Reasons to be a Cop's Wife

Apparently my husband has been reading my posts, and he informed me today that if I don't post something funny and witty soon, I will need to change the name of my blog. So Baby, this one's for you. And all you police wives out there, make your own list and leave it where your man can see it!

Why I love being a cop's wife:
1. The uniform. Obviously. He looks so hot in it. Especially the BDU's with the tactical vest that says POLICE on the back, like he's about to go break down a door. Am I alone in this? I don't think so...
2. He can carry a gun just about anywhere. Again, hot.
3. When we walk down a dark street at night, shady-looking people get out of his way just because of the way he carries himself.
4. His dark sense of humor. The man can find a way to joke about anything, and I know it is a defense mechanism, but it does make everything better!
5. He has a job I can be proud of, a job that means something and betters society. It has eternal significance.
6. He is a man's man. Testosterone-laden, for better or for worse, but I'll never catch him getting his nails done or his hair highlighted. No way.
7. He has an intense sense of justice. He knows right from wrong, good from evil. He has integrity, and can look himself in the mirror each day with no regrets.
8. Because of department policy, he cannot grow any nasty, scraggly beard or girlish Justin Bieber hairstyle. He has to be clean-cut and clean-shaven, just the way I like him.
9. He is always thinking about my safety, and the safety of our children.
10. He is a modern day knight. He puts on his armor and fights for justice. And he chooses to do it, day after day, because it is what is in his heart to do.
11. The uniform. It is worth mentioning twice. So hot!

Any other things I have missed? It's your turn to comment...

When nothing else will do...

Very early this morning, a state trooper was gunned down on the highway during a traffic stop just thirty minutes from where I live. The killer left him dying there in the road and fled the scene, later turning his gun on himself and taking his own life as SWAT approached the house in which he was hiding. That makes three shootings in just three days in this little place we once jokingly referred to as Mayberry. I feel sick. Trying in the only certain way I know to replace my worry with peace, I turned to my favorite standby, Psalm 23, the poetic description of the Shepherd-King. Nothing else will do on a day like today. I read the words over and over, and let the truth pour over me, washing away the anxiety and the fear.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

What to say?

Three shootings in our small town area in the last week, the most recent by an 8 year-old who packed a gun to school in his backpack, leave me wondering about a lot of things. But the one that is most pressing is what to say to my children. I have a six year-old and a three-year-old, and I may not need to say anything about the guy who walked into a tire store and began shooting, but when a child only two years older than my own is carrying a gun to school, I feel the need for some dialogue. "Sweetheart, do you ever touch Daddy's (or any) guns?" "No, Mama." "What do you do if you see one not locked up?" "I don't touch it and I come and tell you." Now for the big one. "What do you do if you see someone at school with a gun?" "I tell them that they can't have it there, and I go tell a grownup." Wrong, my love. You run as fast as your precious legs can carry you, as far as you can, and you hide. But that isn't school policy. I have been a teacher, and I know the standard operating procedure. You are to wait inside your classroom with the rest of your class, like sitting ducks, or fish in a barrel. It gives your school the illusion of control, and everyone knows where you are (or should be). So what do I tell her? Daddy was home, and he told her to run to the office and get help. Lots of adults and lots of telephones in the office, he told her. And then bedtime came, and she asked me about the little girl who got shot at school today, whether she was going to be okay. I told her we would pray for her and ask God to protect her and comfort her. I want to protect my daughters, but I can't. That is an illusion, just like thinking that locking children in a classroom and closing the curtains will keep them safe. I am wondering how I can raise my girls without fear in a world where violence is seemingly more frequent, constantly closer to home, and perpetrated by younger and younger children. I want to raise brave girls who have enough common sense to keep out of bad situations, but who have enough courage to live full lives in the places to which they may be called. We are not called to be timid. One of my favorite quotes is "A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what ships were made for." I can't keep my daughters safe. Neither can Daddy, who is next to God in size and ability in their eyes. But I can teach them that wherever they go with God, they are safe, and wherever they go without Him, they are not, like my mother taught me. I can teach them that God's idea of safe is not the same as mine, but His is what matters. And I can let go of what I cannot control, knowing that He is always good, and what He allows into my life will also be made into good, even the unthinkable.

Other Interests

I have found, and I'm sure you have too, or soon will, that it is crucial to the health of your marriage to have other interests. Hobbies, activities, friends (same sex, please, for your jealous spouse's sake), things you do that can exist in your life apart from your beloved. When I was a newlywed, although we had dated for seven years before we got married (we began dating at 15), I still cherished the assumption that married life would be mostly about spending time together. We would sit on the couch and watch movies together, eat romantic dinners by candlelight, walk hand in hand on the beach as the sun set... you get the picture. Even people with nine-to-five jobs don't really live that way, but you see, I married a cop. I had to get used to not seeing him except in passing for days at a time as our work shifts orbited each other, never to touch. I had to make dinner for two, but eat alone, saving his portion in Pyrex for later. And so the other interests developed, really out of desperation. Scrapbooking came first, but it exhausts me now to even think about how far behind I am. Next came quilting, because I had babies, and they needed blankets. That one stuck, since it was so useful. I also love to read, and that will stay with me forever! Being a kindergarten room volunteer and involved in our church have helped me use my time to help others, and not just entertain myself. But cataloging my life aside, what I want to say is that I could not expect my husband, who works twelve hours a day, to be my everything. It was too much pressure. I honor him as my husband, yes, but then I need to release him from the responsibility of having to make all my decisions, entertain me, and listen to my every thought. I needed to develop other interests to create healthy space in my marriage. But then I drop everything and hurry home, because it is 3pm and that's when he wakes up, and I don't want to miss that.

Freedom of the Press, or Libel?

Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. I don't believe reporters actually understand the difference between the two, unless the tables were turned and someone began slandering their names. When your loved one's name shows up in the local paper and he is vilified for doing his job, how do you respond? What is your gut response, or the response you give to friends, or the response you give to the ignorant busybody in the grocery store line who engages you in conversation about the critical incident your beloved was involved in, and they don't know who you are? Do you get angry? Do you remain calm and act like you don't know anything? Do you have a smart comment ready, or do you just nod and say, "That's so sad"? I have a physical reaction of nausea and disgust whenever I see or hear a particular newspaper name because of the callous, one-sided, and malicious way they have gone after my husband. I feel the need to simultaneously scream and vomit whenever I see someone selling subscriptions for this paper outside of my grocery store. I am a sane person, and I do have some self-control left, so I keep a grip on my emotions and keep on walking, pretending I am not bothered. But then I think about it for a long time afterwards, planning what I would say to the reporter who has this horrible undercurrent of hatred for law enforcement. I would say, "Why do you hate this group of people whose calling is to protect you? Why do you dislike people who kiss their wives and children and walk out the door to defend rules and maintain order? Do you have a disdain for the law, because you don't seem to want it enforced? Do you hate justice? Do you look at cops and only see the high school jocks and bullies who pushed you around? These are not those men. These men have honor. They are men of the old code. They are part of a brotherhood, bound together by a need to see the right thing done. They are people with a strong sense of respect, duty, and commitment. And despite the garbage you write, they would still show up to your call and protect you, if only to prove you wrong. Yes, there are the bad apples, who somehow manage to get into law enforcement careers and then abuse their power. But guess what? Other cops don't even like those guys. And you cannot vilify all police officers based on the actions of the few rotten ones, just like I can't despise all reporters based on your actions alone." Then I have thoughts of inviting them over for dinner so they can see that we are real people, that my husband is an amazing father, a kind and wonderful husband, a loyal friend. But the truth is, that would only sway a logical and thoughtful person. Angry newspaper reporters who write malicious trash about good police officers are hatemongers; they are irrational, thoughtless beasts, and giving them any truth would be casting pearls before swine. So I take a deep breath. I quote Notting Hill, when Hugh Grant tells Julia Roberts "Today's newspapers will be lining tomorrow's waste-paper bins." And I thoroughly admire my husband, who can read what has been written, set it aside, and go on with his day as if nothing has happened. I know it must hurt him, because he has a heart, and feelings, but he doesn't let that hurt stop him from being a good cop. He will respond to the next call, and the next, and the next with the same level of professionalism and compassion that has carried him this far. He will treat people with far more respect than they treat him. He will continue.

The Long Defeat

The Long Defeat
By Sara Groves


I have joined the long defeat
that falling set in motion
and all my strength and energy
are raindrops in the ocean

so conditioned for the win
to share in victor's stories
but in the place of ambition's din
I have heard of other glories

and I pray for an idea
and a way i cannot see
it's too heavy to carry
and impossible to leave

I can't just fight when I think I'll win
that's the end of all belief
and nothing has provoked it more
than a possible defeat

chorus

we walk a while we sit and rest
we lay it on the altar
I won't pretend to know what's next
but what I have I've offered

and I pray for a vision
and a way I cannot see
it's too heavy to carry
and impossible to leave

and I pray for inspiration
and a way I cannot see
it's too heavy to carry
and impossible to leave
it's too heavy to carry
and I will never leave


Such a beautiful song; I listen to it in tears in the car and while I do dishes at home. I sing along, and sometimes say it like a prayer, since it seems like the struggle my husband faces daily on the job. Police officers occasionally arrest the same person twice in a twelve-hour period; what could be more discouraging than that? But their passion for justice is a weight they carry, and they cannot lay it down. If they could, I'm sure they would do something with a bigger paycheck and more positive feedback. But they cannot leave it; they offer all, day after day. I would just like to offer my gratitude and my support as a wife of one of these amazing men.

A little inspiration...

I have loved this poem for about a decade now, and in every stage of my life so far I have found it to be relevant and inspirational. Today it speaks to me about the daily struggle for a good attitude and perseverance in marriage, motherhood, and friendships. I hope you love it, too!


Breathless Tales

I would rather
clutch my invitation
and wait my turn
in party clothes
prim, proper
safe and clean
But a pulsing hand
keeps driving me
over peaks
ravines
and spidered brambles
So I'll pant
up to the pearled knocker
tattered
breathless
and full of tales.

Janet Chester Bly

from Managing Your Restless Search, copyright@1981,1992

The Man Cave

It's not what you think. The man cave I refer to is what your graveyard-working husband will make out of your bedroom. Dank, dark, and absolutely silent is what your now-nocturnal mate will need to be able to find rest in the daylight hours. If you don't want him to staple sleeping bags over the windows, shop for some blackout curtains that coordinate with your bedroom decor. Sleeping-bag plaid was not appealing to me, so I found some navy blue thermal/blackout-lined curtain panels at Target. Also, your man is going to need some background noise if you don't want him complaining about each footstep that occurs while he's sleeping, so that same fan that helps you sleep while he's working should be employed for his use as well. Now, this room that has no light and no air from the rest of the house circulating though it is going to take on a peculiar odor. Be sure to vacuum, dust, and wash sheets frequently. This is only possible if you do these tasks while you ought to be sleeping, since you can't do them while he's sleeping or when he's awake and home, wanting to spend time with you. Instead of going to bed at a reasonable time, clean your bedroom until it is spotless and you are too exhausted to think about anything but going to sleep. Then put your sheets in the dryer, and nod off on the couch for a bit until you can finally make your bed and go to sleep. Your husband will be home in a few minutes, and the sun is about to come up, but at least your room doesn't smell like the gorilla habitat at the zoo.