A Comedy of Errors…

Yesterday evening I came to the sobering realization that movies like “Daddy Day Care” and “Three Men and a Baby” were never really supposed to be comedies.  No, in fact, after taking a step back to survey the events of the past six months, it has dawned on me that those movies are actually very accurate documentaries.  I will no longer point and laugh at the hijinks and shenanigans of the “actors” in those movies.   I will no longer remark about how ridiculous, outlandish, and unreal some of those scenes are.  I now understand that the creators of those movies were trying to depict accurate portrayals of what  happens in real life when Dad’s are left to fend for themselves.  The fact that I can now relate to every scene in those movies is, in fact, quite a revelation for me. 

For example.

One night, after my daughter’s nightly bath I was left with a wet toddler and a wet bathroom and I realized I had a limited amount of time to dry both.  Unwisely I decided that I should mop up some of the water on the bathroom floor before getting my daughter dressed. 

Now, my daughter has recently become very mobile and very agile.  After taking my eyes off of her for one second, I saw her throw down the towel and start running buck naked towards the bedroom.  My bedroom.  Being the agile little squirt that she is she proceeded to climb into my bed (which is actually taller than she is).  Now, normally this would be kind of cute scene.  Cute baby with a wobbly walk, running and squealing naked, climbing into your bed and wrapping herself up in a big mass of sheets and comforters.  Kind of like one of those Downy commercials right?

Wrong.

My daughter has also recently learned to jump.  She loves to jump.  Jumping on the bed is even better.  So here is my baby daughter in all her chubby toddler naked glory, bouncing up and down on the bed and squealing with delight.  I’m doing what all modern parents do and hover over her to make sure she doesn’t fall but still enjoying her delight and excitement.  The only problem is that I forgot that when babies get excited there’s also another natural reaction. 

She pee’d.

On my bed.

How glad am I now that my wife is home.  This particular Daddy documedy is now over.  Unfortunately being in the military almost assures us that a sequel is in the works.

Breaking from the Routine to get back to the Routine

Probably one of the single most important tools we used to make this deployment more bearable is Skype. 

We appreciated the fact that it was it was both free and effective.  It worked pretty well for us 95% of the time.  When the internet connection was good on both ends the video feeds were crystal clear and audio has always been excellent.  Being a guy with a tech fetish, I even figured out how to connect the laptop to the flat screen in the living room and feed the sound to the home theater system.  So on weekends we were able to spend time as a “family,” with my daughter and I playing in the living room and my wife joining in the festivities in all her 1080p Hi-Def, 7.1 Dolby Digital Surround Sound glory.  She was practically life sized up on that TV.  Obviously no replacement for her actually being here, but it was nice to have her “here” with us during those times.

Skype is also part of our daily morning routine.  My wife was fortunate enough to have been stationed at a major base in Iraq and had ready access to computers and internet.  I know there are many others who are stationed in more remote locations, thus communicating with their families is more sporadic.  Keep up the good fight and know that you’re family is supporting and waiting for you.  So back to the routine.  As I typed earlier, part of our morning routine is a daily Skype session with my wife before I take my daughter to daycare.  We’ve gotten used to waking up and going into the kitchen for a little breakfast and face time with Mommy. 

Today was different.  No Skype. No e-mail. No facebook status updates.  No, today after my daughter woke-up, I got her dressed, spent a little time playing with her and then off to daycare.  For those of you with kids you know how important routine is for the young ones.  My daughter knew that something was different.  She doesn’t like not following the routine.  But she’ll have to adjust because we won’t be doing this routine again for a long time (hopefully).  She’s going to have to adjust to the “old” schedule again because today, instead of being in front of a computer, my wife is on a plane, finally heading home.

5 more days until reunion!

 

Wait for the Lord; Be strong and let your hear take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            --- Psalm 27:14

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; You have loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness, that my soul may sing praise to You and not be silent.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        --- Psalm 30:11-12

Love bears all thing, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      --- I Corinthians 13:7

A Down Day

Ah, holidays…

Who doesn’t love a holiday? It’s a welcome break from the hustle, bustle, and general busyness of work.  An opportunity to break free from schedules, deadlines, and conference calls that seem to never end.  It’s a respite from demanding clients and arbitrary timelines.  As we approached celebrating our nations 234th birthday this year, I was looking forward to a nice three-day weekend for Independence Day. 

Except for one problem.

“We had a lot of fun today!”" “ Well, it’s time to say bye-bye!” “Enjoy your 4-day weekend!” enthuses my day-care provider.

What 4-day weekend? I don’t have a 4-day weekend.  I have a 3-day weekend… 

Oh.

So our base decided to throw in a Down Day on Friday giving most everyone on base a nice 4-day weekend.  Basically when you have a Down Day EVERYTHING on base shuts down.  Including the CDC and base affiliated daycares.  Like mine.  Since I don’t live or work on base I found out about said Down Day the day before it happened. 

Now don’t get me wrong.  I don’t begrudge our service men and women their time off.  Lord knows they deserve it.  At the same time though, for as much as they try to promote the “modern military” to spouses and families, the truth of the matter is that working professional spouses with careers outside of the military are still a relative minority. And it shows in a lot of the military’s decision making.  I mean it’s a fact that we are a nation at war and because of that war many of our brave service men and women are deploying overseas leaving their families behind.  Families that depend on childcare if the spouse is working in the private sector to help support the household.  Who don’t get a “down day.”  See what I’m getting at?

Down Days are great and we should keep having them.  But c’mon, how about a little help for those of us that work and whose wife/husband is deployed?  At least find a way to let me know in advance so I can plan around it.

I guess that’s enough complaining.  All in all it didn’t turn out too bad.  I still worked that day and my daughter was surprisingly well-behaved.  I think there was only one conference call that day where she shrieked loud enough to be heard.  I have also discovered that 1-3pm is my most productive part of the day (nap time). My office is a mess though.

-----------

One quick note, lest anyone think I’m upset at my daycare provider.  I’m not.  She’s great actually and I really, really value her help. Often times my only source of information as to what’s happening on base, which isn’t how it should be.  It’s the Air Force’s reaching out to the families of deployed airmen that needs a little more work.

Dad Life…

Saw this on facebook and just had to share it.  So true in so many ways…

Dad Life from Church on the Move on Vimeo.

seems to be a theme these days: Hard Core Gansta’ Parenting.

The Sneak Attack

I was defeated.

I thought I could get through the six months of deployment unscathed. Who was I kidding?  I mean I know it’s happened before.  I guess I let myself get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking “this could never happen to me.”  Especially after 5 1/2 months without incident. Well it happened and I was betrayed by one of my closest allies in the process.

It all started like any other evening.  Supper was done. It was getting late into evening so it was time for “The Bath.”  As you may recall from a previous post that my daughter was once traumatized by the bathtub.  It was all my fault too.  It had taken me no small amount of effort to coax her back into the tub and convince her that bath time was “fun” again.  In the process tears and wails of despair were shed. My daughter voiced her own displeasure as well.  Eventually though, it worked.  Bath time was fun again! A rollicking, splish, splashing good time with the help of one of my more effective brainstorms: the bubble bath.

My daughter loves bubbles.  Sometimes we’ll play outside and I’ll blow these big bubbles for her and she’ll just chase them around for hours.  When Yo Gabba Gabba! comes one with their “Bubbles” song she gets real excited and squeals and dances with delight.  Her belly laugh when bubbles pop is one of the most addictive sounds in the planet. So the bubble bath really helped in getting her in the tub again.  It was my greatest ally in this bath time battle.  Little did I know that  it would also turn out to be my greatest betrayer.

