That was my one last nerve!

I don't care where you work -- if you're a cop, you automatically have a big fat target on the back of your uniform. You may work in a more "dangerous" area -- cities that people across the country may hear of and know about, and not for their beautiful beaches and friendly people -- or you may work in a neighboring jurisdiction that gets the overflow from one of those crappy towns. The longer my husband is in law enforcement, the more I learn that there are all kind of cops working for all kinds of agencies (ever seen a Postal Service Police Officer? I have!). And they all have their unique idiosyncrasies.

There has been major tension in our larger metro area lately, with lots of conflict between the cops and the illogical, left-leaning, narrow-minded citizens that see the uniform my husband wears and make all sorts of assumptions about him. And they don't even know him! Now, generally speaking, my husband's jurisdiction is rather benign. One of those places where you automatically think "Oh, that's not too bad," but at the same time they get the overflow from some of the more nasty towns around.

So, yeah, I feel pretty "safe" when my husband goes to work. (What a joke that is. But that's for another post.) He's gotten plenty of his shift buddies out of jams in his years on, been crashed by a drunk driver... but really? It's not that bad.

So imagine my surprise when I was driving home with the kids in the car recently and I heard the breaking news that there had been a shooting right in the middle of DH's jurisdiction. When he was on duty. In the middle of his shift. In the middle of his jurisdiction. Did I mention he was working right then?

Like I recently said on Twitter, my insides died a little while I heard that tiny snippet. I knew not to call him. If he had been the shooter, or on the call during the shooting, or been shot, he's wasn't going to answer the phone. If he was providing support to the whole situation (highly likely, eh?), he wasn't going to answer the phone. So I just had to breathe... and know that whatever had happened had already happened. And I would know if I needed to know and when I needed to know. I called my brother and had him comb the internet for details -- just find out who got shot, was it a good guy or a bad guy? I hung up and called home to check the messages remotely. No messages. Ok, I think that's a good sign. I think.

It turned out to be a good sign. About 90 minutes later DH called and my insides collapsed in relief. Yes, he was still on duty. No, he wasn't on the call. No, he wouldn't be coming home on time. Yes, I would need to scramble for a babysitter. That "late home" and "not available for you" part sucked. But I didn't even care when I knew he wasn't involved in the incident.

I'm having a hard time synthesizing my feelings about the whole thing. The multiple incidents piling up -- a fight here, a shooting there, crazy morons here, obscenities and profanity... all in one week? I can take it spread out but shift after shift after shift, working 12 hours on with three days off spread over 14 days?

If I'm having trouble, how are these officers doing it?

DH had a glorious day off yesterday and now he is back in the trenches. I'm sorting through my feelings, and definitely not discussing with my non-LEO friends because they cannot wrap their mind around it. Oh, and potty training. And cleaning up barf. That's what we are doing today. What's on your schedule today?

I do it all. Except....

I pride myself on being able to sit down and take it. Not in a "do you know it is domestic violence awareness month" kind of way, but more of the "just do it" way. I schlep uniforms to the cleaners. I speed-racer ironed academy uniforms (then said "no more!"). I pack lunches at dinner and make breakfast for lunch. I have my weekend on Wednesday and Thursday and celebrate Christmas on any day in December that starts with a twenty-something. Heck, I celebrated Thanksgiving for several years straight at the police station!

If you are a LEO family this is no big news to you. And none of us (usually) are complaining, it is just a reminder of what our normal is. It is one heck of a different kind of normal than most other people I know.

That is why I was knocked on my butt this week when I realized there is something I just won't do when it comes to the police wife life, because as I have just explained, I do it all.

bulletblocker.com

My husband brought home his body armor for a good cleaning. Some wear them over their shirts, some under, but if you have half a brain you wear your freaking vest on duty.  This is the one piece of equipment that kind of creeps me out.  It's this ugly, smelly, nondescript thing that could very well save my husband's life at the very best or at the very worst make a horrible injury much less severe.  I'm happy he is bringing it home for cleaning, but it sure does give me the creeps.  Oh, did I already say that?  Well, it does.  He's scrubbing it and cleaning it like it's a pair of boots he's sloshed through a homeless encampment in and all I can think of is "Please don't die, please don't die, please don't die."

