Who Are The Police Protecting?

So, let’s say your house was broken into almost two years ago, in the middle of the afternoon. A lot of stuff was taken, including some sentimental items that could never be replaced. The thief left behind a small amount of DNA, via a blood drop on the curtain that your eagle eye spotted thanks to years of watching forensic crime dramas, and the crime lab said they’d check it out.

Fast-forward five months. The DNA comes back with a match, and the police tell you they have a warrant out for the guy. When you ask for details, they tell you that he used to live nearby, but is no longer at that address. You ask if he lived in the neighborhood, but they refuse to give details, only saying he lived in the area.

The thief is caught, processed, and then because of an overcrowded prison system, given only probation for his crime, despite the fact that this would not be his first time in prison. You feel a little upset that this guy is out in public, but try to reassure yourself by saying that he probably lives nowhere close to you.

Now let’s say that in doing some internet surfing of court records last night, you come upon this guy’s record. (Not only has he robbed you, but since turning 18 has also been arrested three other times for forgery, driving without a license, and another robbery with criminal endangering.) And you find out that he didn’t just live nearby, he lived ACROSS THE STREET. As in, almost directly across the street. And that the residents of the home across the street are his family.

Knowing this new tidbit of information, do you feel that the police should have shared that the criminal lived in spitting distance of your house? Or that while he no longer lived there, his family was still living there, and now knew that you were the ones who helped get their little boy thrown in jail?

To say I’m a little shocked to find out the guy who upended our lives lived right across from us would be an understatement. I don’t understand why we weren’t allowed to know where he lived, and that his family were still living there. Shouldn’t we be told that our every move is still being watched by people close to the perpetrator?

I can now see why those neighbors have never talked to us, and why they still give us unfriendly – bordering on dirty – glares each time we drive past.

We never received a mug shot, so we still don’t know what he looks like. It’s possible that he’s still coming by to visit with his family across the street – lots of 20-something men and women come by that house all the time – and if so, he’s violating his probation order to stay at least 1000 feet away from us. But since we don’t know what he looks like, we can’t tell if any of the young men glancing across the street at us might be him. Creepy, eh?

It sucks when you don’t even feel safe in your own home.



Spring Cleaning

(Yes, I’m supposed to be studying for finals. Shhh…I can’t tear myself away from blogging. )

Spring is just around the corner, and the desire to start tossing practically everything we own out the window is growing stronger everyday. It seems we always collect more junk each year, and then I spend a month going through it and purging what we no longer need.

Years ago, the amount of stuff that I would re-home was tiny. But having two kids somehow multiplies that amount to the nth degree. From clothes that are quickly outgrown, to toys that seem to reproduce like bunnies in the dark, if I don’t get this junk under control it will take over our house.

(And let’s not forget the money that was spent on all of this stuff. I wouldn’t mind having some of that money back.)

So what do I do with all of this stuff? Well, sorting it is generally how I begin. Anything that shows serious signs of wear is thrown out immediately. What purpose does a chipped glass have, anyway? Even if that glass was part of the set we received for our wedding, I can’t keep every item that has the slightest sentimental value.

Those items that can be reused are then scrutinized for value. Most of the Cordy’s clothing will be saved for Mira. Some of Mira’s clothing, and toys they no longer play with, will be sold to a resale shop like Once Upon A Child. Anything not sold back there will be given away.

Electronics and brand name baby clothes (like Gymboree) will likely go to eBay. These items have a higher resale value, so I can clean out my house while making some decent money in the process. I’m a bargain shopper – most of the items I own were purchased on sale to begin with. On more than one occasion I’ve sold items on eBay for close to what I purchased them for, and once or twice for more than I paid.

Miscellaneous items will be offered to friends and family, and the remainder will then go to a charity group. I used to hang onto things in the past just because I didn’t know what to do with them, but didn’t want to toss them out. Now I have no problem throwing a box of stuff together and dropping it off at our local Goodwill.

I think the best way to get rid of unwanted junk, though, is to stop buying so much to begin with. We’ve already cut back on our frivolous spending, thanks to $3.45 per gallon gas and grocery bills that are pushing $100 every week. Simply asking “Do we really need this?” goes a long way.

What about you? How are you saving money and simplifying your life?

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This post is part of the Parent Bloggers Network blog blast sponsored by Zwaggle, an online community devoted to helping parents get rid of what they no longer need and find items they want, without the retail price tag. Sign up for Zwaggle through this blog blast to get extra Zwaggle points to use towards their first transaction.