So back to this evening.  Here is my daughter enjoying her bath, splashing around and generally getting water everywhere.  After washing her hair and giving her an all around scrub down it was time to come out.  So I pull the drain  to let the water out.  I remarked at how resilient the bubbles in this bubble bath were as, despite my daughters splashing around, there was still a good coating of bubbles over everything.  It was as the water drained that I finally noticed “it".  No warning. No outward sign from my daughter that anything was awry. No, it was a complete sneak attack. I had no idea until it was too late.  Like everything else that had been covered by a layer of bubbles “it” was also covered in bubbles and I didn’t notice “it” until all the water had drained out.

Yup. There was a bubble covered turd in the tub.

Sigh. Et tu bubbles?

Tick Tock

10 days.

As I write this there are just 10 days left in the month of June.  10 days until my wife’s time in Iraq is up.  Barring in unforeseen circumstances and accounting for transit time she should be back in the good ol’ U.S. of A within 15-20 days, God willing!

15-20 days! Woohoo!

…

15 TO 20 DAYS!!!! Crap! I’ve got a lot of stuff I need to do!!  The Piles! The dusting! The floors!  I’ve got get those piles contained… err… rid of! Piles of laundry. Piles of dishes.  Piles of papers.  Oh man. So much to do.  I’ve got to get this house in tip top shape before she gets here.  I’m sure she would not like to be reminded of the dust of Iraq here at home.  Right now though it might be close. Maybe I can convince her it’s part of a acclimatization program that I read somewhere.  To kind of “gradually” re-introduce deployed airmen back into civilization.

Yeah. I don’t think she’ll buy that either.

It’s the Final Countdown!!!

1 month left until she’s home!

Then it’s party time!

Know When to Fold’em…

Laundry.

It’s the bane of any bachelor’s existence.  It’s one of those things where he would rather do so many other things but laundry. Like playing video games. Or eating. Or sleeping. Working on the hotrod in the garage.  Getting a vasec…  Ok. Maybe not that extreme. 

However, my distaste for laundry is one of the carry-over’s of my bachelorhood that refuses to let itself be “fixed” by my wif….er, married life.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate clean, fresh smelling clothes and good hygiene, but it’s just so tedious and there always seems to be so much of it.  And…well…I kinda suck at it.

Let me clarify, the washing and drying part is easy enough.  Technology has wonderfully made that part easy.  Throw the clothes in, select the right setting, measure the detergent, and “presto!” clean clothes!  It’s what comes after that’s such a pain.  What was once a pile of dirty clothes has now magically, wonderfully turned into a pile of clean clothes.  But that’s the problem.  It’s a pile and we’ve already talked about how much bachelor’s love their piles.  It’s just so easy.  Why fold?  I mean it’s clean isn’t it?  And sitting there in a pile, it’s easy access too.  It’s ALL IN ONE PLACE! I can find whatever I want there. 

That being said, I suppose I should come completely clean.  I can see you neat freaks scratching your eyes out and screaming at the screen “The wrinkles! You need to fold and put away your clothes to prevent wrinkles!”  Remember what I said about me sucking at laundry?  Well, this is the part where I suck. 

I can’t fold clothes.

Well, I can but it ain’t pretty.  Often times the clothes that I fold will end up having more wrinkles than if I had just left it laying out in a pile.  So bachelor logic in me is reasoning that there’s no point if folding them if they end up looking worse than if I had just left them there in the first place.  Also, if I really need a clean, pressed shirt I’d still be ironing it folded or not so what’s the point.  The old bachelor is usually very convincing in his argument and coupled with my natural talent at procrastinating doing things that I’m not good at, he usually wins the argument.

Speaking of things I’m not good at, it’s bad enough if I were really just by myself.  Now couple this with a wife that’s deployed (so no help there) and the fact that we have a now 22 month old daughter.

Who has a lot of “cute” clothes.

It’s one thing to find the time to fold laundry between work, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of a rambunctious little toddler.  It’s a whole other thing when you’re already bad at folding your own clothes but must also fold the clothes of a baby girl.  First of all her clothes are small.  My hands are not. If I can’t even fold my own clothes without wrinkling them, what makes me think that I could successfully fold miniature clothing?  And then there’s the gender issue.  I’m a guy and I grew up with brothers.  Clothes for guys are simple, easy (probably in recognition of the fact that we suck a laundry).  Shirts, shorts, pants, and socks.  That covers about 99.9% of all male clothing. Scots need not comment please.  Girls, on the other hand, have much more variety in clothing and must be kept and stored in mystifying ways.  In addition to the shorts, pants, and shirts they have dresses, skirts, skorts, mumu’s, jumpers, leaotards, etc.  The list goes on and on.  And what the heck are bloomers!?

So the point of this post? Well you know how the military wives prepare “honey do” lists while their husband is away?  Usually it’s things like fix the car, fix the roof, move some furniture?  Well, let’s just say that I might have a “honey do” list too but it’ll be more like “Here are some bloomers and I have no idea what to do with them.”

Yay Piles!

Trauma at the Hospital

I don’t like going to hospitals. 

To me, you go the hospital only when you’re sick and because I don’t like getting sick, I don’t like going to hospitals.  My last visit to the hospital was the ER trip for my daughter that I wrote about in a previous entry.  It did little to temper my distaste for hospitals.

It is with this frame of reference that you can understand my attitude when I had to bring my daughter in for her last well-baby check-up the other day.  My daughter’s attitude toward hospitals is about the same as mine.  She just takes one look at the examining table and she “knows what’s up.”  Especially since her doctor’s visits are followed by visits to the vaccination clinic.  Yup. I was in for a great time.  Little did I know…

So this particular check-up was going pretty smoothly until the provider that was seeing us started asking me questions about my daughter’s development.  She was giving me advice about her diet, what her vocabulary should be like, and other cognitive developments that I should expect.  She then I asked me if I was potty training her to which I emphatically said, “No.”  So at this point the provider starts telling me that I should think about getting a little potty for her, gives a few tips here and there, and mentions the fact that the way kids learn about “going potty” is just by watching. 

Oh boy. I know where this is going.

And then the magical words come, “You know, you should start letting her come to the bathroom with you.  And, well…since she’s a girl, you should probably start sitting down when you go to the bathroom.”

I don’t like going to the hospital at all.

Night of the Living Dead…

“What is it? Is it dead?”

“It doesn’t seem to be moving. I’m gonna look closer.”

“Don’t do that! What if it wakes up?”

“Aw c’mon. It’s dead. It won’t move now. See?”

Kick.

“Quit it!”

“Aw quit be such a ninny.  I told you it’s AHHHHHHHH!!!”

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

“It’s ALIVE!!!”

Yes, dear readers (if there are any of you left that is) this blog is being resurrected from a premature death or at least I’m going to try.

There’s probably a number of reasons for the huge gap from my last entry but the most likely reason is a combination of my laziness, lack or creative juices, and well, the fact that my life has been pretty boring.  Seriously. 

After the excitement of change and adjustment of the first few months of my wife’s first deployment things have kind of just settled down.  We REALLY got into a routine here at the home front so there’s actually been very little to write about.  The unfortunate by-product of settling into routine is that life quickly gets boring.  Not that I have time to dwell on that.  I’ve discovered that it’s entirely possible to be very busy all the time and yet be completely bored at the same time. 