Which is totally *NOT* like me.  People ask me stupid questions like this All. The. Time.  "Don't you worry?"  "What would happen if...?"  From some people I know it is sincere and they are truly concerned.  But other people who are asking me stuff; it almost feels like they have no right to ask, well... don't get me started.

I was doing ok ignoring the whole thing and keeping it together until I saw this little tiny rectangular piece laying on our bed (because really, where else would you clean this stuff?!).  A little bigger than a 4x6 index card, I think.  (I'm not sure, I didn't look too long.)  The Trauma Pac.  Now, this picture over to the right is just a representative photo I found on a message board on the great world wide web.  But I can tell you that if that tiny little rectangle with the nice "Trauma Pac" description and "second chance" were sitting there on my bed WITH AN OUTLINE OF A HEART like this one has, I would have been through the roof.  I almost had to pick it up and put it under the bed or in my husband's sock drawer because I had such a strong reaction to it.

But I'm tough.  I do it all.  I'm a police wife.  So I kept my freaking-out-ness to myself and just in passing mentioned it to my mom the next time we were chatting.  It felt good to have it off my chest and I could move on.  I can't tell you how ecstatic I was to have that thing all put together and back in my husband's locker... yes, doing the job it was intended to do, keeping him safe(r) and sweaty on the streets.

Is there something about the job that is like nails on a chalkboard to you?  This one is certainly mine!

It's such a funny place

I've been a bit emotional lately (more on that in a minute) and really been mourning the loss of that good friendship.  Ok, mourning isn't the right word, but maybe "recognizing" the loss.  The difficult part is, our children attend many classes together (remember, we homeschool?) and so I have to see their family on a regular basis.  Makes the absence a little more.... obvious.


This week I found out that this former friend is pregnant.  And guess what?  [drumroll please....] I am too!  So it's making me even more nostalgic about how fun it could be to be pregnant together, and recognizing that it's just not going to be like that.  It's ok.  It's a stage.  But I can still "miss" it.  And be emotional.  ha.

So if you want to be my pregnant buddy, I'm totally looking for new applicants.  JUST KIDDING.  Yes, for those of you counting, this will be our #4, and this is the first time I'm really wishing I had that pregnant buddy along for the ride with me.  It's just that every pregnancy is less and less glamorous (if you have had more than one, you KNOW what I am talking about) and I'd love to share it with a good friend.

Happy Saturday, strange world!

update

I said goodbye to the teeny-tiny church and unfortunately, had to also say goodbye to the main friendship I had there.  I did the best I could to say goodbye, but things are never as they seem.  Evidently I'm a demanding, perfectionistic friend who will only be friends with you if you are perfect.  Yeah, I got the line "All we've ever tried to do is make you feel welcome and cared for...."  Thinking back on the conversation, I laugh.  She's the tall, skinny, beautiful mom who regularly cleans her house and cooks delicious meals for her family and her house is always all neat and picked up.  As a squishy mom [ahem] with piles of crap everywhere at home (including more dustbunnies than one could ever want), and a favorite meal of chicken nuggets and potstickers (organic, but does that even count?!?) I find it hard to believe that I will only be your friend if you are perfect.  Then again, you feel how you feel.

Talking through the conversation with my mom, I thought of all these things I wanted to say.... and she gently helped me see that defending myself to them isn't going to help.  So for now I'm mourning the loss of what I thought -- quite mistakenly -- was a deep, wonderful friendship and wondering how not to get myself in this predicament again.  sigh.

It's always something, isn't it?

realization: church

The best piece of advice I received a few years back was from the wife of a sergeant nearing retirement (in fact, he's now retired). She told me [paraphrased], "You can't do everything. You have to give yourself permission to smile and say 'no.' Most people will not understand what it's like to have a husband in law enforcement and what that does to you and your family. You build your own hedges around yourself and your family and to heck with everyone else." Actually she was probably even more mild than that (that's who she is) but it really stuck with me.

