The weekends were made for.... Accidents?

It is only Sunday morning and I can't beleive I am writing this, but this weekend needs to end. 

The guard is not a MAJOR klutz (yes, a minor one), but the events of this weekend may suggest otherwise. Perhaps I should be wrapped in bubble wrap and stored away for safe keeping. 

Friday:  The Warden arranged for alternative care for the prisoners so that the Warden and Guard could attend a movie. We even attended a theater where they have renovated it to have massive recliners. In typical fashion, we were late. After securing a massive soft drink that could quench the thirst of thousands, and a truck load of popcorn, we entered the theatre where we had friends and assigned seats waiting. In my mind, I saw the seats. They were in the opposite side of the room. I thought, we should walk around to the other side and down the isle to approach from the other side rather than cut in front of an entire row of fellow movie goers. So I lead the way. 

This movie theatre has been retrofitted to fit these seats, and unbeknownst to me, there was no other isle on the other side of the room. How did I eventually find this out?  When I walked into the darkness of the theatre and strait into the black wall. At a brisk speed. Holding 55 gallons of soda.  Fluid which acted like a liquid filled air bag that has been deployed in a split second. All while wearing a white shirt. Yep. I drenched myself. Yay me. And I sat through the entire movie while wearing the Warden's drink. She only complained of thirst 27 times after eating the popcorn, but I was not moving again until the theatre was empty. 

Saturday:  I awoke knowing that later that day I would be taking #2 to his first Major League Baseball game. But it was a night game and there were things to do before we left. One of those things was to repair a neighbors lawnmower. I proceeded to do that, but for some reason I had decided that there was no reason for me to put shoes on. It was a hot day, and I was comfortable. That is until I walked in front of the mower and misjudged how close I was. I am pretty confident (now, a day later) that my misjudgment and subsequent collision with the mower has resulted in at least one broken toe. 

At the time, there was the initial pain, but not much more significant than stepping on a Lego in the middle of the night. Some Advil and I would be fine. I sucked it up and went to the game. And we walked around the stadium. A lot. It was uncomfortable at times but not that bad. Until we returned home. Upon exiting the car, my first step proved that perhaps there was some damage beyond a Lego step. I hobbled into the house and removed my shoe and discovered a discoloration that is unnatural-- purple, dark red and yellow. And some nice swelling. My foot modeling career will be put on hold. I am making calls now to cancel appearances for the next week. The photographers are devastated that they cannot marvel in the beauty of my feet. 

Sunday:  it is early and I fear what damage awaits my body today. I think I may just decide to bubble wrap myself and stay inside. If there is another blog post today, know that yes, I did something stupid again. 

The movie incident was dumb and 36 hours later I can laugh. The foot? It just hurts, almost as much as my pride did Friday night. But such is life. And if you wonder why I would even write about it, well, those that know the Warden will know that the stories would be told anyway, and she would embellish everything to sound worse than it really is, so here is my spot to keep the record strait. 

Pretty colors, huh?

Life lessons. Never know when you need to teach one

There are many things in life that are dreadful in life. Nails down a chalkboard. Drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. Rubbing alcohol on a paper cut. Paper cuts. Taking prisoners to a craft store. 

Don't get me wrong, the things inside these stores can entertain prisoners for hours. The issue is being in the store that smells like potpourri with 3 prisoners, all whom have their own and vastly different agendas. Tonight was one of those trips. Initially scheduled to get #1 a t-shirt for a tie dye project, it quickly devolved as #3 found knock off American Girl Doll clothes. #2, in typical male fashion, wanted nothing to do with the store because there were no video games. 

Luckily there were few people in this particular store tonight, and no older ladies to glare at the guard as the prisoners ran in different directions in search of something to insist they could not live another moment without. 

After what seemed like 14 hours, the three prisoners converged on one single isle. At the end was a cardboard display of markers of which each color had a different smell which resembled little like the advertising and brought back memories of elementary art class where you always tried to shove your buddy's head into the market as he sniffed it. 

This display is remarkable due to the fact that other out of control prisoners previously found it and 'tested' the markers, making it look like a subway train leaving the Bronx. My prisoners decided to tag the display as well. #2 wrote his name in his favorite color. #3 drew flowers and also wrote her name. #1 wrote a name as well. But it was a name that we all share-- our family name. Perfect teaching moment for a life lesson-- NEVER write your last name when doing graffiti. It is bad enough to use your first name, but at least there is a chance that someone else shares your first name. Last names, at least ours, are not common. 

So, there is a craft store, with a cardboard display that is now tagged with enough incriminating evidence that a simple google search would likely lead a craft store manager to our front door. But, at least it is not spray paint on a highway overpass. Thankfully I got that lesson over before it became more of a problem. 

Some days, you just gotta brag....

Anyone who has met our prisoners in person will tell you they are really good. The warden and I sometimes comment that we have 6 prisoners-- three who go out in public as saints, and 3 who are terrors behind prison doors. I am happy that it works out that way as the inverse would just be too much. 

Also, as anyone who has met the prisoners can attest, #1 has difficulty with speech-- something she works hard at in therapy and is acutely aware of. Her teachers and therapist have stated numerous times how children like her are usually introverted and are scared to speak up. But not our #1. Perhaps it is because she has always been in class with #2.  While they do not have their own 'twin language' that is often times reported about twins, #2 could always understand her when others could not. He is her biggest supporter and I can only imagine that it helps her confidence. Perhaps it is just because she is a strong and confident young person. 

Confidence is something parents always hope their children will have, and we have it in excess with all three of our prisoners. Case in point, and my reason to brag, is that today at their organized playground, karaoke was set up. Now karaoke is a favorite pastime in the prison. Almost daily the machine is cranked up to ear shattering levels with Frozen songs, and more recently top 40 hits from Taylor Swift, Megan Trainor, Maroon 5 and even Jimmies Chicken Shack (a favorite of the Guard!). 