Not that I’m complaining or anything.  If excitement is anything like what I went through the first couple of months, then I’ll take boring routine any day of the week.  Every day of the week apparently. It also explains why I’ve not really written anything in a while.  But as I write this it is now the last week of May meaning that we are getting near to the one month mark before my wife gets to come home.  It’s charged me up a bit.  Given me something to look forward to and gotten my energy level up a bit.  Hopefully it’ll get my creative juices a jolt and I’ll be back to blogging like when I first started out. 

Exercise

Today I was able to get a bit of exercise in.

In futility that is.

I was able to find time today to actually mop the kitchen floor today.  It was filthy.

Then it was time for my daughter and I to have dinner. My daughter still has this fascination with gravity…

Recess

Here’s an amusing anecdote about life on base.

Today I used my lunch hour to run over to base and get some grocery shopping done at the commissary.  It was a very pretty day and and I was enjoying the nice Florida spring.

On my way back I drove by the elementary school on base.  The kids were all outside in what I assumed was recess.  The were all in their street clothes.  Except, as always with the military, something was a bit different.  Instead of running through the playground the were running around it.  Cones had been set-up around the perimeter of the playground and every single one of those little grade schoolers were doing laps.

Recess. They do it different in the military.

At the End of the Day…

I miss her most.

 

Please forgive me if this post isn’t filled with the usual hi-jinks and misadventures.  I simply don’t feel like it right now.

It’s the end of the day here.  The toys and books have been put away.  The kitchen is clean. Dishes done. The dog is lounging on his pad and the baby is upstairs in her crib sleeping.  The night has come and the house has settled into a very quiet stillness.

Too quiet.

It’s moments like this that the fact that my wife is far away from me, in a strange land fighting in a distant war, becomes inescapable.  Without the distractions of work, a house to keep after, and a 19 month old to keep track of, I find myself alone with my thoughts. Naturally my thoughts turn to her.  It’s when the house is this quiet that you realize that someone is missing. That there’s a void where there shouldn’t be one.  It’s when you can hear your own thoughts echoing in your head that you wish you had your wife here, just to talk to.   And when you finally head towards bed at night your only thought is that the bed you once thought was too small is now too big for just you.  It’s at night when I miss her most.

My only solace is that nighttime brings the bliss of sleep and the rising of the sun the next day marks one more day she is closer to home.  As the sun rises, so too does the energy and activity level of the house.  Hope and a spirit of perseverance make a comeback.  And the world shakes off the night and moves forward once more.

 

“Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?  Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.”  

                                                                                                                      Psalms 42:11

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”

                                                                                                                      Psalms 27:14

When Anima…err Kids Attack!

So the other night my daughter got me.  She got me good.  I had just finished drying her off after her bath and it was time to put on her diaper.  There she was, laying on the changing mat, giggling, squealing, and laughing after her bath.  I should’ve known something was up.  Well, as I pulled her legs up to get the diaper under she started to do what most toddlers do and that’s to start wriggling around.  Putting on the diaper started to turn into a mini wrestling match.  So there I was, holding my daughter legs up with one hand while trying to get the diaper on her with the other while she’s a squirming all around.  All that moving must’ve moved something because the next thing I hear is “Pppppbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrttttttt!!!” 

 

She farted.

In my face no less. 

Did I fail to mention that lately I have been more focused on feeding her healthy and natural foods versus processed? Foods that are high in nutrition and freshness but also able to produce lots of gas?  Extra stinky gas? No?  Well this little pooter was able to produce a fart so noxious that it rivaled anything I had ever smelled in my life. Eyes: Watering. Nostrils: Burning.  GAHHHHH!!!  Being that my face was inches away from the source at the time it was so bad that it had the tangible effect akin to somebody ripping back and clocking me in the face.  I literally felt that one.

Of course my daughter thought that it was all quite funny and was just laughing at me.  Like she had planned this surprise attack all along.  It got me thinking of all the other ways she’d “gotten me” in the past.  No, not just farting, but of the various other ways I’ve been on the receiving end of an “attack” by this little pint sized instrument of destruction.  Don’t let the big eyes and rosy cheeks fool you!

I was reminded of an article I read on msnbc.com a while back that talks about this very thing. No, not farting but of ways in which parents are injured (unintentionally) during the course of raising their children. While the tone of the article was somewhat tongue-in-cheek, there were still an undercurrent of “this is kind of seriousness” to it.  You wouldn’t believe some of the injuries sustained!  Apparently I am not immune either.

Like some of the parents in the article I have been, on different occasions, pinched, bitten (teething…yay), head butted in the head, nose, and stomach, kicked in groin, punched in the groin, and have various objects and instruments go for my eyes.  And my wife wants at least two more?!?  Doesn’t she realize that we’d be out numbered at that point?

Raising children.  It’s serious business. 

                           Ninja Baby Attacks!! 

 

Oh.  I have a new invention I’m trying to get Babies’R Us to pick-up.  It’s an all-in-one outfit for parents. What do you think?

 

Public Service Announcement

This is a P.S.A.

If you have a child and are thinking about getting a dog;

or if you have a dog and thinking about having a child;

or if you have neither but want both;

you’re life, at some point or another will revolve around poop (and cleaning it up).

That is all.

The Proverbs 31 Husband

My wife is pretty darned awesome.

The other day I was having a pretty lousy morning.  I was not looking forward to going to work and generally had a bad attitude overall.  It was a combination of staying up too late (see video games), a daughter that was teething (and also grumpy), and the uninviting prospect of meetings (teleconferences in my case) all day with people that were generally upset at you for doing your job.  I happen to work in legal and compliance for a rather large investment firm so I get to spend my days telling people “no” and “stop that.”  Later in the day I get to pick-up my daughter from day care and continue on with me “no” and “stop thats.”  Boy was I grumpy.

What does this have to do with my wife being awesome? Well it’s because that even though she’s thousands of miles away she’s still able to brighten my day, cheer me up, and offer encouragement and prayer when I needed it.  And it’s effective.  My day wasn’t as bad as I thought.  I had a better attitude and not as grumpy.  All of this got me thinking about how lucky I am to have this wife of mine.  She’s smart, loyal, gentle, patient (most of the time), an all around hottie, and she’s somehow my wife!?  I’m baffled too.

In the book of Proverbs in the Bible, Proverbs 31 offers a description of a Wife of Noble Character.  The woman in this passage is superwoman.  She does it all.  She raises her kids, manages a household, works the field, runs a business all the while being giving, loving, patient and kind.  The Proverbs 31 woman sets a pretty high standard for women everywhere.  What does this have to do with my wife?  Well, to me she really brings to life the Proverbs 31 woman as a woman, mother, and wife to me.  Interestingly, Proverbs 31 doesn’t really focus on the husband so much but there are two passages that talk about how the husband should interact with this wife.  In verses 11 and 12 it says “Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.  She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.” 

This is true of my wife to me.  With her I have everything.  Without her I have nothing. She does bring me good, encourages me, supports me, and is my counsel when I go astray.  My voice of reason.  Verses 28 and 29 then tells the husband how he is to respond to such a wife.  It says “Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: ‘Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.’”

So to my dear wife, yes there are many incredible women out there, but to me you surpass them all.

Thank-you.

The Bachelor Strikes Back!

