Friday, March 3, 2017

Forensic Files and You - A Guide

Like what I can only assume is a whole lot of people, I am fascinated by True Crime.  I've read some Anne Rule (plus many other True Crime writers), watched lots of documentaries about historical crimes, and in the last few years I have watched many, many episodes of "Forensic Files".  Thank you, Netflix, for your "Forensic Files Collection". 

If you have not watched Forensic Files to the extent that I have, but are considering investing time in such an endeavor, let me prepare for some of the fall-out.

First of all, you will never want to be in a Wal-Mart parking lot after dark again in your life.  This may already be a given without even having watched Forensic Files, but it will become even more important to you after.

Next, you may find the voice of narrator Peter Thomas running through your head as you think about your day.  Sometimes I will be thinking of doing something and hear Peter's voice in my head saying something like, "It started out as an ordinary day for 43 year old Wendy Brock, taking the kids to school, running errands.  Little did she know that this day was going to be anything but ordinary...and also be her last."  Sinister I know, but I'm trying to be honest with you here.  This is what watching a lot of Forensic Files does to my internal monologue.

Finally, you may find yourself wondering what kind of crimes are happening everyday that you just don't hear about and no one is ever held accountable for.  It is really startling to hear some of these stories that are crazy and horrible and TRUE and you have never heard about them before.  It didn't make the news.  What is happening in the world?!?  These things happen to people with enough frequency to have a show with hundreds of different episodes, and this is the first we're hearing of almost all of them.  That seems really crazy to me, and also very worrying. 

And yet, I still watch.  That is the most perplexing part of it all. 

Mammalian Socks

Today I threw away a pair of C.T.'s socks because I cut his hair on Saturday.

In my "family of origin" certain physical attributes are kind of legendary.  One of which is my mother's hair, which she refers to as "horse hair".  It is incredibly thick hair - both in the sense that there is a lot of it and also that each strand individually is thick.  C.T. has inherited this type of hair.  When he was a little kid Tyler cut his hair, but as time has gone one and Tyler is less and less available when it comes to the routines of child care, I have become the one to cut boys' hair.

I didn't have C.T. remove his socks, and by the end of the hair cut they looked like they were a part of an old gorilla costume.  The thought of throwing them in the wash and getting that dark hair all over the washing machine and whatever else I put in there with them suddenly seemed too overwhelming, so I threw them away.  And I haven't had one regret - except maybe wishing that they were an older pair of socks.

Sometimes I Just Don't

Honestly, I don't love being a mom all the time.  Can you believe it?  It seems like all we ever hear about motherhood is how "it's the best job in the world"  and "the most rewarding job you'll ever have".  I'm not sure what types of jobs these women had before, but there are lots of times when I certainly cannot agree that it is the best job in the world.  Please don't misinterpret me here:  I know that my kids need a mom, and I know it's vitally important to be their mom.  I would never want to turn that responsibility over to someone else when I am fully capable of doing it myself.  I do believe that what I do as mom is essential and has a great purpose.  But if you look at it as a job, at times it leaves a lot to be desired.  That is why I can never really look at mothering as a job.  It's too depressing.  Sometimes I feel like saying "Okay.  This has been great.  I'm ready to move on now".  But there is no moving on, is there?  Once you commit to being a mother, that's it.  You are a mother forever.

I think my children are dear little souls who need the guidance and love that I am uniquely equipped to give them as their mother.  When I think of what would happen if I wasn't their mother - if I died or something - it scares the bejeebees out of me, because let's face it, no one is going to love these kids as much as I do.  No one is going to be as invested in understanding their motivations, in ferreting out the root of their manifested emotions, in searching for and encouraging development of their strengths, in recognizing and giving insights into their weaknesses.  I know that is my purpose in their lives.  The thing is sometimes I wonder what my purpose is in my life.  It's certainly not a new or original dilemma for a woman.  But it's still a tricky one.