured with his balloon firmly attached he would be happy all day. Minutes later he was on the ground screaming, kicking and slapping at his floating accessory. I cut the balloon loose and handed it to him. He held it only long enough to let it go, and once again he marveled at it as it rose up and away.
That's when it hit all of us: he didn't mind losing his balloon if it meant he could watch it float away. It's ability to defy gravity, which he has only recently come to somewhat understand, was absolutely amazing to him. Only adults automatically assume a balloon is better appreciated attached to your hip rather than allowed to serve it's purpose and float up into the sky. I guess you never know what your toddler will teach you next.
After we had our fill of 'cue we headed home. The Weirdo even let me listen to one of my mix CDs on the way back! She is a bit of a dictator when it comes to what music gets played in the car, and much to my dismay her music sounds to me like a ghost haunting a psych ward just dropped some bad acid and found it's way to a synthesizer.
After a brief respite at home we were back on the road headed towards Cochran Mill. Picked up a few extra family members on the way, and soon found ourselves at the Cochran Mill Nature Center. It was a hayride down to the festival, petting a live snake, and hot dogs on the porch while we played and laughed with the Monkey (in a dinosaur costume) and our nephew (in a monkey costume).
After that it was dinner at Nana and Papa's house, where I watched the Weirdo go from book reader to surf board to expert toddler wrassler. Got home and carried my sleeping Monkey to his bed, but couldn't make it out of the room without doing that weird, parent, my-sleeping-child-is-the-most-wonderful-thing-I've-ever-seen thing. The Weirdo dashed off to her other world, where a story in her head was waiting to be written, and I sat down to tell you about my day.
It was a great Fall day!
Started the day early when the Weirdo woke me from my peaceful slumber by turning the lights on and hinting at a potential for domestic violence if my drowsiness made us late. After my aerosol shot of nicotine I was finished waking up, and then it was time to get the Monkey up. I can already see he's going to be a morning person like the Weirdo because he was literally bouncing up and down in his crib in anticipation of starting the day. I can't remember the last time I was that eager to get out of bed. Am I wrong for lacking such enthusiasm for life, or has the Monkey just not yet come to appreciate the greatness of sleep? I'm leaning towards the latter, but I digress.
The Weirdo sent me out to fill up the car with gas, which I was happy to do. I love running little errands. Dropping off the gas bill, dropping off dry cleaning, running to the store for milk & eggs, whatever needs doing! Maybe I like having something to do, or maybe I like being given a clear goal that I can reach with ease so I get that little sense of accomplishment.
"Weirdo my love, you tasked me with fetching you milk and a book of stamps. I bring them to you now knowing your heart is bursting with love and admiration. I will now accept my butt pinch in reward."
Anyway, with the Weirdo and the Monkey ready to go we piled into the car. We picked up the Weirdo's other significant other (her best friend), and set out for the mountains. A few hours later we arrived at the 2010 Hillbilly Hog BBQ Throwdown. Much to my disappointment I didn't see a single "Get er done" hat or t-shirt. We had some great 'cue (that's what us insiders call it), some Italian ice, and I posed in front of the "Best Butt In Town" sign.
Had one of those "moments" while we were there too. No, not a Viagra moment - where the Weirdo is eating 'cue, gets sauce on her chin, I wipe it off with my napkin, and she smiles at me all coy and knowing. If that happened in real life I'd be pelting her with little BBQ sauce containers from McDonalds all the time. No, it was one of those "Life is beautiful" kinda moments. It was my turn to chase the Monkey, and after a few goes down the slides I decided to bring him over to the Sheriff's tent for a free balloon. We got balloon # 1 and I gave it to the Monkey. I hovered over him as he delighted in his lightweight new best thing ever, confident that when he inevitably let it go I would snatch it from the air and return it to him. I underestimated the power of fresh helium, and when he let it go it soared up into the sky. The Monkey watched it intently, pointing at it and providing commentary:
"Bah dah dah.. booowwll."
I wanted to kick myself for letting his balloon get away, and I expected a total Monkey meltdown any second for it's loss. The nice Deputy gave me balloon # 2, and with it firmly in my own grasp we headed back over to where the Weirdo and her bestie were sitting. We tied the balloon onto the Monkey's belt loop, and he seemed to enjoy it for a bit. I figured with his balloon firmly attached he would be happy all day. Minutes later he was on the ground screaming, kicking and slapping at his floating accessory. I cut the balloon loose and handed it to him. He held it only long enough to let it go, and once again he marveled at it as it rose up and away.
That's when it hit all of us: he didn't mind losing his balloon if it meant he could watch it float away. It's ability to defy gravity, which he has only recently come to somewhat understand, was absolutely amazing to him. Only adults automatically assume a balloon is better appreciated attached to your hip rather than allowed to serve it's purpose and float up into the sky. I guess you never know what your toddler will teach you next.
After we had our fill of 'cue we headed home. The Weirdo even let me listen to one of my mix CDs on the way back! She is a bit of a dictator when it comes to what music gets played in the car, and much to my dismay her music sounds to me like a ghost haunting a psych ward just dropped some bad acid and found it's way to a synthesizer.