It sounds lame, even now, as I've written it here. Of course! Set your own boundaries. Be good to your family. But I feel that in law enforcement our boundaries can be so different from everyone else's -- and for reasons which are more or less incomprehensible to those around us.

http://www.cumberlandchurch.com/

I'm still in the mode where I feel like I do everything by myself -- not just social events, but the entire life of our family. I won't list everything out because it will be bad for my psyche, but one thing I've really been struggling with lately is church. No, I'm not going to get all religious on you, just work with me here and know that we go to church -- more often than not -- on Sunday mornings.

When I say "we" I mean myself and the kids; husband is either working or sleeping on Sunday mornings. We've been going to this nearby teeny tiny church started by our friends but it's such an effort. There's nothing restorative or regenerative or inspirational about Sunday morning for me with three kids in tow there. It's a chore, and certainly not a joy, to participate in Sunday morning. For the last two Sundays, however, we've visited a church I attended years and years ago when I was very single and very childless. It's grown and changed in all these years, but some of the same dear people are there, as well as some "new" dear people our family knows now, too.

The guilt is, I've enjoyed being there these last two weeks. It's all the things I haven't had at the teeny tiny church. But it's 20 minutes away as opposed to 10 minutes. I'll be leaving behind friends who I'm sure will be crushed at the teeny-tiny church. And I can't decide if I'm being selfish to just "church-jump" this way or if my family really will benefit from being at this other church more permanently. The clincher for me is that my husband might actually -- gasp -- go to church with us at this new place. That would seal the deal for me if we could all worship together.

I'm dialing this in to the "married single mom police wife life." If I wasn't as dry as the Sahara Desert I wouldn't be craving a sort of restorative Sunday morning like I am. But, here I am. It's how we roll at HHPD these days. And as a LEO wife, I'm not expecting anyone else to understand, or agree, but I think I'll be jumping ship to this new church shortly. And I'm sad. Again.

Here she comes, there she goesI

It's been a bad summer. Today the minutes ticked by past the "witching hour" ~ the moments when I had expected DH home, then hoped he would be home, then started checking every car that drove by to see if it was someone delivering bad news. About half an hour later, the phone rang and the first thing my husband said was, "We're OK," [and you always know this comes before the "but"] "but I'm going to be late."

So, so, so grateful today. Trying to focus on what I have instead of what I don't. I'll be happy when this summer is over.

Department Politics

I know it's a brotherhood. I know I should be grateful that anybody covers my husband's butt on any kind of call so that said butt can come home every night from work. (Although there are a few out that who would actually make the call worse... but I digress.)

In the midst of all this "brotherhood" there are politics. I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that there is bickering. I have three kids. In fact, I spent a bunch of time today mediating all that "bologna" with said three kids. So I know how it is.

But adults? ADULTS? Seriously!?!? My husband does the best job he can, every day he goes to work. He's been injured ON THE JOB and kept working while getting treatment. He busts his butt to actually -- get this!?!? -- do his job the right way.

To be fair, I love my husband dearly, but he does have his faults, too. I especially can't stand how black-and-white everything is for him. It is absolutely right or absolutely wrong. Yet, he can also be the most forgiving cop there is, taking the stance that showing someone mercy may have a much bigger impact in changing their behavior than a measly citation. He's a conundrum, that one.

So when I know all this about him, about how he works so diligently and hurts so much.... when a superior starts spreading rumors about him, you'll see why I'm a little peeved.

In the real world, my husband would calmly, and politely, call them on the carpet. He would nicely say "I hear you told your whole team I'm a lazy tard. Can you clarify for me the problem you see with my work, so that I can improve?" But of course, dear sweet husband can't do that. Because then the "rat" (who told my husband about the rumor-mill-maker) will be outed and my husband cherishes his brotherhood. He is so grateful for the "rat" who told him he's being falsely accused of x-y-z *behind his back* and now he knows he must watch out for said back.

I'm just livid.

How do you handle department politics? Because I'm sure not doing a great job of handling them right now.