Upon pick up at playground today, they informed me about the karaoke. To my delight, #1 informed me that she performed 4 songs. In front of everyone. Her peers, older kids (up to 12 and 13), and staff (high school kids). Personally, I have had to work hard in my life to be able to speak in front of groups of people, and here is our oldest, performing in front of people. Speech be damned-- she has no fear. Predictably, #2 did not perform-- he is a boy, with some older friends, and already is starting to determine what is 'cool' for the cool boys to do. But, one of the things he does think is cool is to support his sibling as he stated how well she did, and how everyone applauded her. 

So yeah. I am bragging. Deal with it. 

Have I become "that" Guard/Dad?

The summer at the prison has been fun for the prisoners. They go to an organized playground every morning of the week for a few hours. They play with other prisoners in the community. They come back for lunch and either go to the community pool for the afternoon or play with other prisoners in the neighborhood. #3 is away at camp (aka she is spending a week being pampered at her great Aunt and Uncles house in Virginia-- thank you!!). Sprinkle in some swim lessons and other activities and you have a summer that make parents, guards and wardens very jealous. 

Today though, I did something that made me think-- wow, I am "that" guard (dad) now. Picking up #1 and 2 from playground, they were waiting on the street with a buddy when I arrived. As my prisoners were strapping into their transport, their buddy stood and waited for his warden to pick him up. An older gentleman walking a dog stopped and was speaking to him. I never saw this guy before, so I put the transport in park, and stared at the rear view mirror. Who was this guy?  Why was buddy talking to a stranger?  I am not moving until this buddy's warden shows up. Complete paranoia ensues. 

Maybe it was the rash of attempted luring at bus stops this spring where bad people were trying to get kids in their van. Maybe it was the attempted luring of  3 girls two months ago, just two blocks from our prison in a quaint suburban community. Maybe it was a lot of things, but I immediately felt I needed to stay. While I stared intensely at the mirror, debating if I wanted to start taking pictures or ask buddy if he wants to wait in our car, I began a lecture to my prisoners about speaking to strangers. It is a lecture they know well, even if they don't understand it completely. 

With the lecture complete, buddy's warden arrives. And she begins talking to the 'stranger'. They know each other.  Stranger is not a stranger. Realization kicks in that I have become "that" dad. I have justified it to myself that I did the right thing. At least I did not make a scene, and what really is the harm of sitting in our transport vehicle a few minutes?  

I am comforted by the notion that 'it takes a village', but am I installing fear into my prisoners and subjecting them to the fears of a potentially helicopter parent?  I guess this is the world we live in unfortunately-- or so I tell myself. Gone are the days when I, at the same age as my prisoners, would 'disappear' during summer days with my buddies.  Never worrying about anything other than making sure I was back at my prison by dinner. Hours spent in a local creek or river, at a baseball field, stealing vegetables from the gardens of neighbors for our lunch, bouncing from buddy's home to buddy's home and traveling wherever our bikes took us, within the vast boundaries set by our guards and wardens of course. I feel my childhood was like that of the kids in 'Stand by Me'-- without ever finding a dead kid, of course.  

Am I depriving my prisoner's that experience?

Only time will tell but for now my prisoners, and their buddy, are safe and sound and will live to play another day. 

It's been a while.... or, We are in the doldrums

It's been a while. The prison has been functioning, but honestly, the days just seemed to have melted together. I attribute it to the roller coaster of prison life. There is the initial stage of the newness. Then the doldrums. Then there is some sort of watershed moment, followed by doldrums. The cycle continues. We are in the doldrums. The daily grind. The same thing each day, but only slightly different. 

Doldrums: the maritime use. We are in it. Need some fresh wind for our sails. 

So what is different enough that I have put thumbs to touchscreen?  Not much really. A simple conversation over adult drinks with some friends with a comment of, "you should write a book."  That was followed by, um yeah, I had this blog.....  Which was then followed by someone sending me a link to a piece written by a mom, describing the worst end of school year mom. (http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/3378480). Pretty funny stuff and we can totally relate, although I am too proud to admit our prison is in quiet that bad of shape. 

I read some of the first reports to reminisce. I can't really say that was my good stuff, but I wish I could come close to that again. 

So, here I am, thumbs tapping. The initial excitement to revive my blog from the hiatus has already worn off. The prison is quiet. The inmates and the warden are sound asleep. The only sounds in the prison are the humidifiers and fans that are throughout the building to act more as a distraction than as anything else. The humidifiers offer noise in the cells. The fan is to dull my snoring so the warden can sleep. I should be sleeping as well. The prisoners will be up soon. But I can't sleep. I enjoy the peace right now. And once I fall asleep, I will awake to chaos. Chaos is further away if I don't sleep. 

I can already predict the first chaotic moment that awaits. #1 lost a tooth. The tooth fairy did not arrive as scheduled and this morning I had to address her tardiness. #1 was actually happy (MUCH to my relief). She could take the tooth to school to show it off. The problem now though? I can't find the dang tooth. I am not sure if it was placed under the pillow, or if #1 hid it. She has already asked me multiple times if I am the tooth fairy so I can't just stuck the money under the pillow. It could be a trap. She is cagey like that. 

as much as I wish I could spin a yarn akin to my original daily reports, I can't. They say nothing good happens after midnight. It is also true that nothing creative happens after midnight. 

In my attempts to think of something to write, I looked back at some of my draft entries that just never panned out (yeah, this drivel made the cut, but there are many others that did not). Here is something that had potential:

There are things that have come out of my mouth that as soon as I have said it, I have immediately thought, "wow, THAT sentence has probably never been muttered outside a prison."  Here is a list. 

No. A toilet is not a good way to style your hair. 

Please do not put that lollipop in #3's ear. 

Just because a minion can do it, does not mean you can. 

Do not lick #3. 

The elf is not going to come out of the TV and take you away. 

There is not a monster in your tummy making you sick. 

Pull your pants up and do NOT stick your butt in (insert any prisoner's name)'s face.

Do not smell your finger, and no, I don't want to smell your finger either after you stuck it there. 

So, on THAT low note, I will sign off. The prison is still standing. The prisoners are still alive. There are still only 3 of them. 

Not the typical story

It has been a while. Found a job and I travel once a month. The Warden is holding down the prison while I am away, and doing a fine job of it. 

