TEN

In the interest of not overwhelming this blog with talk of the pokey, I give you fire baby's 10th birthday slideshow.  She's a beast, but she's awesome.

Prison Talk

One might think the most challenging part of this chapter in life is talking about it, and that is true.  Sort of.  Actually, once you decide to talk about it, the discussion tends to not be too terribly difficult (though this could be because I've become somewhat desensitized to the situation).  What IS difficult, however, is knowing who to talk to about it, when to talk to them, how much to tell.

When it first became apparent that Uncle M was in trouble, our first instinct was to tell no one.  There are lots of reasons for this, but as I so often say, that's a post for another day.  Anyhoo, we initially chose to deal with the situation internally.  Bad idea.  Internalizing something you're feeling so viscerally leads to stress, anxiety, and an extremely foul mood.  I'm not saying it's not ok to be in a bad mood; but when you're perpetually in a bad mood for months on end, and people around you don't know why, relationships suffer.  I think, in looking back, I can say we didn't suffer any friendship casualties related to this; but many were strained for quite some time; which I attribute to us not sharing what we were dealing with.

Eventually, we did come to a point where we told people.  In fact,I hit a point where I really didn't care who the hell knew.  What was once a closely guarded secret, I will now discuss with anyone who wants to know more.  However, that doesn't mean everyone needs, or even wants to know.  The big issue I deal with is not wanting to talk about it, not because I'm hiding it, but because talking about it tends to make the person receiving such news pretty damn uncomfortable.  Imagine someone you know throwing it out in conversation that they have a loved one in prison.  How would you respond?  Even having been on this side of it, I don't know the answer to that.  And, when the hell do you bring up such a topic?  During joys and concerns time of your parenting support group?  Over dinner or drinks with friends?  At your kid's parent teacher conference?  There simply is no good time to throw that into a conversation.

Tune in next time for a report on how we finally did come to tell boy child's teacher of the situation.  It's a doozy.

Policy, Procedure, & Power

Last weekend, after probably two months of emailing back and forth to find a time that would work for both families (welcome to parenting and socializing in the modern era), we met up with family friends who we've known since J was a babe.  We would not be Minnesotans if the 'You going anywhere for MEA topic?' didn't come up, so of course it did.  This family knows of the situation and has heard some of our tales from previous visits to what we call 'La Casa Grande,' so we told them what we had in store.  Had they not had previous knowledge of the situation, we likely would have said, "We're going to Michigan to catch up with a college friend."  Which is true, because another absolutely fabulous perk of these trips is that we're always able to catch up with college friend Jen and her family.  Which brings up two topics that I'll leave now and hopefully blog about on another day.  Talking to people about this whole shebang, and how awesome it is to meet up with Jen and family on a regular basis.

Aaaaaanyhoo... the reason I brought up the friends we caught up with last weekend is because upon hearing our plans, she mentioned that they've started watching Orange is the New Black and asked if the visitation scenes portrayed on the show are realistic at all.  In a nutshell, yes they are.

Here's how it goes, on a good day, with no hitches:

• You check the website to see what visiting hours are.
• You arrive in the lobby and pick up a numbered visitor form to fill out.  It includes information such as the name (and of course number) of who you're there to see, your name and home address, make and model of the vehicle you're driving, home address, and any minors with you for whom you are responsible.
• A guard sitting in a glassed off cubicle of sorts calls out numbers (which correspond to the numbered forms).  Once your number is called, you enter the cubicle, sign in, remove your shoes, and go through a metal detector.  
• Upon passing the metal detector test, you enter a little anteroom of sorts.  Once a handful of other visitors have been processed, the guard comes in.  Then a huge door of bars (yes, prison bars) slides closed between the anteroom and the guard cubicle/lobby area.  Not to be overly dramatic, but it's an awful lot like this.  You really haven't lived until you've experienced this with your kids.  