A while ago I wrote about a phenomena that was occurring in my home that I termed “The Bachelor Creep.”  It was basically an account of how certain bachelor tendencies of mine were attempting to creep back into my lifestyle since my wife is not around.  This is not a good thing.  The previous way my inner-bachelor (or inner-child, which is what most women will equate it too) manifested itself was in the re-introduction of bachelor piles.  Piles of clothes, dishes, clothes, toys, clothes, papers, clothes, etc. 

I spent a good part of a weekend taking care of those piles and successfully banished the inner bachelor back into to the deep, dark recesses of my mind, or so I thought.  Perhaps it was just a matter of time before he resurfaced. Perhaps he was just biding his time. Or perhaps his resurgence was triggered by the knowledge that while my wife wears a gun in her holster, I wear sippy cups in mine. Whatever the case may be, it took only one moment of weakness but the Bachelor has made a comeback and in a big way.

I suppose I should have seen the signs  that he was lying in wait.  I started to “forget” to shave.  I was drinking straight from the cartons in the fridge.  Instead of plates I was eating straight from the pot, pan or wok that I had cooked the meal in.  Toilet seats? I have toilet seats??  But all of that was just a lead up to his final attack. The video game.

Let me just set the record straight here.  Most guys enjoy playing video games.  All the guys I know enjoy playing video games.  Guys like video games.  That just the way it is.  Get over it already.  The problem is that unless there is some balancing force in our lives we’re more than happy to sit and play video games all-day-long.  There was an episode during the time when my wife and I were still boyfriend and girlfriend that she became concerned about my video game playing.  I’m not a hardcore gamer by any means but I do enjoy a good video game here and there.  The problem is that the type of video game I enjoy tend to be in the RPG or Role Playing Game genre.  The issue with this genre is that it is very story based and takes a loooooong time to complete.  In the episode I referred to above I had started playing this particular game one day and I just kept playing, and playing, and playing.  Next thing I knew I had played this particular game from 6pm to 3am.  Needless to say I was a zombie the next day which was really obvious my then girlfriend (now wife).  Of course she was concerned.  Was she going to become a Playstation widow if she married me?  Was this an addiction I had to deal with?  Red flag, red flag.  I had reassure her that I didn’t really play games that often and a session like that is a rarity for me.  For some reason she believed me. Whew!

In all seriousness though, I don’t really play video games that much.  I have gone months without picking up the controller and when a do it’s usually just for a quick session and also usually when my wife isn’t home… Uh oh.

I really didn’t have the intention to get into a monster gaming session.  It just kind of happened.  As you may recall in a previous post about my flight with my daughter, one of the tools I used to keep her entertained (and quiet) was my PSP or Playstation Portable.  The nice thing about the PSP is that you can take it anywhere, but that’s also a bad thing.  After we got back from our trip and I unpacked, I just kind of left the PSP on my nightstand. 

Oops.

So the other night I wasn’t that tired yet and I reached over and grabbed the PSP.  Wouldn’t you know that there was an RPG loaded in there ready to go? So there you have it.  Bored husband, wife thousands of miles away, and a PSP on my nightstand.  6 hours and 1200 EXP later it was 2am.  Crud. I need to get some sleep.  My daughter wakes up in 4 hours! The next day was not going to be fun.  So I put the PSP back down… On my nightstand.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  I succumbed two nights in a row. Lack of sleep, full work days, and a hyperactive 19month old is NOT A GOOD COMBINATION. 

Needless to say I banished the PSP to the TV room.  On the third night, after putting my daughter to bed, I crashed into my own precisely 1/2 an hour later.  It was 8:30pm.  Somewhere that dumb inner bachelor is snickering at me and planning his next comeback. 

Spaghetti Night!!

It’s Spaghetti Night at the Air Force Husband’s household!

Woo!

Hey… Wait a minute…

It’s also now bath night at the Air Force Husband’s household.

I’m a MAN dagnabit!! Really…I am. Please?

The other day I experienced a bit of military male spouse angst.  There are times when you come face to face with the fact that your wife will being doing things that are traditionally in the realm of “manly” while you are going about your domestic duties at home.

This was made starkly clear to me as my wife, daughter and I were doing our usually morning Skype session.  I had the computer on the kitchen table so we could video chat while I was feeding my daughter breakfast.  At some point during our session a colleague of my wife’s came back to ask her a question. Since my wife wears a headset I never hear what the question is. Normally I hear her spout some medical terms and give some instructions as a response to said question. 

It was at this time that my daughter started to play with her food.  Turning my attention to my daughter I told her “Noooo…you need to put the nana (banana) in your mouth. Uh huh. Good girl! Yay!”  At the same exact time my wife responded to her colleague “Yup, you cock that back. Flip that switch to unlock the safety.”

She was talking about guns. 

I was talking to my daughter about “nanas”.

Right now I have a strong urge to go and kill some fuzzy little animals, eat raw meat,  and take a bath in motor oil. 

Pack Daddy

As I wrote in my last post my daughter and I took a little trip to visit my parents up in the Washington D.C. metro area last week.  We had a great time up there.  My daughter loved all the attention and the fact that she got to play with her grandparents all day long.  I was enjoying the break as my mom, as many mothers are prone to do, did not let me do anything.  No cooking, no cleaning, I wasn’t even able to change a diaper.  It was nice.

That being said, the actual trip, on the other hand, was a little tougher.  I knew traveling with an 18-month old, a fairly hyperactive 18-month old, was going to be a challenge.  I had visions of her screaming her lungs off for the entire 2 hour flight. Disturbing images of altercations with other passengers over my daughters refusal to settle down flooded my mind.  Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.  It turns out that the most exhausting aspect of flying with a toddler, as a single parent (temporary!) is actually getting through the airport.  Apparently kids need a lot of stuff.

Occasionally I have to travel for work and I usually pride myself in being a pretty light traveler. For a weeks trip I usually just have my carry-on roller suitcase (usually just half-full) and my computer bag (usually completely full, as my wife will attest).  This time, it was different.  It’s amazing how much extra stuff you need to pack when bringing along a person that weighs 1/10th of what you weigh (yes…I weigh about 10xs my daughters weight :-|)

This time my suitcase was completely full but half of the clothes packed was my daughters.  How can she use up half my suitcase?  She’s like 2 feet tall!  But that was just the clothes.  In addition to clothing I had to make sure I had a supply diapers for the flight, snacks, toys, books, changing pad, wipes, Sippy cups, bibs, rubber table mat, and various other baby paraphernalia.  All of this had to fit in a back-pack that was also holding my computer, DSLR Camera, digital video camera (like a Flip Video type), PSP (trust me…this was necessary), and various Daddy paraphernalia.  Add to that a stroller and a car seat.   So imagine if you will a man with a monster backpack, pushing a stroller, pulling a roller suitcase, and somehow bringing along a car seat.  I was doing my best Sherpa impersonation.

I actually had a pretty good system going. Baby was happy in the umbrella stroller I was pushing, back-pack on my back, and the car seat was strapped to the suitcase.  BTW, I LOVE my Swiss army backpack with all of its pockets, nooks, crannies, and compartments.  So I was pretty proud of myself for figuring out this system and actually cruising through the airport.  Then I got to security.

#*&%^#!!!!!