I have thought a lot about writing, but my new job requires a lot of writing, so there was nothing that stood out much until now. 

***Warning*** this story is graphic in nature and it is about bodily functions. Read at your own risk. You have been warned. 

It starts innocently on a Friday.  Pretty typical Friday.  I have to take my youngest to daycare.  We were out of dishwasher detergent, so I stopped to get some at a store near her school.  In the shopping center is a Taco Bell, so I grabbed two breakfast burritos and headed back home into my office to work.  The rest of the day was uneventful and I skipped lunch to get work done.  That is until I pick her up at the end of the day.  I had her older brother and sister in tow, and, since I would be traveling the next week, I decided to take them to dinner.  They voted on Moe’s.  Mexican twice in one day?  Not a big deal for me.  Or so I thought.

We did not even leave Moe’s before my stomach started to do somersaults.  Five minutes after we left, we were home.  I was going downhill fast.  Cold sweats.  Shivering so badly that as I sat there shaking, I could see my fitbit activity monitor registering the shaking as if I was walking.  I get the kids to bed, and I climb in myself.  Every 30-45 minutes I made a quick waddle to the bathroom to explode.

Saturday passes without me leaving the bedroom for more than 5 minutes.  24 hours after my last meal, I ate two oranges.  Yay.  I begin to worry.  I am to fly out Sunday afternoon for a week in Illinois.  I start to consider buying some adult diapers if the frequent trips to the bathroom continues.  I made trips to the pot every 30 minutes for over 36 hours straight.  I took water in, it came back out.

Sunday.  A new day awakens.  I try some food.  It stays in.  I eat some more.  It stays in.  I feel as though I am a bit bloated with the sinking feeling of gas build up. I am feeling 80% human.  I don’t need the diapers after all.  I get packed.  Head to the airport and was thankful that the past two days are behind me.  Or so I thought.

First flight is from Harrisburg to Detroit.  As I get on the flight, and the stomach begins to grow ever so slightly.  I get to Detroit.  90 minute layover. I stroll around.  Eat a sandwich and don’t really think about how I feel.  I board the plane.  Put my headphones on with a play list of songs that complement reading a good book.  It was a 100 minute or so flight.  I have a window seat.  At the last minute, the seat next to me is filled.  And he stunk.  Not BO stink.  But food stink.  Could not put my finger on it.  Wasn’t Chinese or Indian, but it was that thick smell that had a twinge of garlic and some other strong and disgusting, pungent odor.  Maybe on a different day, I would not have minded it, but as I was thinking about the smell, and his complete lack of consideration for sharing a public space, my stomach began to grow.

And grow.  And grow.  Gas was building up.  I began to sweat.  I could not move.  I was about to get up to go to the bathroom and hopefully burst the gas bubble that was in my body.  I had to wait for the beverage service to finish so I could get to the bathroom.  But, just before it ended, we hit turbulence.  Rough enough that the seatbelt sign came on and we were not allowed to leave our seats.  30 minutes to go.  I had to survive.  I could not get comfortable.  I was having contractions.  It started as one cramp every few minutes, but it quickly evolved into every few seconds. Every muscle in my body would clench and I was focused on keeping myself from being the end of someone else’s story about some horrendous flight where a guy messes his pants.  The minutes ticked by like years.

All the while I was focused on my clenching, the world around me continued to go on like nothing was out of the ordinary.  My neighbor could not get comfortable in his seat either, and every time he moved, his elbow would hit me.  Sometimes he hit my arm.  Most times, my stomach.  And his stench continued to get worse.

I began to focus on my breathing and the clenching of my body to keep everything where it belongs.  The music was still playing in my headphones.  Typically I will listen to many different play lists or albums I have on my phone.  But in this moment, I could not move to do anything that was not part of the main focus.  So the songs kept replaying.  I could tell that we were getting close to landing.  We were in the final descent.  I close my eyes and focus on the music.  The music then starts to become a soundtrack to my situation as the words for each song somehow can be directly related to my situation. And at this point we are now probably on the 5^th time through this playlist.

First up, Imagine Dragons, and the song describes my stomach; Radioactive.

I'm waking up to ash and dust,
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust,
I'm breathing in, the chemicals. 
I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus.
This is it, the apocalypse, whoa.
I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones.
Enough to make my systems blow.

No kidding, my systems are going to blow.

Killers come next with All the Things That I’ve Done

When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on 
I want to stand up, I want to let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
And when there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son

I am holding on.  Trust me, I am holding as tight as I can.  Then Maroon5.

You drain me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here
The double vision I was seeing is finally clear
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone
Not fit to fuckin' tread the ground I'm walking on
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe

Really hard to breathe.  I can’t hold it much longer.  Ben Folds comes on and gives me the fortitude to fight back and curse my body for what I am afraid it may do to me.

 

I'm big and important
One angry dwarf and 200 solemn faces are you
If you really want to see me check the papers and the TV
Look who's telling who what to do
Yeah, kiss my ass goodbye 
You'll be sorry one day, yeah, you will, yes, you will
You shouldn't push me around 'cause I will, yes, I will
You will be sorry when I'm big, yes, you will, yes, you will
You will be sorry

Or am I going to be the sorry one?

The.
Plane.
Lands.

Still cannot move.  I am the last one off the plane. I walk slowly.  Torn between the need to get to the bathroom fast, but not wanting to make any movements that will cause my tight grip to be lost.

Headphones are still on. Music still playing.  Stewardess says something to me as I get off the plane.  Her expression seems to indicate that it was something in the line of, ‘Are you ok?” but I just say thank you and keep moving.

The clouds part.  The sun shines.  The angels sing.  The bathroom is directly across from the gate.

Too good to be true.  Alas, it was the devil dressed as a saint though.  The bathroom was full with a lot of people waiting.  Dejected, I walk out.  I must go to the next bathroom.

Stevie Wonder starts to play and I can actually hear music again (I swear I heard no music for about 10 minutes I was concentrating on my situation so intently).

