Why is it, when somebody gets a raw deal or a bad hand in life, we say that they got "the short end of the stick?" Because, really, if you were coming at me with a stick and I could pick -- like you stopped and said "I'm here to smack you with this big ol' destiny stick here, it's really heavy and spikey and might turn you into a toad, so which end do ya want me to clock you upside your fool head with?" I'd definitely holler "SHORT END!"
And speaking of sticks, I have a confession to make. I'm suffering from a small case...well, okay, it ebbs and flows from a mere trickle to a raging tide of a case, depending on things like how many pee-pee panties I found hidden under my bath towels...at any rate it's a case of the green-eyed monster, Jealousy.
My husband has gotten a job in the field he's been aspiring to for some twenty years now. Some years more aspirated...aspiring...he's tried harder some years than others, to be sure. And for many years, he actually completely put aside these aspirations (I knew I'd get to use it again!) in favor of the Old Man, money. I know, there's more to life than money, but at the time I was busy aspiring to have like six children, and two people in the same household can really only aspire so much at one time.
And lofty aspirations about a dream career don't buy many pair of shoes on their own. So for a few years there we had some babies, worked, sent a couple to school, brought a few home to school, had a couple more babies...keeping our minds and hearts open, and this year (we're 40) comes an opportunity for my husband to take the leap, from "paying the bills" to working at a truly fulfilling career that happens to pay the bills. He's in law enforcement now, and gets to attend police academy.
I say "gets to" instead of "has to" because he does! He gets to go out of town, all by himself, from Sunday evening through Friday afternoon -- he gets to start every day with a healthy dose of exercise and doesn't have to stop 15 minutes into his workout to shush a cryer, or change a poopy diaper, or fix a bowl of malt o' meal. Somebody will cook him 3 hot meals every day and clean up the dishes. He gets to attend classes most of the day, learning things besides the new phonics. He gets to sit down in the evenings and do homework, which he will turn in without crayon marks on it, and for which he will recieve a grade within a short period of time. Somebody will look at his paper and say "good job."
He'll be challenged, too -- he gets to take tests, gets to boost his running speed with regular fitness routines, gets to practice marksmanship (tho he's already a great shot) and maybe learn about new weapons technology and wow, all kinds of cool cop stuff! He even gets to get tazered! I've got no desire to get tazered, but you know what I mean? He gets to use his brain for something besides tracking how much money is already in the grocery cart by the end of aisle 4. I admit it, I'm jealous. I do feel a little bit like I got the short end of this particular stick.
I bet it'll be hard for him to be away from us all week -- but then again he does get to come home every weekend, it's not like he's deployed out of state or anything. And I can always call him at 3am and tell him all about the little feet kicking me in the back and the pukey sheets I just threw into the washer, if he's missin' the "night life." And true, if my night sucks I can always veg-out with a book for a few hours in the morning, while the children watch a movie -- no thinking or physical effort there. If he's up all night studying or whatever, no excuses in the morning. Up & at 'em!
Also, unless I'm mistaken, I believe he will be without cell phone service for the entire class day! For like FIVE MONTHS! And here I'll be, texting my little heart out...that makes me feel a little better. ;o)