After a brief respite at home we were back on the road headed towards Cochran Mill. Picked up a few extra family members on the way, and soon found ourselves at the Cochran Mill Nature Center. It was a hayride down to the festival, petting a live snake, and hot dogs on the porch while we played and laughed with the Monkey (in a dinosaur costume) and our nephew (in a monkey costume).
After that it was dinner at Nana and Papa's house, where I watched the Weirdo go from book reader to surf board to expert toddler wrassler. Got home and carried my sleeping Monkey to his bed, but couldn't make it out of the room without doing that weird, parent, my-sleeping-child-is-the-most-wonderful-thing-I've-ever-seen thing. The Weirdo dashed off to her other world, where a story in her head was waiting to be written, and I sat down to tell you about my day.
It was a great Fall day!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Disconnected
Having a tough day.
It's the inevitable byproduct of working a night shift when you're a caring, sensitive guy who actually enjoys being home with his family. I miss them. I work all night just to come home, kiss the Weirdo goodbye, and drive the Monkey to Grandma's. Sleep all day, pick up the Monkey, spend an hour with the Weirdo, and then it's right back to work tonight.
In short, I feel disconnected.
A growing part of me really hates working nights because of this. On her lunch break earlier the Weirdo told me last night there was this perfect Kodak moment with her, the dog, and the Monkey. The first thought I had was that I should have been there to see it.
What makes it tougher is that I'm seemingly alone in my disconnected state of mind. For a time the Monkey would cry and pout when I suited up to go to work; reaching out for me and scrunching his face and all but shouting "Please don't go!" Now, he seems to recognize what the uniform means. I get a hug and a kiss - which I am still beyond thankful for - and then he's back to his toys.
The Weirdo gets by just fine, partially because 50% of the time she's lost in her own head anyway. Just one line from a song or a tv show ignites this creative fury in her, and a day later she's got a plot outline for her newest story. Aside from that, the Weirdo is much more balanced than I am. She's got - and this is the short list- me, her best friend, and her mom as her triangle of emotional stability. I thankfully have my mother and friends as well, but the Weirdo is my # 1 by a mile.
To put it another way, if you were tasked with fully and completely describing the Weirdo (her personality, thoughts, feelings) to a complete stranger you would have to talk to a minimum of the three people I listed above. If tasked with doing the same for me you need only talk to the Weirdo.
I of course recognize that this isn't really healthy. The Weirdo learned from past experience not to become fully vested in a single person, no matter how great the love or commitment. I never got that lesson because I never had the opportunity to learn until I met her.
All of this is my long winded way of saying that working a night shift, being constantly drawn away from my family, really brings me down in a big way. When I don't have that closeness, that contact, I end up feeling disconnected.
I think I need a combination of going back to day shift, spending a little more time with and opening up a little more to my friends, and someone to tell me that it's all gonna be OK.
It's the inevitable byproduct of working a night shift when you're a caring, sensitive guy who actually enjoys being home with his family. I miss them. I work all night just to come home, kiss the Weirdo goodbye, and drive the Monkey to Grandma's. Sleep all day, pick up the Monkey, spend an hour with the Weirdo, and then it's right back to work tonight.
In short, I feel disconnected.
A growing part of me really hates working nights because of this. On her lunch break earlier the Weirdo told me last night there was this perfect Kodak moment with her, the dog, and the Monkey. The first thought I had was that I should have been there to see it.
What makes it tougher is that I'm seemingly alone in my disconnected state of mind. For a time the Monkey would cry and pout when I suited up to go to work; reaching out for me and scrunching his face and all but shouting "Please don't go!" Now, he seems to recognize what the uniform means. I get a hug and a kiss - which I am still beyond thankful for - and then he's back to his toys.
The Weirdo gets by just fine, partially because 50% of the time she's lost in her own head anyway. Just one line from a song or a tv show ignites this creative fury in her, and a day later she's got a plot outline for her newest story. Aside from that, the Weirdo is much more balanced than I am. She's got - and this is the short list- me, her best friend, and her mom as her triangle of emotional stability. I thankfully have my mother and friends as well, but the Weirdo is my # 1 by a mile.
To put it another way, if you were tasked with fully and completely describing the Weirdo (her personality, thoughts, feelings) to a complete stranger you would have to talk to a minimum of the three people I listed above. If tasked with doing the same for me you need only talk to the Weirdo.
I of course recognize that this isn't really healthy. The Weirdo learned from past experience not to become fully vested in a single person, no matter how great the love or commitment. I never got that lesson because I never had the opportunity to learn until I met her.
All of this is my long winded way of saying that working a night shift, being constantly drawn away from my family, really brings me down in a big way. When I don't have that closeness, that contact, I end up feeling disconnected.
I think I need a combination of going back to day shift, spending a little more time with and opening up a little more to my friends, and someone to tell me that it's all gonna be OK.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
An Explanation
You may be wondering where the title of this blog comes from. Big A, the Weirdo, and the Monkey. Well, it's kind of a funny story.