• You enter the actual visiting area, check in with another guard at a desk, who tells you where to sit.
• You sit and wait for your inmate to come in.  Usually it's fairly quick.  Sometimes it's not.  We watched a family sit and wait for nearly an hour today.

Now I'll write about what can actually happen.  In some ways, it's the same.  Differences will be in a different colored text.

• You check the website to see what visiting hours are.  With any luck, the website will have been updated, but you never really know.  If you happen to arrive during a 'count,' or there's fog, or anything out of the ordinary has happened; all bets can be off.  We've historically been lucky in this regard, thankfully.  
• You arrive in the lobby and pick up a numbered visitor form to fill out.  It includes information such as the name (and of course number) of who you're there to see, your name and home address, make and model of the vehicle you're driving, home address, and any minors with you for whom you are responsible.  Should the country be in the midst of an ebola scare, you'll have to fill out a sheet of paper saying you haven't been in western Africa in the past 21 days; and if you have, you must certify you're not suffering from runny turds.  While waiting for your number to be called, you'll watch others be called in and then come out because they didn't meet some visitor standard or another.  There are no words to adequately convey the ridiculous sadness of watching this go down.  
• A guard sitting in a glassed off cubicle of sorts calls out numbers (which correspond to the numbered forms).  Once your number is called, you enter the cubicle, sign in, remove your shoes, and go through a metal detector.  If you don't meet all the criteria for the visitor dress code, you get sent out to change; and the guard tells you to fill out another form (a.k.a. move to the back of the line).  Yesterday, boy child was wearing sweat pants and girl child was wearing yoga pants.  DENIED.  Thankfully we had our suitcases in the car, so we went out to change.  Unfortunately, yoga pants was all I'd packed for girl child; because that's all she ever wears.  Thankfully, I had packed my black 'skinny jeans,' which can double as not skinny jeans on a nine year old (because believe you me, there wasn't any chance of skinny jeans getting past this week's guard.) Girl child has been in with yoga pants before, and boy child has been in with sweat pants before; but that nonsense wasn't going to fly with this week's guard.  And, in case you're wondering, these standards most certainly vary; depending on who the guard is, what kind of mood he/she is in, his/her general impressions of you, barometric pressure.  Seriously, it is totally random.  If after you've changed clothes and filled out your forms for a second time a new inmate should arrive with the local sheriff to report, previously mentioned guard will SPRINT out of his little glass area to meet the sheriff before he brings the inmate into the lobby, because inmate can't walk through the lobby while visitors are sitting there.  Inmate will go back into his cage in the back of the van and guard will tell all visitors that they have to leave the building.  Visitors will wait outside while inmate is escorted in, complete with cuffs and lots of chains.  You really haven't lived until you've experienced this with your kids.  
• Upon passing the metal detector test, you enter a little anteroom of sorts.  Once a handful of other visitors have been processed, the guard comes in.  Then a huge door of bars (yes, prison bars) slides closed between the anteroom and the guard cubicle/lobby area.  Not to be overly dramatic, but it's an awful lot like this.  You really haven't lived until you've experienced this with your kids.  

• You enter the actual visiting area, check in with another guard at a desk, who tells you where to sit.
• You sit and wait for your inmate to come in.  Usually it's fairly quick.  Sometimes it's not.  We watched a family sit and wait for nearly an hour today.

So... that's more than you ever wanted to know about the entry process for visiting an incarcerated family member.  Which also presents another future post topic:  how/when/why we decided that we would take our children to visit Uncle M in la casa grande.

The title of this post is the summary.  There are policies and procedures, and there is most definitely a power struggle going on.

Michigan, Day 2

Good things about our current MEA excursion

• Because we're in need of a new mattress at home, hotel beds often offer me a superior sleeping experience to that of my own bed.  Weird, huh?  The room darkening curtains don't hurt either. 
• I got to enjoy a sit down breakfast with both my kids.  That practically never happens in real life.  
• My kids are currently playing in the hotel pool, like two moderately tame and housebroken creatures who don't hate one another.  Also highly unusual in real life.