For once in my life I have someone who needs me
Someone I’ve needed so long
For once unafraid I can go where life leads me and somehow I know I’ll be strong
For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of
Long before I knew
Someone warm like you
Who have my dreams come true
For once in my life I won't let sorrow hurt me
Not like it's hurt me before
For once I have someone I know won't desert me
I’m not alone anymore

My wedding song that always makes me feel good.  Almost to the bathroom. 

Bathroom.  Nirvana.  Smells Like Teen Spirit.  No, just kidding, THAT would just be way too crazy.

While in the bathroom I heard one guy come in, hear the sounds that are coming out of me and he actually said out loud, ‘Wow.’

Yeah.  Wow. Now get the out of here buddy.  And don't light a match. 

How Did I Get Here?

First, let me apologize for the lack of daily reports. The last few months have been crazier than normal. This time of year already is difficult with the holidays and obligations but add to that, the Guard was let go from his day job so there has been a focus on finding the next day job while keeping the prison from falling apart. That is not meant as a request for sympathy but rather an explanation of where any free time has been spent the last few months. But the prison still runs and the prisoners still need a guard so the show goes on. 

I have a group of friends, call it a support group. We knew each other mostly from a previous life when none of us were Guards. We commiserate and exchange stories, many with the unspoken question of 'How did we get here?'  None of the stories are anything that we ever read in any of the countless parenting books we received when we announced our new side jobs as Guards. Grand guards just smiled the smile of knowledge of the road ahead-- of the challenges that will be faced, with the silent chuckle of what they know. Kind of like why guys will always laugh at sophomoric humor like groin shots or flatulance. Grand Wardens smile and think about the good that is young prisoners. It's the quintessential difference at the core of our beings based on simply the difference between having the Y chromosome or not. 

Today at Garfield Prison we are in our post Christmas hangover. Toys are everywhere. The dining room table is full of art projects and partially assembled Legos. And, with this being the northern hemisphere, it is winter. And since we are in the NE US, one day will seem like August with wa weather, and 12 minutes later we will be freezing. And when that happens, cue the trips to the Dr office for a myriad of potential ailments. 

#3 started with a runny nose on Christmas Eve. Felt a little warm. Then she started with frequent trips to the bathroom all day on Christmas. Like every 10 minutes type frequency. So off to the Dr we go. The Warden and Guard are experienced so we know it may be a possible urinary tract infection and we make sure she has ample supply to test when we arrive at the Dr--  she complained the whole way there she had to pee. Of course she can't go once the nurse confirms the need for a test and while I am holding a bottle under her bum. But, tue trip was not a waste to the bathroom as she did poop while I am holding the cup... Without warning. Get cleaned up, see Dr, make plans for testing back at the prison and then she says she has to go. She manages to pee all over my hand as I try to catch enough to test.  So now we wait to see what the results yield. 

So, how did we get here?  How come no one told me there was a possibility that I would end up, at 44 years of age, catching poop and being peed on by a prisoner who has not worn a diaper in well over 2 years?  That information would have been VERY useful. 

The only consolation I have is that because of my age, one of these prisoners may be changing my diapers when they are my age. Hopefully they can find the ironic humor in it and don't just decide to suffocate me in my sleep before I can exact my revenge. And they can ask themselves how THEY got here.  

Cutting deep, and right to the bone

It has been a rough few days here at Garfield Prison. #2 developed a fever and rash over the weekend and was diagnosed with strep throat with a side of scarlet fever. But, thanks to Alexander Fleming, we have medicines to combat that, and they work fast on youngsters. 

24 hours after diagnosis and the start of antibiotics, #2 is back at full strength. Perhaps that strength was gained by passing the strep onto the Guard. Yep. The Guard has it too. Joy. 

Headache, chills, sore throat, all the good stuff. But the Prison still needs a guard. The Warden is off at some secret society of uppety ups so here we are. Trying to entertain the prisoners with recordings of the Voice. Was going ok until a fight breaks out. #2 started a fight with #3. #2 was sent to his cell and he was pissed. 10 seconds later a mini prison riot nearly erupts and the Guard gets hit in the head with something as the following is screamed multiple times; "I am going to PITT!!"  Yeah, that stab in the back was deep, painful and right to the bone. The prisoner knew what the effect would be. 

The prisoner threw this:

The back story is this: The Warden attended Pitt. The Guard, Penn State. We are truely a 'Prison Divided' when it comes to college sports and the subtle hints at our attempts of brain washing. 

Maybe the hints were not so subtle since this backlash at punishment cut so thoroughly to the bone. That hurt. Made the guard swallow hard (inflicting serious physical pain in the process due to the strep throat I might add), regain composure and let the comment slide. The object pictured has now been stored away for safe keeping for a future date. I think that date will be #2's wedding where the favor will be returned. 

Time for a time out to set the record straight

Please let me take a moment to step away a bit from the normal posts. 

This space has been used in a way to vent the frustrations of the Guard in his duties within the prison while trying to controll the inmates. By shunning the socially acceptable norms of referring to the Guard as Dad, the Warden as Mom and the prisoners as children, this blog was meant to attempt to portray the sometime dark, dirty, and sometimes hidden struggles of raising a family with small and energetic children. By assuming the alter ego of the Guard and not referring to the prisoners by name, it was meant as a way to create a satirical look behind the closed doors and curtains during the most trying of times. 

Parents love to brag about their children. With the popularity of social media, many parents will post the cute stories, pictures and events within their family. Dirty laundry is normally not something you want to share since we all want the world to see how proud we are of our children. But as most parents will tell you, there are those trying times times that are just plain frustrating. 

I have taken some indirect heat for some of my stories here. Speaking as Dad now-- my children really are great. They are smart, funny and creative.  They are very supportive of one another, and have a great bond as siblings. They love each other, and they love their parents. And their parents love them very much. And there is tremendous pride when we watch them interact with the world around them and watch them grow, learn, and mature. 