So, baby comes out of the stroller, off with her coat, off with her shoes, off with my coat, off with my shoes, computer comes out of the backpack, coats in trough in one bin, computer in another bin, stroller gets folded and goes through the x-ray machine, car seat gets unstrapped and through the x-ray machine, baby goes through the x-ray…err…scratch that last one.  At least I was smart enough to check my suitcase.  But what a PAIN IN THE BUTT!!

We get through security, put everything back on and back together, and it’s on our way again. Sherpa time!  So we get to the gate. That’s when I realize that the flight is going to be on one of these teeny, tiny commuter jets.  Which means we actually board the plane on the tarmac and not through a jet way. Which means we have to go down stairs and the climb up some more stairs to the jet.

#*&%^#!!!!!

Somehow or another we negotiate this last set of obstacles, get to our seats, strap the car seat in and get settled for our flight.  The flight itself was pretty uneventful and even got complemented on how well behaved my daughter was.  My secret?  My PSP with the movie “The Incredibles” loaded on it kept her hypnotic….err occupied for the entire trip.  I was able to relax and remember remarking “I never want to do that again!”

Then I remembered that we had to come home in a week.

#*&%^#!!!!

We’ll be Right Back!

This is a long overdue update.

I’ve been getting concerned inquiries here and there from various people due to my lack of updates to this blog.  Well, to those people I first want to thank-you for your concern and I also want to assure that yes I and my daughter are doing well.  The house is still standing, the piles have been contained, my daughter is still healthy (and alive!) and I still have my hair (though with a little more gray maybe).

The truth of the matter is that things have been going well enough that it’s become a bit boring.  Don’t get me wrong! I’ll take this boredom and routine over the “excitement” of the initial month of this deployment any day of the week.  I happen to like the fact that my days are more predictable.  The downside to all this is that there’s much less to write about.  I mean just how many posts about the digestive system of my daughter to you really want to read about (only parents will understand that sometimes your life revolves around the digestive system of your kid.)?

That being said, stay tuned.  My daughter and I have just made a trip.  We’re in the state of Maryland right now visiting my parents.  Yup, that means we just travelled and yup, that means I took a toddler with all her accessories on a plane trip with me.  Fun times! But that’s for the next post.

Putting up with crap…

Fair warning.  This post is not for those easily grossed out by bodily functions.

So much for wishing for a better February.  That sure didn’t last long.  I should’ve known that something was up when the first e-mail I get from work is from an irate attorney.  Basically he didn’t appreciate the fact that I was doing my job and telling his client that they couldn’t do what they wanted and couldn’t say what they wanted to say.  It didn’t matter that their very own  prospectus/documents said that they couldn’t do what they wanted to either.  So not only was I protecting my firm from their sales staff (why can’t they just play by the rules?) but I was protecting their firm as well.  But, other than the arguing with another firm’s outside counsel (which ended up taking my entire day) it wasn’t a too terrible start to the month.

Yet.

So after work it was off to pick-up my daughter from daycare.  Upon picking my daughter up and speaking with our provider the topic of conversation always turns to my daughter’s bowel movements.  Bowl movements are a big deal and a big topic of conversation for us.  Did she go today? Hard or soft? Diarrhea? Color? Texture?  All this detail is important to us for some reason.  Well, actually the reason is that a few months ago my daughter was constipated and we believe it was due to the switch from formula to milk that caused it.  Since then we had been giving her soy milk to drink instead and have given her a supplement of Mira lax to help soften things up.  It seemed to work.  Well enough that we were slowly decreasing her dosage of Mira lax.  I decided to cut out the ‘lax even more when our care provider gave a report of a really, really watery diaper (and no…not #1) after not giving my daughter any Mira lax for awhile and then giving her one dosage.  I guess she didn’t need the ‘lax anymore.

So it’s at this point I get the bright idea (yup…another bright idea) that if my daughter is handling things well enough again that I could switch her to whole milk instead of soy milk.  So I did.  The first few days I didn’t really notice too much difference other than her stools were more formed but it wasn’t causing her any pain.  So, just in case I gave her a dose of Mira lax this morning with her milk before taking her to daycare.

Upon picking her up my daycare provider reported, “Oh she went today.”  Yes! It’s working! I think I’ve found the balance.  Not too hard, not too soft.  “Oh, and she was really gassy today too. Whoo!”  Eh?  Gassy you say?  Must be the milk.  Or if my wife were here would say that it runs in the family (while pointedly looking straight at me).  What?

Anyways, that should’ve been a clue as to what was to come.  Apparently my daughter had been poot ‘a tootin’ up a storm at day care.  Flash forward to dinner and I’m watching my daughter alternatively feeding herself and the floor fish and broccoli.  All of a sudden she gets really wide eyed and I hear pbbbbbuuuuurrrrrrrrr!!!!  At this point it’s still pretty funny as I imagined it to be one big and long fart.  Really funny as it’s coming from someone as little as her.  I mean, this was, well…like Blazing Saddles.

The thing is, like in the video above, the hits just kept on coming.  She was basically reenacting that entire scene. By herself.  Uh oh.

At this point it ceased to be so funny because this is the point when I realized she wasn’t just tooting.  The teary eyed, clenched fists, and straining face clued me in to that. 

Oh no.

But I thought she went already today!? How can she have more.  This isn’t fair! You’re only supposed to go once a day! It was the day care providers turn! Arghh. So there she is, sitting in her high chair and she’s just going.  I can’t stop her and I sure as heck am not going to pick her up until she’s done.  I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that there will be quite the mess to clean up later.  There’s no way that diaper is holding all of that.  When you’re in your highchair eating fish and you hear something splish…

Houston we have a problem.  Looks like we’ve sprung a small leak.  Crap. 

Mercifully she finishes so I pick her up and it’s straight to the bathroom.  She’s not really happy with stuff leaking down her leg and I’m not happy either.  Amazingly when we get to the bathroom she let’s out an excited squeal.  She’s going to take a bath! She’s excited.  Me, I don’t quite share excitement just yet.  I strip her clothes off, wipe down her legs, open her diaper… Ew.  I’ll spare you the details.  Into the bath she goes.  At this point I have a bit of time to survey the collateral damage.  Her pants, done for.  In the wash.  Diaper, in a plastic bag, into the trash.  Thank goodness tomorrow is trash day! Bathroom really stinks.  Light a candle but why do I still smell something…oh…Ew.  So the scene is now baby splashing away in the bath (rather happily) spraying water everywhere and dad not caring because he’s running around now just in his boxers trying to clean and disinfect the bathroom.

She got soy milk tonight before bed.

One Down

Well, we’ve made through our first month of deployment.  My wife is doing well, my daughter is still alive, and I am still sane (or at least not more insane than before).  Like the saying about flying, "Any landing you can walk away from is a successful one.”  So despite some of the bumps along the way I am pleased that one month has passed.  Just one month less for my wife to be away.

That being said I’ve gotta say that January of 2010 is a month I’d like to never repeat again.  It was simultaneously the longest month and the quickest month I’ve ever experienced.  Long due to the separation, quick because it’s just been so jammed packed with “stuff.” We experienced our first family separation and the pains that accompany it.  My daughter’s first trip to the ER.  The traumatization of my daughter by the bathtub of death.  The adjustment into single parenthood.  The semi-isolation that comes with being a male spouse of a deployed female service member (ain’t no husbands clubs).  All in all, we’ve been able to make the adjustments and have finally settled into a more manageable routine.  A big thank-you to my parents for showing up for a week to give me a break.  I’m just glad that the “initiation” is finally done.  Let’s just get through this already. One month down, five to go.  Here’s hoping to a better February.

