"He's in the Jailhouse Now"

I was remembering that line from the song in "O Brother Where Art Thou" when we went to the police precinct on Saturday. Our church had a community service day and a group of us provided meals to our police officers and firemen. Their stations are connected - the fire trucks and the police tank are in the same garage, they use the same fuel stations, etc.

I have toured the fire station a few times in my life, but I have never been to the police station. This place is not Hill Street Blues, but it does resemble Mayberry because it is a small unit. Every officer was so nice, every room was so tidy, and all the evidence was kind of interesting (stolen property, that is.) I saw where they give drunks their breathalyzer test. I learned that refusing to take the test, sober or not, means an automatic forfeiture of your license for one year with no exceptions.

The best part was the room with jail cells. For some reason, neither Darby or Roxy would go in it. Scott would not go in it, either. I stayed at the very back, cracking jokes about our friend from church who went in the cell and needed a "get out of jail free" card. It was a very enlightening tour and the officers were very nice. The firemen were cuter, although I am pretty sure that only the women noticed that detail...

Our Official Family Welcome

Approximately 600 plastic forks in the front yard + lots of chalk messages covering driveway= one very occupied Roxy. She pulled the forks, read the messages, and she still does not understand that middle school age kids do this to you because they "like" you. At least the front yard had been aerated this year...

So Many Pictures...

I was thinking about being in my parent's backyard today. My girls love playing in dirt, but we do not exactly have that kind of yard right now - we have woods. If I could, I would plop my girls down in my dad's garden and let them enjoy the sun and a garden hose...

The Realities of Learning

My daughters are in the midst of much testing this week. I am ready for the paranoia to be over, because the way the schools prepare you for tests is pretty mind-numbing. I have had to be the bad guy for weeks, making the kids focus more on various subjects. Roxy, for example, has had to spend hours working on math flashcards. I bought her the flashcards and I would drill her on them nightly after dinner. I even packed flashcards in the car so she could work on them in transit. One day Roxy actually read the flashcard box, which advertised a "fun way to learn math!" Roxy said, "Fun? They must think that flashcards are fun if they put a little animal on it! There's nothing fun about little animals on flashcards! It's still math and nothing changes that. Whoever thought this was fun?" This is Roxy's first mature realization that people advertise things falsely. Who knows what her next rant will be?

Bricktown

I was looking through my pictures and realized that only in OKC can you run around downtown all day being safe, finding transportation that is clean and fun, and enjoying each other without drama. If only there was no wind...

Memorial

I remember where I was in 1995 when the OKC bombing happened: sitting at my desk at Chesapeake interviewing an OC student for an internship position. I haven't visited the Memorial for years until our recent trip to Oklahoma. It was sad to have to explain to Roxy that the little chairs were because kids died there. The place is still beautiful.

A Mother's Guilt: A Whole New Low

Let me start this article by noting that while I am not an expert on child development, I am a mother in the trenches and I have formed a few solid opinions. I believe that three year olds are more difficult than two year olds. I think that four and five year olds are at a great, enjoyable life stage. I believe that first grade is hard and that a lot on conditioning takes place in this year. I also believe that second and third grades are mostly wonderful. I think that fourth grade is a foreshadowing of life to come and that fifth grade is the beginning of a very trying time for your own child.

So now I find myself dealing with new struggles on a daily basis. I am digging in my heels, people. Mom will never lose to a 10 year old and I will not let the needs of my first grader make me look and feel incompetent. I am The Mom and I will not go quietly.

All of this makes the card that my sweet first grader wrote to me seem especially heart-wrenching. Forces are working against me, plunging me to new levels of guilt, low levels at that.
(The card, written in first grade spelling, says: Dear Mom, remember when you were 10. Well help Darby. Love, Roxy)

I'm considering giving a card to Roxy saying, "Remember to obey The Mom, because one day you will be 37."