Jaci Dawn

He did it. He caught one of the moles.

*photo courtesy Wikipedia*

This creatures vs. Harvey. Not exactly a fair fight, but when you consider the mole has been winning for several years, maybe it was a fair fight, after all.

I put a bubble in the photos so as to not offend more sensitive souls.

It’s just Harvey was so ecstatic.

Oh. Hi, Mom. You’re not going to try to take my friend away from me, are you? Because I think he still wants to play.

I’m pretty sure he was past playing.

That was hard work. Now I am just going to take a nap with my new playmate.

Postscript – I gave the mole a funeral as soon as I could separate the Hunter from the Hunted. I even felt a little sad about the poor thing, until I thought about how many more of them must be living under the grass in my lawn.

I’m still somewhat in shock that Harvey actually caught one.

I have a coworker whose oldest son is considering enlistment in the Marine Corps. I understand her angst; what I do not understand is her reluctance to release control of the issue to her child. He’s 18.

My son was 17 when he approached us about enlisting in the Army. His cousin was a Marine. Both of his grandfathers served in the Army. My husband and I are pacifists, and I am a Conscientious Objector. We came of age during the Viet Nam era. Our son came of age shortly after 9/11.

I did the only thing I have ever done when one of my children faced a life question: I prayed about it. There was only ONE opinion I wanted, and that opinion was not of this earthly plane. I agree that sometimes, we have to ask people on this plane what they think in order to decipher what God wants, but usually God just straight talks to me (at least in areas where my kids are concerned – He’s a lot more vague about my own life questions). God did not fail me.

The Enlisting Officer came to our house with his milque-toast hand shake and I told him, point blank, what my objections were. I continued. “This is not *my* decision. Levi is 17. In older times, that was more than old enough to be a man. He will be 18 by the end of this year, and even if I say ‘no’ now, he can overrule my ‘no’ on his birthday. If this is what he wants, then this is what I want for him.”

My husband concurred.

My coworker keeps asking people what their opinion is. It has been weeks, for God’s sake. The kid in question is already 18. CUT THE FRICKIN’ APRON STRINGS!

I get that she’s concerned about her son’s future. She wants the best for him. She wants him to make the right choices. To be safe. To lead his own life.

Stop.

Does she really want him to lead his own life???

No. She does not. She’s still controlling every aspect of his decisions, withholding her permission until it suits her.

The conversation came up again today. She asked someone else in the office what they thought. I had to bite my tongue and sit on my hands while I listened to the answers that were given her. This person gave her everything she wanted to hear, and none of the hard stuff, like: it’s your son’s life. Let him go!

That’s the hard stuff to say. Your child will make mistakes. Your child will fall. There may be a DUII in his or her future. She may hook up with a guy who hits her. He may enlist in the Marine Corps and be dishonorably discharged. He may die by enemy fire. She may go into missions in a foreign country and it may all go south.

The easy answer is what the mother wants to hear. How she should not allow her son to enlist.

“He wants to serve his country? What did his country ever do for him?”

(I wanted to get out of my chair and punch the speaker out. And I am a pacifist. Bloody Hell. What has MY country done for MY son? Let’s talk the frickin’ Constitution, OK? The First Amendment (which gives said person the RIGHT to say what he thinks without me bopping him)?)

It got worse. I was busy with my work things when I overheard the very public phone call Mr. Right made to Mrs. Concerned’s Voice Mail.

“I have one other objection to your son enlisting, to help you. When (my S.O.’s) sons were serving overseas in Afghanistan, she didn’t sleep for three years. That’s how long they were over there. And even after they returned to US soil, she still couldn’t sleep at night. Over three years of sleep deprivation…”

O.M.G.

Someone stop me. I was furious. I sat on my hands and bit my lips. Does this person really think that was the worst time of her life or her son’s lives? Would she like a look into MY life??

I have been through things with my kids – not just my soldier – that make those three years “without sleep” pale by comparison. Life choices, abusive boyfriends, car accidents, bad life choices, divorce. Give me a frickin’ break.

Enlisting in the military has been the least of my concerns over the years.

This is advice from a mother of three and a grandmother of 9: LET YOUR KIDS GO.