The Bachelor Creep

Piles.

If there was one word I could use to describe my perception of the life of the bachelor, it would have to be “piles.”  Most of the bachelors I have known in my life, whether past or present, have operated the “pile” method of organization in one form or another.  Myself included.  These could be piles of anything: clothes, papers, dishes, food, you name it, there was probably a pile for it somewhere or another in that bachelor’s pad.  Ladies, don’t let the clean and tidy apartment/home fool you.  Remember, before you are tra….er…married he is still trying to impress you.  Men already know that most women are cleaner than they are and that a dirty apartment is a major turn off.  The beauty of the pile system is that piles are portable.  You just pick-up the pile and move it to a place that can’t be seen. Or you just throw it out.

The beauty of the “pile method” of organization can not be overstated.  While it looks like a complete mess, the user of the pile method is usually able to find what he is looking for 87.7% of the time and usually rather quickly too.  That’s because the pile method, while it looks like a haphazard throwing together of random items, is actually pretty complex.  Done right, piles are usually not a tossing together of random items.  Generally they are organized by themes.  Themes like clothing, food, important papers, not so important papers, papers to throw away but I’ll get to it later, etc.  The advanced user of the pile method will also incorporate the geographical location of each pile to help with his sorting as well.  Pile of clothes by the bed? Wear later.  Pile of clothes next to the washing machine?  Sort.  Pile of clothes on top of the washing machine? WASH NOW!  What? Why wouldn’t you immediately wash the clothes next to the washing machine too?  Well, because you usually also implement the other pile method technique that bachelors will refer to as the “smell test.”  The smell test is used to help bachelors in determining whether or not a particular item of clothing can be re-worn again, or if a food item is still edible or not.  This technique, however, is not to be used on it own.  It MUST be used in collaboration with the thematic piling and geographic sorting.  The danger of the smell technique is when said bachelor never leaves his home and becomes accustomed to all the smells.  Very dangerous.

Anyways, why am I writing about the bachelor lifestyle?  Well, as you might have guessed, with my wife now being deployed it seems as if the bachelor is slowly trying to creep back.  Quick word here, my wife will probably not enjoy this post as much so appreciate the fact that I take much risk to bring this to you.  So yeah, it seems as though the bachelor is trying to make a come back now that my wife is gone.  The first sign of this is the piles.  Yes… piles…not pile.  It started out small at first.  On my side of the bed there is a perennial pile of clothing.  It’s always been a small pile and one of the few things that really chaps my wife’s behind when she sees it.  I know it has really gotten on her nerves when I come into the bedroom at night and see that the pile has been moved from the floor and onto the bed.  I’m not foolish enough to attempt to move said pile back onto the floor again because I’m tired.  Oh no.  My wife doesn’t even have to say a word.  That pile on the bed means, you’re not getting into this bed until you put your clothes away buddy.  As with the clothes, my wife has generally been the control over all my little piles.  Hey, it’s kind of hard to overcome 30 years of bachelor conditioning.  Ok…31.   So now that my wife is in Iraq, that control is gone and I found myself faced with piles again.  That pile by my bed had somehow grown and creeped its way around the bedroom.  Most of it was clean!  I just hadn’t gotten around to folding the laundry yet.  There was a pile of dishes in the sink, a pile of documents on my desk, and a pile of toys in the living room.  Not good.  At least, for the most part, I had contained my piles to the areas that I frequented and kept my daughter out of.  Not that it made okay.  Alright Honey, you can unfold your arms and un-purse your lips now.  I took care of the piles and “no” not in the way a bachelor would .  I really took care of them.

The thing I realized is that I stopped being a bachelor about 4 years ago and now that I have a daughter I REALLY can’t go back.  The problem is that the bachelor lifestyle is just really easy and at times can be really appealing.  It’s like those TV shows where you have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other arguing over your decisions.  In my case I’ve got a little bachelor on one shoulder and a responsible family man on the other.  Responsible family man is usually backed up by my wife but now that his back-up is temporarily gone he’s on his own for awhile.  So honey, if you come back and see a little pile of clothes (LITTLE) by the bed, or chrome and black pleather couches where our furniture used to be, or an extra gadget or 50, just remember that the responsible family man put up the best fight he could.  He really did! Really.  What?

YEAH BABY! Now that’s what I’m talkin’ bout!

A Martian Decides to Attack Venus

In this installment of the Air Force Husband’s Handbook (now to be known as AFHH because the military LOVES acronyms) we bring you the woeful, though not entirely fictitious tale of a lone Martian that, contrary to good judgment, thought it would be a good idea to attack Venus.   Obviously judging by that intro, you could surmise that it was a  failed undertaking as the Martian was beat back by the Venusians into a hasty retreat.

                                                    Don’t Mess With Venus.

Okay… so maybe attack is too strong a word for the Martian’s actions and “beat back” mischaracterizes the behavior of the Venusians.  Actually, the Martian really only had good intentions to begin with.  He didn’t really want to attack Venus.  All he wanted to do is to take his cute little daughter to the playground on base.  How was he to know that the playground was the territory of the Venusians and their brood?

So, as you’ve probably figured out by now, I am that Martian and the “Venusians” are actually other military spouses.

That are fulltime homemakers.

And aren’t male.

We had just gotten done with our follow-up doctor’s appointment from last weeks “incident” (which went really well by the way) and were able to confirm no broken bones and prognosis for full recovery. Despite the screaming of baby obscenities at the x-ray machine, I felt that I should reward my daughter for being such a trooper through all this father inflicted grief.  I had taken some time off of work for the appointment and pretty much had the rest of a  nice and sunny day to spend time with her.  First it was off to the BX for some ice cream and then to the playground afterwards.

We made our way over to Baskin Robbins in the food court, made our selection, and sat down to enjoy our cup of Mango Mania ice cream together (is mania a flavor?).  It was at this point that I felt what seemed like some sharp stares on my back that caused me to look around.  I scanned back towards the direction I felt the stares from and found myself looking at an older couple.  The man was obviously retired military but had an oddly dumbfounded look on his face.  Noticing the expression on his face I reached behind me to make sure that my third arm was still tucked behind my head. Confirming, it was hidden from view, I tried to figure out what he was looking at (I’m joking).  It’s like he’s never seen a guy with his daughter, having ice cream together in the middle of the day (on a work day!), with no mom to be seen, and a big red back-pack stuffed with diapers, wipes, and Ms. Pinky the doll. Then I noticed his wife. She wasn’t dumb founded. Oh no.  She was in fact giving me the “look.”  It’s kind of hard to describe but it was like a look of disapproval and confusion all rolled up into one. Whatever I was, I was different and she didn’t like it.  The Modern Man. Humph!  What I didn’t realize was that I had just made first contact with the advanced guard of the Venusians and that this was just a taste of things to come. Oh well.  Whatever. I’m having ice-cream in the middle of the day with my daughter and not at work. Yay! 

It was still nice and sunny outside and after we finished our ice cream, it was time to let my daughter to run around and play a bit, so we made our way to the playground on base.  You would have thought that I would have learned by now that this playground is not any normal playground. What, with the freaky, freezing pavlovian kids and all.  Nope. Didn’t learn a thing.  I’m stubborn like that.  So we get to the playground and my daughter is making all kinds excited squeals and noises that only dogs should be able to hear.  She’s definitely looking forward to this. So I set her down to run off to play with the other kids.

