I am a police officer's wife.

Thank you to every police officer out there risking his/her life, every day.

My husband has been spit at, shot at, punched, and kicked. He's been in more wrestling matches and foot pursuits than I can count. More than once, criminals have tried to run him over with a vehicle. People scream obscenities at him as they drive down the street. On their way to jail, bad guys threaten his family. He's been first on scene when children have been killed, when moms have been murdered in front of their children, sons have committed suicide, and dads have been shot. He's saved children who were being held hostage, and gingerly taken women who were beaten and raped to the hospital. He's served numerous warrants to armed and dangerous individuals, recovered lots and lots of stolen cars, and yep, he's written hundreds, if not thousands, of traffic tickets and, of course, been told he should be out looking for real criminals as he hands the offender his citation. And still he puts on his vest with a smile as he heads out the door every morning. 

"He signed up for that."

You're damn right he did. Every time he goes to work, he willingly protects and serves the citizens of his community to the best of his ability and training. But nowhere in the manual does it say he should die while protecting and serving. In fact, he's been trained to do just the opposite. Anyone who wants to Monday morning quarterback decisions he makes to keep his brothers and sisters in blue, as well as himself, alive needs to know that most agencies are hiring; by all means, put your application in.

He despises dirty cops and the black mark they put on his profession and the distrust they create in his community. Yet, because of the uniform, he is still lumped in with them when "fuck the police" is chanted by angry mobs.

I'm not even going to speak about prejudice, and he's been accused, other than the idea that he would target someone because of race, religion, or creed rather than behavior is offensive, to say the least.

So I am struggling with all that's being said on the Ferguson issue. I don't know that community, I don't know Michael Brown or Officer Wilson. But I do know Officer Wilson's wife - but for the grace of God, I am her.

Let the ass chewings begin!

Last night, middle child had a drumline competition in Phoenix where their performance time was TEN THIRTY p.m. (yeah, I said the same thing you just said) so he wasn't expected back at the school until 1:30 a.m.-ish.  Middle Kid (MK) has been struggling with his grade in physics class, as in, he's been struggling with deciding he should do the work to earn the grade, so we've been helping him in the motivation department.  Part of that includes taking possession of his cell phone.  Since he wasn't going to be back in town until early in the morning, KC gave him his phone back for the day, along with $20 for food.
Having children is not cheap and we're like many families in America today- our income has decreased rather than increased in recent years but our expenses have done just the opposite.  Because of this, we've done some trimming where we would feel the least amount of pain - dropped the satellite package to fewer channels, sold the convertible that only seated two, became coupon clippers and weekly circular scourers, and dropped the bells and whistles on the home phone package so it is just for local or emergency calls since we have free long distance on our cell phones.  We've been very upfront with the kids about our financial situation and have explained the changes we've made along the way, including NO LONG DISTANCE on the home phone, unless it's an emergency.  Well, MK's girlfriend originally lived in Indiana and her dad still lives there and provides her with her cell phone so it's an Indiana number.  You know where I'm going with this, right?  Since we took away MK's cell phone, and he's a 15 year old boy with raging hormones, he's going to talk to his honey one way or another.  When I got home from work yesterday, I opened the home phone bill to discover it was double what it should be due to long distance charges.  Middle Kid was in Phoenix so the ass chewing would have to wait until, truth be told, probably the morning because 1:30 a.m. was gonna be tough for me to even be awake, let alone fired up and awake.  And, as long as we're being honest, KC was probably going to be the only one awake when MK sent a text asking to be picked up. 
About 10:30 p.m., the SWAT pager went off, again.  KC had just gotten back from a call out at 7 p.m. and had been kvetching at our late dinner about how much he'd been working lately.  This time he looked at the pager, got up and went in the other room with his radio, but instead of starting to get dressed when he came back in the room, he got back into bed.
 "What are you doing?  Aren't you going?" I ask.
"No." he replied as he hit his pillow and laid back down.
"Why aren't you going?"
"Because you won't pick our boy up at 1:30, you'll let him walk home."
For the sake of disclosure, we live two blocks away from the school - in a neighborhood one would definitely classify as 'safe' and in a climate one would call mild or temperate this time of year - so he could walk home just fine, but I would not make him walk when he called for a ride. Although it would probably cross my mind when I'm snuggled in my bed asleep at 1:30 in the morning.  Still, I feign offense.
"I would not!  Rude."
Just then, the pager goes off again.  KC looks at it, says a few cuss words and gets up.
"Full call-out?"  I ask.
He pulls his pants on, laces up his boots, leans over, kisses my forehead and says, "don't forget Middle Kid," then walks out.
I turn the volume on my phone up as high as it will go so I'll be sure to hear the 'ding' when I get a text and place the phone on my nightstand, right next to my side of the bed.  The next thing I know, Lilly is doing her 'wooh wooh' bark that she does when she's glad to see someone she loves.  I look at the clock, it's 2 a.m.  Discombobulated, I look at my phone.  No text from MK; did he get a ride from a friend?  I get up and go out to the kitchen where there is no middle child but KC is home, stripping off all his gear. It usually takes him a little while to wind down when he gets home from work so I say to him,
"Oh good, you're home.  You can pick up MK."
"He's not home yet?!"
"Haven't heard from him," I say as I head back to bed.
At four o'clock in the morning, KC finally comes back to bed.
"Uh, dumbass, next time you tell someone his kid isn't home yet, you might want to check the kid's bed to be sure of that information.  I've been texting him since I got home and when he still hadn't responded after two hours, I started going through the questions in my head that we ask parents when we go to take a missing child report.  I went into his room and whaddya know, there he was, sound asleep."
"Oh honey, I'm so sorry," I mumble as I roll over and doze back off.
Looks like Middle Kid isn't the only one getting his ass chewed in the morning.