The No Good, Very Bad Day

So far today:

– I walked outside yesterday to get the mail and discovered a flat tire on the SUV. The tires are only two months old. Took the car in this morning, meaning I’m without a car for the day. I hope the leak can be plugged, because I really don’t want to buy another new tire.

– While getting Mira out of her crib for her overnight bottle, I notice my nightshirt is suddenly warm and wet. Then notice she’s wet. Then check and find the entire crib wet. Change the leaky diaper, her sleeper, the sheets, and my shirt before putting her back to bed. (No, she didn’t get a bath before I put her back to bed. Call me a bad mother all you want – at least I’m a bad mother who got a little bit of sleep.)

– Wake up again to find Aaron standing beside the bed telling me to go downstairs and watch Cordy because he can’t stand to be near her at the moment. Find out that she knocked his computer off the couch (while he was trying to get her to stop jumping on the couch), and now it won’t start up again.

– Aaron calls tech support, who walks him through dismantling half of the laptop to diagnose the problem. With every non-essential piece spread out across the table, we find out it still won’t work. The motherboard is possibly fried, and the in-home support tech may not be here until tomorrow.

– Cordy didn’t have school yesterday because of a teacher training day. Today?


Snow day. (You’d swear we lived in the south – this warrants a day off?) So no school again, and she’s starting to go manic. And I’m starting to consider if cocktails at noon is such a bad thing.

– Mira is also cutting one of her top teeth. She’s Cranky McCranker-Pants today. And she’s stepped up her attempts to eat all the paper, hair and carpet fuzz she can find.

– Just a few minutes ago, Cordy went up to her room to play, and I heard a *thunk*…*thunk* coming from her room. Walked in to find her in the glider, rocking it hard enough to slam it into the wall, forming a lovely dent in the wall. At least I caught her before it progressed to a full hole in the wall.

Can I get a break, please? Surely all of this is building up some good karma for something, right?

PS – It’s only 10:45 am.



Haiku Friday: Cooking Plastic Cupcakes

We have a new chef
She’s a better cook than me
Want some plastic food?
(Excuse the messy corner we shoved the kitchen into.)

Cordy has been making huge advances in imaginative play lately. One area that surprised me was her sudden interest in play kitchens and play food. Since I want to encourage her imagination any way I can, I searched high and low for a gently used play kitchen. (After all, have you seen how much those things cost new?)

I found a nice one, and the night we brought it home, she was so excited that she didn’t want to go to bed. Actually, she wanted to go to bed, but she wanted to take the kitchen to bed with her. Uh, no. Sorry, kid, I’m not carrying that thing upstairs.

The next day, our imaginary stomachs were filled beyond capacity with cupcakes and several helpings of breakfast foods. (All we have are plastic cupcakes and breakfast foods right now.) She would insist we each eat a cupcake, then run back to her kitchen with her cupcake tray to make more.


While we now have plastic food and miniature pots and pans scattered all over the living room now, I’m happy to play along with her cooking games. Seeing her imagination sprout and take flight is exciting, and if eating a few more plastic cupcakes helps it, I’m game.

Besides, plastic cupcakes are fat-free.

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Cordy-isms

Cordy walks into the kitchen.

C: Mommy? I need help.

Me: With what?

C: My cup. It’s broken. (Puts sippy cup on the counter.)

Me: It’s broken? What’s wrong with it?

C: It’s empty. It needs juice. Fix my cup, mommy?

Me: (laughing my ass off because in college we’d always talk about our “broken” [empty] drink cups at parties)

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In the car.

Mira: Aaaaawaaaaawawaaaaaaeeeeeaa (longest I’ve ever heard her vocalize – must have been 15 seconds without a breath)

Me: (looking at Aaron and laughing in amazement) What was THAT?

Cordy: (totally serious from the back, with a sigh) That was MIRA, mommy.

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes at me.

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In the living room. Cordy is behind me.

C: Mommy, get me gone?

Me: What? Get what?

C: Get me gone, mommy!

Me: Get you gone?

(I turn to see this:)

I have no idea how she snuck the box into the living room.

Me: You want me to mail you somewhere?

C: Yes!

Me: OK, where should I send you?

C: To outer space!

Me: Hmmm…I don’t think we can afford the postage, sweetie.

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