I’d never actually been to the playground before during the work week and in the middle of the day to boot.  It’s really different.  Instead of screaming, rabid kids and their families playing there you have screaming, rabid kids and their Venusians…I mean mothers, playing there.  They were there with their kids, alternately wiping noses, filling their broods open orifices with snacks, yelling “No!" between “Stop thats!” and gabbing away at each other. 

They kind of looked alike too with their nifty sneakers, baggy sweatshirts, SUV like strollers, and an overall soccer mom-ish feel to them.  They were all just having a grand time.  A grand time that is, until they saw me.  Apparently my backpack of kiddie supplies was not enough camouflage for me to completely fit in. I even had snacks and sippy cups like they did!

Suddenly the chatter dropped to a murmur, kids were held close, some panicked and ran away hysterically.  Okay, I exaggerated a little there but the overall feeling was that they didn’t quite know what to make of me.  What is this? A man? Here? In our world? You’d think I’d stumbled on some secret organizations meeting or something.  Or had I?  Hmmm… I was, at this point, waiting for the torches and pitchforks to materialize from their overstuffed diaper bags. In reality some were able to offer a half hearted smile and greeting here or there but for the most part it seemed that they resorted to using their native Venusian language whenever I was nearby.

Telepathy. 

It reminded me of a similar episode when we first moved to this base.  For some reason I had gotten the bright idea that I should attend the “Spouse’s Orientation” so I could learn about the base and what it offers. We already know what my track record with “bright ideas” is.  Despite that,  I even called ahead to the program director to specifically tell her that, yes, I am a spouse and yes, I am a male.  Would it be appropriate for me to attend? “Oh, yes, yes. Of course! We’ve had a male spouse come through our program before!”  Notice the singular “a male spouse” there.  Hearing that reassurance, I figured that surely the military was a progressive entity now and recognized the existence of us male spouses and our needs.  So against my better judgment I decided to sign-up to participate.  That was a mistake.  Not only that but now I’ve given the program director the ability to say “Oh, yes we’ve had male spouses come before,” to the next sucker of a male spouse that dares consider attending.  Sorry dude. My bad.

So I show up to this thing and the “place setting” at my table has lots of gifts for us spouses.  Potpourri, soaps, pretty, flowery tins, etc.  You know, all the stuff a man could ever want.  This was an ominous beginning.  Then there were the other spouses.  I looked up and around and, yup, all women, and yup they all looked like I had just read their diaries and published their deepest secret on the internet. Lots of looking away, lots of awkward fidgety-ness.  Oh no! A man is here! What is he doing here? Doesn’t he know this is for spouses only?  Uhmm… so I’m a spouse too? I think?  I have a feeling that much telepathy was transmitted that day. On top of that there was the “Protocol Officer” as one of the speakers who was there to teach us about the ins and outs of formal military dining.  He had lots of helpful hints about the types of dresses to wear, where to buy the dresses, which fork to use and when, that you should stand on your husbands left and not right so he could salute a superior, and even had us practice shaking hands.  How to shake hands? Seriously?? At this point I was wishing the fork diagram on my “place setting” were real so I could poke my eyes out.  And the Protocol Officer? Yeah, he pretty much refused to acknowledge my existence the entire time I was there. I tried to get his attention though.  Looked him in the eye (he looked away), sat up taller.  “Was he going to talk about suits?” I wondered.  Nope.  I think I made him feel “uncomfortable.”  Welcome to the club, bud.  Though, if he had made us practice curtseying I think I would have punched him in the face.

So what’s the point of writing all this?  I dunno.  I guess it’s just to rant a little.  Sometimes I feel like the military and the military culture looks at me and other male spouses and believes we’re these mythical unicorns living over the rainbow frolicking with leprechauns.  But then, when confronted by us in reality, our third arm sprouts up from behind our heads somewhere and they have no idea what to do with us.  I guess that’s the main thing.  They have no idea what to do with us.  This has been made especially clear to me during my wife’s deployment.  I keep getting these e-mails about all these programs and support activities for spouses of the deployed but guess what? They’re all during the work day or involve some artsy, crafty stuff. You know, stuff that any guy would enjoy.  Oooh…I need to make sure I save that coupon I saw for Michaels!  Sure, there may be some stuff that’s supposed to be gender neutral, but based on my experiences so far of who goes to these things, no thanks.

But, back to playground.  Fortunately, my daughter had a great time and was spared from the feelings of being “different.”  All the Venu…er mom’s loved her.  It’s probably because she’s awfully cute (and no, I’m not even going to qualify that with a “to me,” because she is. So there.) and because they probably all knew that one day she would also grow up to be a Venusian as well.  NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

 

Tip of the Day: The military likes to use all sorts of code, acronyms and jargon to communicate.  For all you male spouses out there, it’s key to remember that in military talk “Spouse” really means “Wife”. So “Spouse’s Clubs” are really “Wives' Clubs” and anything advertised for military spouses really means wives.  If you remember that, then there will be no surprises.

“I will call those who were not My people, ‘My people,’ and her who was not beloved, ‘beloved.’  And it shall be that in the place where it was said to them ‘You are not My people,’ there they shall be called Sons of the Living God.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            -Romans 9:25-26

A Tale of Two Cities…

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that I’ve married into the military.  In our last assignment (our first) we lived in the San Francisco Bay Area.  Because my firm had a satellite office there  I would commute in the city for work.  The base my wife was stationed at was about 45 minutes north of San Francisco so naturally we chose to live in a town that was sort of in between both of our jobs.  It was a pretty good arrangement.  I could take a ferry from my town into the city thereby avoiding that infamous San Francisco traffic and my wife would commute north, going in the opposite flow of traffic.  It worked really, really well and we really, really enjoyed our life there.

That life was also, for me, relatively military free.  Due to the fact that we lived way off base I really had very little reason to ever go there.  As far as I was concerned we were just the average professional couple with our own separate careers.  The only reminder I had was the fact that she wore BDUs everyday to work whereas I got to go in my business casual affair. 

Here it’s different.  If it weren’t for the military there really wouldn’t be any reason for people to live here.  Sure it’s got its nice beaches at Eglin but other than that there’s really not much out here.  I was told by many that I should be prepared for the “Redneck Riviera” when we moved here.  Boy were they right.  Only here could pick-up trucks, gun-racks, mullets, and colorful beach umbrellas mix so seamlessly.  But back to the military.  The military here is EVERYWHERE.  If you look at a map of the area we live in you basically see our town with the Gulf of Mexico on one side and Eglin AFB on the other three sides.  We’re literally surrounded.  Everybody here is either in the military or in some sort of business to support the military.  That means we also live really close to base.  About 10 minutes door-to-gate. 

Today I was reminded again about this military life of ours.  Because it was a holiday, I had my daughter at home with me today so I decided to take her on some outings.  Our first stop in the morning was a shopping complex that had a toy store and a playground.  I wanted to get my daughter some blocks to play with and give her a chance to run around because the weather had finally turned nice.  After we left the toy store we walked over the playground where there were lots of other kids playing.  Being in a shopping center music was being piped through some loudspeakers mounted on palm trees.  It was rather nice as we played in the sun and grooved to nice, jazzy muzak and Colbie Calait.  We had a great time playing out there and I actually had some difficulty in getting my daughter to leave when it was time to go.