My point in all of this is that if you are reading this blog, know that it is intentionally one sided, and there are some (not many but some-- I am not creative enough to make this stuff up from thin air) liberties taken with the stories. It is meant as satire, but more importantly, as a means for me to verbalize and laugh at the hard times. As someone who does not communicate well, and who typically bottles up frustrations to the point where I am like a fresh bottle of Coke that you shake really hard, this little space here allows me to slowly releive some of that pressure. After a particularly trying situation, the act of turning it into a story is almost therepudic. 

So, the moral of this post is really that like many blogs (or anything on the Internet it seems), the lines between fiction and non fiction are very blurry. And this is done intentionally here.  The Guard and his prisoners represent one small aspect of our life. Life as a father with his children represents a much larger portion of our life, but that portion is not what this blog is about. There are many good and funny stories, but they just don't fit the spirit of this space. I am sorry if there are some of you who want to hear the positive and funny stories. I will try to sprinkle them in, but truth be told, I try to enjoy the good and funny situations in the moment. The bad, well, this allows me to escape and take a break for a few moments so I am not that massive exploding Coke bottle.  

Why?

I have held the job as Guard for over 6 years now. Not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but long enough to ask myself 'why?' A lot. Each day. Multiple times a day. 

It is often in a slightly different context, but the underlying theme is almost always relating back to the behavior of the prisoners. 

Why do we get such glowing reports from teachers at their vocational training, yet their behavior within the prison walls is so utterly horrible?

Why do they agree, after a 10 minute lecture, that they will behave, yet a mere 27 seconds after that agreement, the armistice treaty is forgotten and world war 3 commences?

Why do Legos, no matter how long you spend cleaning them up, always seem to find themselves directly under a bare foot in the middle of the night?

Why do prisoners always find that one permanent marker to place their autograph on a newly painted wall, when there were 7,357 washable markers to choose from?

Why do they feel the need to be so shy and quiet in public, refusing to answer questions of friends and family in a audible level that the human ear can detect, yet in the comfort of the prison, the volume increases to ear destroying levels?

Why do they insist on all talking at the same time, with volume quickly escalating to a crescendo that can only be overcome by an even louder demand to stop?

Why do they insist waking up at the crack of dawn on the weekends, yet on school days, it is like raising the dead to get them to wake up?

Why is the response ALWAYS 'why?' when they are asked, then requested and finally demanded to do the simplest of chores?

Why will they insist they are full after eating dinner, yet go directly to the refridgerator to look for more food as soon as they put their plates away?

All these questions beg self reflection of my own inner struggle with my own 'why?'--  why did I ever wait so long to become a Guard?  I will be near 60 by the time the prisoners are on their own. The answer is then obvious when I ask myself why I am jealous of cohorts who have survived their sentences and are planning to watch their prisoners become Wardens and Guards.  

There are many more. Many. Many. More.   Rivaled only by the questions that begin with 'How in the....?'  And those questions will be reviewed some other day--  world war 7 needs a peaceful truce negotiated.  Again. 

It's a rude world outside these prison walls

Warden's orders are that the Guard and #2 and #3 need haircuts. Go. Now. 

Arrive at usual place. Our clan is closely followed out of parking lot by a 'to-be' rival prison group. Guard holds door for prisoners and rival clan pushes past us in our moment of kindness and rushes to counter to get in line first, putting in the names of her and all her 4 snot nosed prisoners ahead of us. Our reward? An hour wait. We leave before Guard becomes leading story on the 6 o'clock news. 

Go to next place. Packed. Another 60 minute wait. Nope. 

Third place?  Empty!  Score. Until we stood at counter for 5 minutes, finally leaving when Guard over hears one of the 'stylists' state that she wished it was closing time because she hates cutting kids hair. No problem, we hate you too. Buh-bye. 

Now we are at the fourth place. 5, then 6 then 7 minutes with no one greeting us (and they are not busy either), and now we are in search of our next stop. 

Fifth place will surely be our salvation. We are greeted immediately and told there is 'at most' a 20 minute wait. Awesome right?  42 minutes later with no end in sight and the prisoners (who were surprisingly really really good) start to complain of hunger. And they are correct, it is past chow time. So we leave. 

Five strikes and we are out. No hair cuts and one very frustrated Guard who has exceeded his patience quota for rude and nasty people. Back to the sanctity of our prison. Hair cuts will come another day. 

Maybe this is our answer:

Summer is over. Back to the grind.

Summer is over at the prison. 1&2 boarded the bus this morning and were shipped of to vocational training, otherwise known as 1st grade. 3 moved up to pre K in anticipation of her becoming old enough to attend vocational school next year. 

Here are the neighborhood prisoners loading up for training, being sent off by some of the younger prisoners. 

It has been a long and busy summer, evidenced by the Guard's lack of time to chronicle their adventures. 

In typical GP (Garfield Prision) fashion, procrastination levels are always high. School shopping was squeezed into the last two days before school. But in equally typical GP fashion, the prisoners arrived at their send off point on time, well dressed and with proper supplies. 

The summer was a blur. 1&2 spent a week with their GREAT Aunt and Uncle in Virginia and 3 spent a week shuffled between her Aunt and Grandmother (we are forever in debt to you all!!). The Warden enjoyed a week vacation while the Guard spent time at a conference in San Diego. All told, it was a fun time away from GP for all. 

The summer also included some time spent with friends from Florida who came to visit, and with a buddy from Ohio who stayed with us for a long weekend. Sprinkle in trips to the granparent's pool and the daily attendance of summer camp and the prisoners had a pretty solid summer. 

There have been a ton of stories that would have played well in this space, but old age and the pressures of the day job and as Guard have led those stories to fade into oblivion. I do have one story that I find funny, but in 10 years, I doubt the prisoner will be happy.  So here goes. 