Less good things

• The waterpark, as well as the arcade, we usually enjoy while on these trips is closed for maintenance.  
• The corn maze that was to be a substitute for the water park doesn't open until 6pm this evening.  'Cause the 'M' in MEA doesn't stand for Michigan.  
• This is a working 'vacation' for my parenting partner in crime.  He's been on a call all morning and will remain online for at least another hour.  This is not exactly a complaint.  He works hard and the fruits of those labors afford us the privilege of being able to take this trip (and lots of others).  Which is impressive, if you factor in that I am not a wage earning member of society.  But still kind of a bummer.

Really poopy things

• In about an hour and a half, we'll all shower and start getting ready for the real reason we're here:  to visit Uncle M in prison.

How My Family Will Be Spending MEA

MEA is upon us.  For you non-Minnesotans, MEA is code for a weekend in October when each and every k-12 school in Minnesota has a four day weekend.  In theory, it's so educators can attend state meetings.  But I've never known any teachers who have attended meetings.  I'm not passing judgement.  I loves me some teachers and would never commit such a heinous act.  I'm just telling you I don't exactly know all the details of the MEA phenomenon.  I just know my kids don't have school today or tomorrow.

MEA plans for families here in our affluent, cake-eating corner of the state cover a wide range of activities.  Some families do absolutely nothing.  Some go to DisneyWorld.  My family?  This year we're going to Michigan to visit my brother-in-law, who currently resides in a federal prison.  

I don't know if anyone ever reads this blog.  I can't blame anyone for NOT reading it, as I'm just coming off nearly a two year hiatus from posting anything on it.  If you're one of the people in my life who didn't previously know I have an incarcerated brother-in-law, I apologize for this uncouth method of breaking the news.  But, unless you've walked this mile in my shoes, I trust you will not judge how I decide to (or not to) share such details of my life.

I'm not real sure why I'm deciding to blog about this at this point, other than the fact that it's always a good/bad/fun/painful/completely surreal experience; and I guess this year I just need an outlet.  Uncle M has been residing in Michigan since 2010.  His journey to leave home and self-report actually started on Palm Sunday of that year.  I won't go into the Biblical significance (or lack thereof... still figuring that one out) of the timing of the departure.

Today our family of four visited Uncle M for, I believe, the fourth time.  The past two years we've come over the Thanksgiving holiday (Chris and I actually celebrated 15 years of marriage last year on Thanksgiving day.  That will have to be a post unto itself!).  There's a WHOLE lotta back story to be told here, and I'm not going there this evening (though you should stay tuned if you really want to know the nitty gritty details).

For this evening, I'll just say this:  I just spent about two and a half hours in the visiting room of a federal prison.  Getting through security is also something that's going to need to be an entire post to itself, but just know it's generally a shitty process.  My kids have been relatively difficult to deal with all day (not that I blame them) and I'm sitting at a small pool in the Dundee, MI Holiday Inn while my kids scrub some energy in the pool.  I'm spent.  Check back later for more details in this sordid tale.  Or don't.  Despite the fact that I'm posting this on the WWW, this exercise is for me and me alone.  Whether or not anyone else reads it is completely irrelevant.

That sounds snotty.  I don't mean it too.  I'm just tired.  Hasta luego, blogger land.

Parenthood is So Damn Relentless

The name's Will.  Iron Will.

The title of today's post (the first one in nearly two years!) is my most liked Facebook post of last week.  And, perhaps one of my most liked posts of all-time.

Last week was, as they say, one of those weeks.  I frequently (and admittedly inappropriately) refer to Elise as 'the fire baby.'  More acceptable terms would be bullheaded, headstrong, intractable, mulish, obstinate, pertinacious, or strong willed.  And yes, if you're wondering, I totally have a thing for thesaurus.com.  I love the interweb!

Anyhoo.  She totally overachieved in her role as fire baby last week.  My parenting partner in crime has traveled a lot recently.  Thankfully, he was in town last week, because I'm not sure I would've survived on my own.  