Later in the day, after my daughter’s nap, I thought that it might be nice to go out and play again.  This time, however, we decided to head to this nice playground they have on base.  So off we went.  When we got there it was pretty similar to the our experience in the morning.  Lots of kids playing, my daughter having a blast on the swings and the slide, and parents looking on.  The only difference was the lack of piped muzak on palm trees.  But that didn’t last long.  For some of you reading this you probably are all familiar with what happens on base at 4:30pm…oh sorry, 16:30.  At precisely 16:30 loudspeakers all over the base fire up and you hear trumpets that then leads into Star Spangled Banner, our National Anthem.  This was something I’d forgotten about. 

So at 16:30 the National Anthem comes on and EVERYTHING STOPS.  Cars are required to stop moving.  Non-uniformed people outside are supposed to stand still and if a flag is nearby, look in that direction.  Uniformed personnel are required to stand at attention and salute the flag.  Kind of neat but today it kind of creeped me out.  You see, when we got to the playground there were a ton of kids there.  And kids being kids they were running around, screaming like banshees.  It was loud, it was wild, and it was chaos.  But as soon as those trumpets sounded an amazing thing happened.  All those little Tasmanian devils stopped in their tracks and became silent.  These same hyperactive, hypersonic kiddos were now patiently waiting in place, waiting for the trumpets to cease, which, as soon as they did, those same kids transformed back into the Tasmanian devils they are.  It was weird. 

I felt like I had stepped into the twilight zone for a brief moment there.  I mean, I know adults are supposed to know the base regulations, but those kids.  It kind of weirded me out for a brief moment.  To see a scene go from chaos to pure silence and back again was surreal. It also reminded me that yes, I am married to the military (of whose service I’m very proud and grateful for), and yes, the military world is just…different.

Stopping to Smell the Roses…

Wow… What a week it has been.  A week that I definitely would not care to repeat again.  I think I was about at my limit in terms of all things that happened this past week and my capability to handle things.  Between my daughter’s visit to the ER, subsequent hospital visit (all traumatic for her, by the way), freaking her out in the bathtub, and just the craziness of my regular job along with the household stuff; I’m amazed I’m still conscious.  I have never been so low on energy as I have been at the end of this week.  So much so that I actually did something that I haven’t been able to do in quite a long time.

I took an afternoon nap.

You might be thinking “What’s the big deal? People take naps all the time.”  Not this guy. I don’t know why but I’ve never been able to fall asleep while the sun is up.  You can ask my wife.  She always thought that I was just weird for not taking advantage of the Sunday afternoon nap.  I just thought that she liked to sleep… A lot.  But today was different.  I had no reserves left and after I putting my daughter down for nap, I laid down and then was out cold.  But that’s not the point of this post.

In the midst of all the busyness of the week I began to realize something.  Time was flying by.  There didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day for everything.  The seconds were zipping by and this deployment of my wife’s was going to over before I knew it.  Good thing right?  Well, yes and no.

While it’s good that time seems to be moving faster, the reason for that is because my days are just so jam-packed.  This causes another effect in which I’m so pre-occupied with all this “stuff” going on that I don’t really have time to think about how much I miss my wife.  I realized that today when I finally seem to have time to breath.

In some ways this is a good thing.  It forces me to be active and in turn prevents me from wallowing in my own self-pity and sense of loneliness.  But the weird thing is, I want to miss my wife at the same time I don’t.  I don’t because frankly, well, it sucks.  I do want to miss her because she’s my wife and I love her. It’s only appropriate that I miss her. Long for her. Wish she were home.  So today, when I finally had time to stop for minute, when things were finally calm enough at home for me to have time to myself, I found myself missing her.  A lot.  And I didn’t mind it one bit.

Sins of the Father

                                                     I am…your father….

My daughter seems to be recovering well from our recent excursion to the ER that I wrote about last time.  She’s been able to walk around and move about pretty well, albeit with a slight limp.  She’s a little trooper, she is.  Still, I think I’m still carrying around a bit of guilt and sometimes I wonder if she thinks of me the way ‘ol Luke up there did when he discovered Vader was his father.  It didn’t help that we’ve had yet another “episode” during the week.  Again my fault but I’ll get to that in a minute.

So the guilt part.  Although I know that my daughter doesn’t blame me for any of this, every time I see her walking around with a little limp it just sends these little twinges of guilt through me and “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry” just rushes through my head.  This morning  I got her dressed for daycare and I put some extra thick socks on her (we’ve been having a cold spell) which of course, makes putting on her shoes a little more difficult.  The top of her foot is a bit tender still and with the thicker socks fit inside the shoe is tighter.  She whimpered a bit when I tried to put on the shoes.  Twinge of guilt.  Okay, no shoes. Then there was when she first came home from the ER and was wearing that splint (which went all the up to her knee) it just made me feel so bad.  Twinge of guilt. What’s worse is that splint is toddler sized and you know, all toddler sized things are cute.  I thought it was cute.  I took pictures.  I felt guilty for thinking it was cute and taking pictures.  I’m a bad, bad man. 

Then came the other episode this week.  One of my daughter’s favorite things is bath time.  Every evening we’ll ask her “You wanna’ go take a bath?”  and she’ll respond “Ba!!” while pointing to the bathroom.  I’ll get the water running and start getting her undressed and she’s literally squealing with excitment and doing her little dancey, dance (kinda’ like she needs to pee real bad).  We bathe her in the master bathroom and it’s a nice big jacuzzi tub with lots of room for her bath toys.  She’s having a grand time, splish splashing around and pretty much getting me soaked in the process.  We’re having fun.  Then she discovers a button on the side of the tub.  She LOVES buttons.  If something has a button on it, she wants to push it.  So she’s discovered this one huge button on the side of the tub and she’s trying to push it.  So I, in my infinite wisdom, think, “Oh! This might be fun!  Maybe she’ll enjoy the bubbles and the jets.”  You probably know where this is going now. 

So I help her push the button.  Now, our jacuzzi tub is not quiet.  It’s rather loud and obnoxious and the jets are a bit strong.  I did not think about this.  As the button is pushed the tub starts to hum and then gets on to full on rumbly, earthquake mode.  Then the jets start going.  So I’m looking at my daughter and smiling and going “Look! Bubbles!”  Only she’s not looking like she’s having fun.  Instead she’s looking around, then looks at me with eyes as wide as saucers.  Then she freaks the heck out.  What was once a fun innocent bath time for her is now….

That was on Tuesday.  So last night it was bath time again.  I didn’t really think about the episode on Tuesday anymore supposing it was a one time thing.  I just won’t turn on the jets. Lesson learned.  So we’re going through our same routine and she’s doing her little dancey, dance getting ready to go in the tub.  She’s excited to bathe and she’s covered in ketchup from dinner so she needs to bathe.   I put her in the tub and she’s starting to play.  Things seem back to normal.  Not more than 10 seconds later she begins to look around. All of sudden you see the look of recognition come across her face as she realizes where she is. And then… she freaks the heck out.  She’s crying, she’s reaching for me but she needs a bath!  So despite her crying I’ve got to scrub her down and wash her hair.  It was definitely not fun.  Bath was quick and I took her out to towel her off.  Guilt, guilt, guilt.  I’ve now ruined bath time.  Then I noticed, as I was bundling her up and drying her off, through the bundle of towels she was giving me “The Look.” You know that look.  The one where only a woman can truly give.

The Look?

Tip: Hey Dad, your bright ideas aren’t always so bright.  Think your “cool” ideas through before you try them.