#1 is our nervous thinker. She thinks about everything and worries more than the other prisoners. Starting the new school year has provided a high stress level for her over the past few weeks. #1 has a, um, delicate digestive system. We have battled her system that results in, um, clogged plumbing. The summer was carefree and her plumbing worked well, until about a week ago. Plumbing backed up, and the process to clean it out takes some time. We were really close to being on the good side of the problem with everything working properly to avoid any potential first day issues. Until #1 started to worry about the first day of school. The worry started early in the day but really hit it's apex while she prepared for bed. Her tummy hurt. She powered through and fell asleep. At 2 am, #1 was at my bedside. She was nervous, couldn't sleep and her tummy hurt. She crawled into bed and almost instantaneously fell asleep. Well, not completely asleep. Her digestive system went into over drive. How a pretty little girl like her can create what she created is beyond comprehension. The smells.... Oh.my.gawd.  It woke the dead (me!). It curled my hair and watered my eyes. Didn't seem to phase the Warden, but I also acted as a large mountain separating the Prisoner and Warden. All I can say is wow. WOW!  Anyway, I love her. I did tell her about it in the morning, and she was not only not embarassed, but thought it was hilarious and told the other prisoners about it. Yeah, life with young prisoners and potty humor. 

Anyway, now that the prisoners are safely stowed away for the training year, I will try to get back in the habit of providing timely status reports. 

Glitter = Bad.

No, this is not a review of Mariah Carey's movie. Although I never saw it, I can't imagine the movie being any worse than our glitter experience. Wait, it's Mariah Carey. It could be close. 

Talk among fellow Wardens and Guards eventually evolves into what is easier-- males or females.  

My take, boys are easy. The real only reoccurring complaint with #2 is that he refuses to wear nice clothes-- anything with a button. Dirt is fine. He has some semblance of toughness. Other than aim in the bathroom, hygiene is simple. 

Females?  Complete nightmare. Drama. Hygiene issues that most Guards are not equipped to deal with. Feelings that can spin on a dime. Constant debate on clothing choices, especially when color is involved. 

But the worst?  Well, today at least, glitter. 1 loves her crafts. 3 follows suite and wants to do what ever 1 does. While shopping yesterday, the Warden picks up some crafts. 1&3 very excited. They state they want to make crafts on their own, without supervision. 

Biggest mistake EVER!  Well, maybe the choice of craft was the biggest mistake. 

Glitter. 

Glitter is evil. Much worse than play doh ground into carpet. Worse than crayons on walls. Not even close to marker stains on clothes. Nail polish on carpets? Easy. Even worse than nail polish spilled on granite counter tops (which leave a stain until your favorite granite guy tells you how to remove the stains). 

The prison will never be the same. Glitter is everywhere. I am not sure, but this may have been some special type of glue glitter. It comes off nothing. 

It is attached to 3's scalp. A swim in the pool (I would be concerned about the pool filter but I don't think any actually washed off), shower with high pressure concentrated stream on her head, hair dryer until her hair almost started to smolder (I know the limit from experience). Still a ton of glitter on her head. 

Cracks of hardwood floor now sparkle. 

Tracks of sparkle on virtually every carpet. 

Considered using the kitchen table for the fire pit after scrubbing and scraping did not remove the majority of glitter. Pressure washer?  Yep. That finally did the trick. How may people have used a pressure washer on their kitchen table?  I did. 

Garfield Prison is a constant battle for the cleanliness department, but over the past 24 hours, there was a concentrated effort to remove glitter. It was unsuccessful to the delight of the prisoners-- for different reasons. #2 thinks it's funny the other two were scrubbed so hard and is happy when he is not in trouble. #1 is happy her hard work of bedazzling #3 was not washed away. #3 is happy because she thinks her hair is still pretty. 

Guarded and Warden are just tired. 

I wonder if 'real' prisons deal with these issues. I am guessing no.

The lesson for today is: Irony

Now that summer is here, the prisoners are shipped off to summer camp. The prisoners are enjoying life. Activities every day. Fun with friends. It's summer. 

Today's activity was some sort of 'messy art project'.  They raided my closet for old tshirts, packed flip flops and were off. 

Upon pick up, #2 had paint all over his sneakers. And he was quite upset, informing me we needed to buy new sneakers immediately. #1 was quick to point out the fact that her sneakers were fine because she used her flip flops while painting, but took the opportunity to state that if #2 got new kicks, she should get new ones as well. 

After informing #2 that he would NOT be getting new sneakers (I am still of the mindset taught by my mother-- new sneakers are purchased just before school, not at the beginning of summer), the conversation progressed.  Guard: 'Why didn't you use your flip flops?'  #2: "Because I would get laughed at."  G: 'Then why do you think you need new sneakers?'  2: "Because they have paint on them and I will get laughed at."

Irony. Perfect teaching moment?  Sure, let's give that a shot. 

12 minutes later, teaching moment had past. We are home, tears have been shed. 1&3 used the opportunity to push buttons, confirming his fears he would be laughed at. Total and utter disaster of a conversation. Irony, not iron. No, you don't iron your clothes with irony. Oh nevermind. Let's revisit this in 10 years.

So there I am, cooking dinner and scrubbing paint off sneakers. Damn paint won't come off. Oh well, he is a boy and the sneakers are beat up anyway. A little black paint over the red and he won't know the difference. 

The real lesson-- that school is going to be questioned why they would use paint that is not water soluble.  It doesn't way off the legs, hands, arms or hair either. I swear that day care centers hate parents. 

And let me digress for a minute: Our prisoners go to a day care that has traditionally had a pre Mother's Day 'Tea with Mommy' and pre Father's Day 'Donuts with Dad'. Sounds sweat, right? It totally is great to go there and spend time with the prisoners. But, they schedule it 3 hours before the end of the day, requiring the Warden or Guard to take work off early to attend (and who CAN'T attend?  I'm not a monster), and there is no possible way that you can even think about going back to work after that, so the prisoners come home early. So the day care gets to close early because they totally know that there is no way a parent can say no to something like this. 

Irony. It's everywhere. 

Happy Father's Day!

It has been quite some time since I last wrote. I have thought about it some, and each time my conclusion comes down to one common denominator. Winter. 

This past winter of discontent fueled much of my inspiration to write. The Polar Vortex coupled with a steady stream of nor'easter storms, put a serious cramp on the available areas that the prisoners could have safe access too. The back yard containment area was under feet of snow. Any voyage beyond the walls of the prison required hours of preparation and cold weather gear installation.  And the results of that time invested in installing cold weather gear was a few fleeting moments of time beyond the walls of the prison before, at minimum, one prisoner would become cold, loose a glove, get hit in the face with a snow ball, or worse, have to go potty. 

