Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Behind the badge. (This is a long one)

Today I have a confession to make. An ugly one, at that.

In case you didn't know, I love The Deputy. (This isn't the confession part). And I mean, I love love him. Like stars in my eyes, daydreaming at work, telling him every minute detail of my life, showing off to make him laugh, let's hold hands all day long even if it's 108 degrees outside and we're just making each other hotter, let's hurry up and grow old together just so we can see what it feels like to be married for 50 years-kind of love. He's the one I love. Every. Single. Day.

When I see him, I see more than a shiny badge and a gun. Sure, I love the LEO part of him. I love that it's a part of my life and will be a part of our family's life. But I also love about a million other things about him that the rest of the world doesn't see. He's playful, he's thoughtful, he takes forever to respond during a heated "battle" (as we call it) because he's thinking before he speaks, he opens doors for me, he flirts with me because it's fun, he listens to my girl talk when I haven't been able to talk to my sister in awhile, he gives in and drinks Diet Coke when we're sharing at the movies, he has the most amazing brown eyes and his hair turns a fantastic shade of copper in the summer.

When the world looks at him, they see the badge.

They see the man who will protect them against violence. The man who is always prepared to take charge. The man is on duty 100% of the time. They joke with us and say they feel safe when he's around. He's a symbol of protection, safety and refuge.

The world would be more than happy to trade his life in for their own. Or for the lives of their friends, their children, their spouses. You know, the loved ones they would get to go home with and see every day if The Deputy saved them.

Confession:

If The Deputy died saving the lives of others (and basically doing exactly what he swore he would do) I would be the proudest wife. I would honor his memory, I would pass on his legacy to our future generations, I would carry him with me in my heart for the rest of my life.

But honestly, would I ever think the lives that were traded for his, were worth it? Never.

And I realize writing this now, how terrible I must sound. I sound selfish, immature and calloused. But for all those who think that, I wish they would take a step back and realize what they're asking of me. Of all LEO wives/husbands/families.

Yes-we know they volunteer to serve and protect. They do it daily, they do it knowingly, they do it willingly.

But do they know what I see when they're looking at a badge? I see a man. Just a man.  A man who sits across me from the dinner table. A man who makes me popcorn when I'm too cold to get off the couch. A man who gets excited to see a new lion documentary posted on Netflix. A man who knows my darkest secrets and refuses to share them. A man who holds my heart.

He's my friend, my heartbeat and my home. Like I said before, if something terrible happened and The Deputy fulfilled his civic duty by sacrificing his life to protect the lives of others, I would be eternally proud of him.

But I would also permanently lose a piece of my heart.

Friday, January 18, 2013

Nothing a little gun oil can't fix....

That's right. Gun oil.

The other day I noticed our steak knives were starting to rust a little. I left them on the counter to show The Deputy when he woke up, because he tends to be super handy with all the things in life I don't feel like dealing with. Or caring about.

I asked him what he thought we could use to clean that off (and of course asked if consuming rust was going to kill us. He said no, but I'm not totally convinced) and he picked one up, examined it a little and said, "We could probably use some oil..." So naturally, I asked what kind, thinking I would need to go to the section of the grocery store that sells such items to clean and take care of silverware. (It's the aisle right next to magic potions and secret remedies of make-believe land, right?)

He shook his head and said, "No, I'll just rub a little bit of gun oil on them and they'll be fine."

(I need an emoticon that correctly portrays my dead pan stare when I'm trying to decide whether or not he's kidding. And then flash forwarding 7 years and picturing my child, injured, saying, "No mom, it's alright, we don't need to go to the doctor's...just rub a little gun oil on it!")

Anyways. I eventually Googled it. That's right. Everything useful in life, I learned from Google. But even he (Yes, Google is a "he") looked at me like I was crazy for typing in "Using gun oil to clean steak knives" and just gave me 10,000 pages of how to clean my hunting knife.

I want to be concerned about the effects of consuming gun oil, but I guess it can't be any worse than rust...

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

We're on the way.

And just like that, it's back to the grind. And by 'grind' I mean regular life from January to October.

Our holidays were fantastic and over way too fast! During them, we passed our six month married anniversary. Which isn't a huge number but it's half way to a year! It's exciting and sad. Only sad because after June 30th I can no longer make a big deal out of any tiny, minute thing in life I please and say, "This is our first _____!" I like to make big deals out of things...I like finding any reason to celebrate.

The past six months have been a crazy whirlwind of life. Moving in together, sharing the house, sharing the chores, sharing the money, sharing emotions, sharing time, sharing your quirks and weird daily habits, sharing towels. (Well, I share towels. He'd prefer to use a neatly hung, dry towel that I didn't just "leave in a wad on the floor, full of hair". I kid you not. I was initially offended at his request, thinking he found me disgusting. Once he explained why he wants his own towels, I'm amused by it. Plus, I still use his towels, I'm just sneakier about it.)

On top of the sharing, there's the squeezing. Apparently our lives require 60 hour days. Unfortunately we only get 24. Total. This includes our sleeping time too! So we share, then we squeeze. We squeeze in his work schedule. We squeeze in my work schedule. We squeeze in "my" time and "his" time. We squeeze in time with my family and time with his family. We squeeze in time for errands, time to take the car in for an oil change, time to clean the house. (My least favorite time. Why does it take hours to clean and seconds to fall apart?!)

We somehow manage to make it work, make it fit. Even when it's hard and his work schedule becomes unpredictable for a moment, or those stretches of time when it feels like I'm only seeing a ghost of him floating into the house as I'm waking up for work and leaving the house when I'm getting home. We just keep going. We keep sharing, we keep squeezing, we keep talking and laughing and stealing a night away from the whole world to sneak out on a date.

We're just trying to make it. Just trying to fit our two worlds into one. Just trying to take life as it comes and trying to have a little fun along the way...