Back in our Early Childhood Family Education (ECFE) days, they frequently talked about how kids (and surely adults too) have periods of equilibrium, where things roll along routinely and all is status quo; and disequilibrium, where all hell breaks loose.  It's safe to say we are in the midst of disequilibrium.  

Every. little. thing.  last week was a complete battle with this child.  Homework, eating dinner, getting ready for soccer, getting out of bed, taking a bath.  Relentless.  And, we're not off to a much better start this week.  She was a complete bear about getting out of bed.  She had homework to get done.  Time was ticking away.  Chris told her we weren't going to nudge her anymore.  If she didn't get out of bed and get ready, she would just face the consequences.  Knowing that she wouldn't be too terribly sad if she missed the bus and didn't make it to school, I had to alter this plan of attack.  I said to her, "Elise, at 8:55 you are going out to the bus stop.  I don't care if you're still in you pj's, I will take you out there and physically put you on the bus.  And you will be extremely embarrassed."  I immediately walked out.  I could hear her retorting in the background, but thanks to the background noise of the dishwasher and shower, I couldn't hear what she was saying.  Had I heard her, there's a 99.9% chance she would've set me off, so the universe (and the shower and dishwasher) was working in my favor.  Thank you, universe!

She made it to the bus.  She ate breakfast, brushed her teeth, and was dressed; but the homework was not done.  The plan was to finish it on the bus.  It will be interesting to see how that went for her.  I hope it didn't get done.  And I hope there will be a consequence at school.  

Call Me Crazy

Yet another "national discussion" about guns is under way here, and it's so anti-rational, so politically cowardly, so …unbearably stupid that you have to wonder how a nation that has enlightened the world in so many other ways could wallow in this kind of delusion.
-Neil Macdonald

Like everyone in America, I'm in the midst of last minute holiday preparations, and trying desperately to process last Friday's school shooting in Connecticut.  

In recent days, I've stated to many people that, despite the reprehensible amount of gun violence that has taken place in this country in recent years, I have never entertained the idea that my kids are not safe when they're at school.  I guess it's the fact that many of those lives so unjustly cut short were so close in age to my own children, but this particular incident has left me with a feeling of vulnerability which I am not used to.  I am facing the reality that my kids, in fact, are not safe at school.  It's a hard pill for this mom to swallow.  

The harder pill for me to swallow, though, is the notion I'm repeatedly hearing that nothing can or should be done.  
It's not a gun issue, it's a mental health issue.
It's not a gun problem, it's a people problem.
I have constitutional rights... including owning an assault weapon.

I fully submit that what happened on Friday is a whole big can of messed up, made of more ingredients than I could shake a stick at.  

But...

While I would concede that perhaps it is true that stronger gun control laws would not have prevented this tragedy, you cannot convince me that it would not at least be worth a try.  Are we as a country really content to just throw our hands in the air and give up?  I know the argument.  'Crazy people are going to get their hands on guns no matter what the law says.'  True.  Just like people are going to commit murder, drive drunk, and commit countless other heinous acts that are against the law.  I would submit that it's still a good idea to have laws against those things in place.  No, they won't prevent all crime, but the law says that we as a country are not ok with this.  

Call me crazy, but I think it's time for us to say we as a country are not ok with mass killings.  Call me crazy, but I think my kids, and all the other school age kids, movie goers, mall shoppers, and other unarmed members of society, are worth trying to protect.  I think they're worth passing a law for... even if it won't work.  At least it would say that we as a society are NOT OK WITH THIS.  I love this country, and I think we're better than this.  I am sad.  I am frustrated.  I am emotional and admittedly not completely rational right now.  But my irrationality's got nothing on current gun culture in this country right now.  I guess I am selfish, because I just don't see how the right to bear arms 'designed for war, firing ultra-destructive bullets that travel at 3000 feet per second, designed to destroy human life as efficiently as possible, causing maximum internal damage' trumps my kids' rights to a long healthy life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.