The dreadful 'bundled up potty break'. Anyone who has done this maneuver knows. They know that this will require you and the subject to remove all winter clothes, get to the latrine and then reverse course as quickly as possible. All the while, a silent prayer is made but never answered-- don't let there be another needed potty break just as you get dressed to rejoin the prisoners. The other prayer is that while you are attending to one, the others encounter some sort of cold and potentially dangerous situation that quickly deteriorates due to the lapse in direct oversight. 

But I digress. This was not supposed to turn into a PTSD fueled flashback to leave me shivering and drooling in the corner. No, this was meant to be an update of the past few months where I have neglected this space and not contributed any writing. I have tons of excuses, all correlating to the enhanced work requirements that a prison needs once the snow melts and the tempature begins to hover increasingly closer to triple digits. 

Summer is here. School is officially out, a week plus past the scheduled date due to the harsh winter. The oldest prisoners have completed their first year of school. The youngest is about to turn 4. It appears in the last few weeks that the 'terrible twos' that lasted way, way into her third year, may be showing signs of weakening. Just like the Polar Vortex that seemed to remain with us to create a winter of epic proportions, our terrible two vortex is loosening it's hold. Not completely mind you, but there are rays of hope shining through. 

Today is Father's Day. Or-- the day that everyone says nice things about dads and where moms allow us to do virtually nothing all day while quietly cursing the day and counting down the minutes until it is over so that lazy man can be cursed at again for not doing what we are supposed too. 

Digressions. I did it again. 

The sun is out, the grass is green and the prisoners want to go to the pool. 

Happy Father's Day everyone and thank goodness summer is here. 

Until the next time I get a few minutes to write... Guard Out. 

Apple doesn't fall far

Lights out time at the prison. In what I can only hope is typical in prisons like this, lights out is not as easy as flipping a switch. Rather, if signals a seemingly endless parade of prisoners for one last 'thing'.  Water. Bathroom. A hug. A kiss. And many other endless excuses to squeeze an additional nanosecond from the bed. Some nights are the simple things. Some nights, something unique happens. 

Tonight was, uh, unique. #3 comes down for her 'good night kiss'.  She kissed the Warden and Guard. Then went back to the Warden who had her feet up, and proceeds to kiss her shoe. The Guard tells the prisoner not to kiss shoes because they are dirty, like the floor. The Warden shoots a look. And before she could say it, the prisoner was kissing the floor. What did the Warden say?  'She is my daughter, of course she will now kiss the floor'.  

But, #3 had to up the stakes. She proceeded to kiss nearly every single inanimate object in the room within 3 foot of the floor.  Probably 50 kisses. 3 has the ability to take everything to the next level, and never disappoints. 

 

April Flurries bring.... Ear infections?

One day it's 80 degrees. The next it's rain with the threat of snow flurries. It's no wonder that #2 has an ear infection. Actually, it is a wonder the other two don't. 

Day starts with a trip to the dr. #2 has te infection that has caused a perforated eardrum. Joy. Dr tells him that it will ooze for a few days and he will be contagious. On the transport back to the prison, the word contagious was dissected. He knows not to get close to the other prisoners. 

Guard retrieves #1 & #3 from vocational training. In the transport, the status of 2 is discussed. 

Once back at the prison, the guards worst nightmare of unintended consiquences occurs. 3 inspects every piece of dirt, asking if it is the sickness in 2's ear. 2 chases 1&3 around prison, knowing they don't want to get sick. Screaming ensues. 

Dinner is finally prepared. 3 is off trying to steal desert. 1&2 finally sit down, at opposite sides of the table, and daily gossip from vocational training starts. Someone got glasses. They thought she was lieing about it. Someone stepped in a mud puddle. 2 missed music class. 1 fills him in. Conversation is in adult fashion but with kindergarten topics. 

Only 3 more days of contagion. Will the prison survive with only one ear infection?  8 ears exposed yet unharmed. What are the odds?  My ears hurt now, but I am certain it is from #3 screaming she has to poop. Better go wipe. 

Baseballs and broken glass

It has been over 5 years since the Warden and Guard moved into the Prison on Garfield. In my introductions to my immediate neighbors, I apologized in advance for any future broken windows and assured them I would make sure that if any were broken, we would make it right. Perhaps it was foreshadowing. Perhaps it was the strong winds this past Saturday. Perhaps it is the Guards inability to throw a baseball like he did when he was younger. Regardless, glass has been broken. 

#1 and #2 have started their sporting careers by joining a T-Ball team. We have spent much time in the back yard suplimenting the lessons they have learned at practice, and sprinkling in our own instructions. Saturday was no exception. They had a late afternoon game scheduled, so a mid morning batting and fielding practice was the perfect activity for a nice spring day. 

After some BP, the Guard took it upon himself to demonstrate how to create pop ups to yourself. It was a skill honed decades ago in the Guards childhood home yard. But, it had been some years, and the prison yard is much smaller than where he grew up. And, the Guards parents were always smart enough to park their cars in the garage or under a carport. Until this extremely windy day, the Guard had never broken a window (with a baseball). There was the fish tank he smashed the one (and only) time he tried to ride a skate board. 

It only took a few throws. Quite efficient actually. Ball goes up. Ball comes down. Guard catches it. Ball goes up. Ball comes down. Car catches it. 

Car gets an alternative air conditioning system. #1, #2, and #3 immediately run to tell Warden. Joy. 

Maybe the polar vortex and resulting cabin fever really did wonders to protect us against ourselves. 

The car has been fixed. It will be used a a lesson for the prisoners. And it will be used by the Warden for days, weeks, months and years as yet another example of my boneheaded actions. I can take quiet solace in the memories of stories of her youthful discresions and just pray our prisoners don't live up to our legacy and examples. 

Opening Day!