My name is Anthony, so Big A would imply that I'm a big guy. Eh. A guy that I work with is a big guy. 6'06, 350 pounds-ish. THAT'S a big guy. This monster can lift a refrigerator without any help. And no, I'm not grossly overweight to the point that it would earn me the Big A nickname in a friendly, loving, ooh-my-God-he'll-be-dead-from-heart-failure-by-35 kinda way either. In truth, Big A is not my nickname. It never has been. And yet, there is a story there.
As with all great stories, this one starts with meeting a girl on the internet. Gulp. When I was younger I firmly believed that there was a decent chance that the girl of my dreams was waiting for me in a chatroom somewhere. I'd keep my eyes peeled for a profile that read
"Nerdy, beautiful girl, loves Star Wars, beer, and discussions about time travel. Lives around the corner from you, Anthony."
I never actually saw a profile like that, but I kept my hopes high. One of the girls I met actually decided to meet up with me in the real world. She had some friends with her and we met in a public place, just in case one or the other turned out to be the weird, heavy breathing, wear your skin for a bathrobe kind of person. After we hung out that night I went home just beyond pleased with myself that a strange girl had voluntarily chosen to spend several hours with me. The next day in her AIM status box she mentioned something about having fun with some friends and "Big A". Sweet! She gave me a nickname! She must like me! The next time I talked to her I mentioned the new nickname she had given me. Slightly confused, she explained that "Big A" was her friend named Andrew. Permanent memory of horrifying embarassment, check.
Thankfully, I stopped trying to meet girls on the internet and instead talked to them face to face. This proved to be a much better idea, as I am now happily married to the Weirdo for almost five years.
So how did the Weirdo get her nickname?
Early on in our relationship the Weirdo and I learned that we were both goofy as hell. One day during a car ride we were joking about what our lives would be like after we were married. The Weirdo said I would have to be in charge of the money, because she would draw doodles and smiley faces on checks sent it for bills. She said whoever we sent the checks to would send us a letter that read, and I quote "Dear Weirdo, stop sending us weird checks." My wife, the Weirdo.
The irony is, five years later, the Weirdo is in charge of the family finances.
That brings us to the Monkey. Not a complex explanation here. The Monkey, our almost-two year old, is like a little monkey. He climbs furniture and hurls food and screams with delight when he sees a choo choo train or a fire truck. I love him more than words can describe. He is my pride and joy, and the Weirdo and I call him our little Monkey.
Big A, the Weirdo, and the Monkey.
My name is Anthony, so Big A would imply that I'm a big guy. Eh. A guy that I work with is a big guy. 6'06, 350 pounds-ish. THAT'S a big guy. This monster can lift a refrigerator without any help. And no, I'm not grossly overweight to the point that it would earn me the Big A nickname in a friendly, loving, ooh-my-God-he'll-be-dead-from-heart-failure-by-35 kinda way either. In truth, Big A is not my nickname. It never has been. And yet, there is a story there.
As with all great stories, this one starts with meeting a girl on the internet. Gulp. When I was younger I firmly believed that there was a decent chance that the girl of my dreams was waiting for me in a chatroom somewhere. I'd keep my eyes peeled for a profile that read
"Nerdy, beautiful girl, loves Star Wars, beer, and discussions about time travel. Lives around the corner from you, Anthony."
I never actually saw a profile like that, but I kept my hopes high. One of the girls I met actually decided to meet up with me in the real world. She had some friends with her and we met in a public place, just in case one or the other turned out to be the weird, heavy breathing, wear your skin for a bathrobe kind of person. After we hung out that night I went home just beyond pleased with myself that a strange girl had voluntarily chosen to spend several hours with me. The next day in her AIM status box she mentioned something about having fun with some friends and "Big A". Sweet! She gave me a nickname! She must like me! The next time I talked to her I mentioned the new nickname she had given me. Slightly confused, she explained that "Big A" was her friend named Andrew. Permanent memory of horrifying embarassment, check.
Thankfully, I stopped trying to meet girls on the internet and instead talked to them face to face. This proved to be a much better idea, as I am now happily married to the Weirdo for almost five years.
So how did the Weirdo get her nickname?
Early on in our relationship the Weirdo and I learned that we were both goofy as hell. One day during a car ride we were joking about what our lives would be like after we were married. The Weirdo said I would have to be in charge of the money, because she would draw doodles and smiley faces on checks sent it for bills. She said whoever we sent the checks to would send us a letter that read, and I quote "Dear Weirdo, stop sending us weird checks." My wife, the Weirdo.
The irony is, five years later, the Weirdo is in charge of the family finances.
That brings us to the Monkey. Not a complex explanation here. The Monkey, our almost-two year old, is like a little monkey. He climbs furniture and hurls food and screams with delight when he sees a choo choo train or a fire truck. I love him more than words can describe. He is my pride and joy, and the Weirdo and I call him our little Monkey.
Big A, the Weirdo, and the Monkey.
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