This woman is worrying about her son enlisting in the Marine Corps? I have a child who had a much-less stellar debut on the job market (I am not free to post that job description online lest I embarrass said child), One child was in a terrible accident. One child had a DUII. Yet another is in the middle of a very nasty divorce. One had a S.O. smack her.

Tell me again, what your objection is to your child serving his – or her -country is?

ISIS?

Or having to place a flag on the casket?

What about other things that can happen to a non-military child? What about an individual child’s hopes and dreams?

My soldier was the “least likely” to survive Basic Training. Those few times I got to speak to him during that time in his life, I often asked him: “So – how many push-ups did you have to do?”

He’s laugh, because he knew I was inferring his rebellion against authority. “Not push-ups, Mom. Laps. I do a LOT of laps.”

Here’s my advice to mothers whose children – male or female – are about to launch from the nest, and those children are considering the military:

Is it any worse than pole dancing? Because if it is not worse than pole dancing, let them go. And, hey, if it is pole dancing… let them go, anyway. It’s not YOUR decision, Mom. It’s theirs. You just have the privilege of praying for them. Accept your responsibility and love them, no matter what.

Always love your kids.

Fuck what others think. Sorry for the French. Apologies to God.

P.S. – God – You just listened in on that phone conversation. Help my kid.

Do you do this? Sure, you know you do this. What if I won $7,000/week for the rest of my life from Publisher’s Clearing House? I mean, if you can wade through the tons of unsolicited junk mail they send you after you send in your original entry (and order, because orders *always* get preference, right?). And then there’s the ton of junk that comes in after you pay the bill in full (because who wants to stretch out a $20 purchase over four “convenient” payments?). And nevermind that the items they offer for purchase are basically the same items they offered you in the 1990’s and 1980’s, and are things no one really wants unless they’re 110 years old with nothing to do but add cute crystal kitties to their collection…

OK – my husband talked me into sending in my entry this year. I was not going to do it because of the above, but he insisted. I bought a 3CD collection of old Country-Western songs that I have not yet opened, but which contains a whole lot of my mother’s favorite songs from the 1960’s and some of mine from the 1970’s. I finally recycled the tons of additional junk mail they’ve sent. If my entry isn’t in that first mailing, then I really don’t want that $7,000/month for life.

That’s too much junk mail to wade through.

But, let’s play the game anyway. You win $7,000/week for life.

After taxes, that’s probably about $3,000/week for life – but it’s still more than you’re making now.

I’d like to become a philanthropist. But I’d want to be able to pick my beneficiaries out at random and without their knowledge that I am making that decision to bless/help them. So, no letters accepted of “please help me because…”

Certain animal rescue organizations would benefit, but not PETA or any other agency that is hypocritical in approach. I would also look very closely at the bottom line: how much money actually goes to the cause? World Wildlife Fund would lose. Nature Conservancy and the Xerces Society would be high on my list.

I already donate to Israel and PBS. I’d merely increase those donations. I stand strong with Israel. And I believe in the mission of PBS. Oh – and NANOWRIMO.

Altruism aside, what would I do with that kind of money? I’ve never been a really good financial planner, but I might hire one. Not that I think money is important (it isn’t), but I do believe stewardship of money is probably important.

There’s the usual “I’d pay off these bills”, but I don’t have a lot of those left after years of struggling through credit counseling services. The mortgage, my car payment – ta da!

Family. Hm. That’s a hard one. Would I even want family to know I won the income? Much as I love family, there’s a horrid side to having money when the rest of family is struggling. I’d rather be able to anonymously help them out and not have them know I have the income. You know, keep family as friends and not get into the whole “loan me some…” Because family can never pay you back and family doesn’t really owe you the loan.

Would I move? Probably not. I’d probably go for some remodeling projects, an addition to the house for visiting relatives…

Quit my job? Not right away. I like my job. I like working.

Move east? I know I just said I wouldn’t, but there’s the temptation to move back to a smaller town east of the Cascades, in the high desert country. And… yeah… that would be very tempting.

We have a number of fixer-upper-jobs pending, and they’d have to be taken care of first. I figure that even if we wanted to move, it would be a year before we could do so: bring the house up to market value, fix all of our rigs, de-junk our life…

I’d buy a horse. I want a full-size lawn ornament. Take on a rescue. I’d definitely get a horse. I’d probably buy him about the time we move east of the Cascades and have land on which he can run.