It has been a while since the last post.  Many of you few but faithful readers have asked what the deal is.  Well, I don't have a great reason other than to say I just wasn't feeling it for a while.  Work, life, life and life got in the way.  I have not been doing this for a while, but I got to a point, call it writers block if you will, but I just did not feel the creative juices that I felt when I started this.  No worries though, I did not dry up like a desert and the previous creativity was not a oasis never to be found again.  It was just a drought, and like my basement that was dry for most of the winter, the creativity is back, just like the water level in my basement.  This blog will continue to be the sump pump for me (sorry for the metaphor, the sump pump in the prison basement has been working overtime).

Opening day means a lot to baseball fans. At Garfield Prison, it has become a tradition to watch the game, have some hot dogs and popcorn and enjoy the game as a family.  It is probably the only game each year where all 5 of the prison's inhabitants will watch a full game together.  It is certainly the only game where everyone is excited to watch an entire game.

Aside from the start of baseball season, Opening Day represents so much more when you take a step back and analyze it. It is a signal of spring, even if Mother Nature isn't always a baseball fan. It is a fresh start. 162 games is a long season for sports, but each year, it starts over. Every team, every fan starts again on equal footing. 0-0. Everyone tied for first.  At the end of the game, half of the teams will be in first place, and the others will be a half game out of first.  The cream will start to rise to the top, but for right now, everything is equal and fresh.

Each year opening day means more and more. As the prisoners get older, their understanding of the game increases. The oldest two are playing t-ball and all have, so far, been in lock step with the Warden and the Guard in our love for our Phillies. #2 slept with his stuffed Phillie Phanatic. He named his newest stuffed animal Chase after his favorite player. #1 has her pink glove and spikes. Each batting lefty to the dismay of the warden, but each with a level swing and unexplored potential.

As a kid, baseball was Little League practice and games. Wiffle ball in the yard with the rules tweaked for wherever we were playing. Ball gloves strapped to our bikes. Baseball cards traded. Countless cards inserted into the spokes of our bikes. Hours of summer time spent playing baseball in one form or the other. 

As I got older, baseball meant less and less as life changed. It was always there, but it did take a back seat to life until it once again started to become an important aspect in life. But this is the great thing about baseball. The fresh start. It is always there. Always willing to accept you back, no questions asked. Come on in and sit back and enjoy the game. 

This year, the fresh start, the first indications of spring and the new beginning represents even more to the Guard.  #1 and #2 have started playing t-ball and they have embraced it with excitement.

To say the winter was difficult is an understatement. Many of the comical incidents have been chronicled in this blog but for this guard at least, the winter was a personal struggle. The details of which won't be discussed here, but it has become very evident that a change was needed.  The change needed is being addressed, and much like the fresh start of baseball with Opening Day,  a fresh start for the Guard is occurring as well.

So, Happy Opening Day!

Some of you will think watching baseball is like watching paint dry, but sometimes it is really kinda nice to step back, smell the roses (or the fresh cut grass, hot dogs grilling, popcorn popping and all the other smells of summer) and just watch the paint dry.

Let's PLAY BALL!

Prisoners, nail polish and tears

The Guard knows better. When #3 quiet, nothing good can happen. 

The day started early. Much too early. But the prisoners were excited. They knew that the day would bring them to the state's capital and admission into a hands on science museum. They were up early and ready for adventure. Typical Saturday morning chaos ensued. 

With breakfast out of the way, the prisoners were loaded into their secure transport. With the possibility of a phone call from the Warden, the Guard attempted to pair his new phone with the transport. Attempting to do this via the vehicle's voice detection capabilities proved troublesome--  Guard should have known that the prisoners would try to talk to, and thoroughly confuse, the 'nice lady in the car that speaks to us.'  Transport unloaded. Prisoners secured. Phone paired. Reload transport. All in the name of hands free convienence. 

The outing was successful. Nonstop questions while in transit. What is a state capital?  What is a governor?  Do you know him?  Are we there yet? Will you ever be a governor? I need to go potty! Why is the river so wide?  Why is there ice on the river? I need to go potty! Can we go ice skating? Are we there yet? Can we live in the governors house?  The house is so big, does he have a lot of kids?  Who cleans the house?  Are we there yet? I still need to go potty. Why is the top of the capital green? Are we there yet? I NEED TO GO POTTY NOW! And so on and so forth. 

Arrival!  The Whitaker Center for the Sciences and Arts would soon have no idea what hit them. 

Paper airplanes with launching pads. Water tables. All sorts of hands on activities soon had the prisoners quickly overwhelmed and excited. They did not want to leave, and already asked to return. Success. 

A pit stop on the way home to visit family provided some entertainment on the rest of the trip home. We were greeted with questions about he prisoners. Yeah, the prisoners don't know they are prisoners-- and don't know what a blog is. As soon as we left, 'Why did Cousin Guard call us prisoners?'  Well guys, there is this thing called a blog and, well, I tell stories....  Nevermind. Cousin Guard is just crazy. Who knows what she was talking about...  (Just kidding Cousin. Or am I?). End of conversation. 2 miles later-- all prisoners asleep. Living in the 'now', this Guard just went with it. Living in the now requires one to not consider the ramifications of what will happen when you are further down the road. One last pit stop for the Guard to buy a bottle of his favorite adult beverage and all the prisoners were back safe in lockdown. 

Dinner time. Breakfast clean up time. (Guard rules. No Warden) #3 quiet. The silence is soon interrupted by the unmistakable smell of nail polish. Oh no. Yep. Apparently #3 does not understand the difference between nails and toes, and feet, and hands, and arms, and elbows. In the time it took for the smell to migrate from one part of the prison to another, the nail Polish was used as body paint. And floor and carpet paint. Not good.

Nail polish confiscated. Tears dried from confiscation. Dinner consumed and cleaned up. Bed time costume change complete. Netflix on. Three prisoners with a one thousand mile stare, near complete exhaustion. One guard torturing the prisoners and not allowing them to sleep yet. The transport naps are too much a risk to allow for an early retirement this evening. Cannot allow for yet another early morning tomorrow. Strongly considering painting all windows black to confuse prisoners with lack of sunlight. 

Day 2 of Warden's absence down. No casualties. Minimal damage to prison. Day 2 is a success. Even the prisoners think so.