A Message from Our Sponsor's Dependent

I just don't understand kids today. It's Halloween, you're in a costume, you're knocking on someone's door, you want candy. You have ONE responsibility.

Say "Trick or Treat". This is not a welfare depot.

And you: 52-year-old woman who doesn't speak English and is holding open a plastic shopping bag. Get a life.

And you parents there: the hell are you letting your kids knock on a door with all the lights turned off?

But besides that, it was a pretty cool night. Since Ryan is gonzo over "The Jungle Book" and he got an elephant hat a year ago at a friend's party, Ryan went as said pachyderm. So I went as the Maharaja. The Indian Cowboy and his Trusty Steed. With Tusks.

We'd planned on just going across the street to his buddy Jonathan's, maybe hit a couple more houses up the street; it was just past 6 and still fairly light out, so we caught a couple people unprepared (though they understood when they saw the little munchkin), but they all thought he was adorable with his "lick or leet!", "tenk you", and "Halloween!" (He's substituting "L"s for a lot of letters these days, especially "T" ('lactor and lailer!') and "J" as in our cat Larrime.) And every time I tried to turn for home, he wanted to go up to the next house, and the next, (then rustle through some gutter leaves), then the next, then go to the park (no.) and finally home in the pitch dark.

It was a little hard to eat dinner with my costume still on, so Ryan helped.

Post CD

400 times I've talked to you people now!
If you got that Roman Numeral reference.

Party season is upon us. Starting with Ainsley's Dad's birthday on the 5th of October, we're pretty much a non-stop festing machine, this family. Ryan's birthday. His maternal grandmother's birthday and Halloween on the same day. Everyone in Ainsley's sister's family's birthday is in November, to include three cats and a lizard, and all late in the month, right around Thanksgiving. My dad on Pearl Harbor day, then a new little girl's birthday sometime between there and Christmas.
It's all we can do to be not gargling tooth decay from all the cakes.
This year's non-stop-fete was extraly spacial, as some wonderful friends of Ainsley's put on a baby shower for her Tuesday. The kids all gave their Halloween costumes a dry-run while the mommies gave out pink-centric gifts and talked about their husbands (I'm assuming).
Since Ainsley's mom came into town for the shower, we celebrated her birthday a couple nights early, with an interesting (if brown-intensive) meal at an Indian restaurant and presents & cake back at home.
Unfortunately, Ryan has caught an Amazonian nose cold, though Ainsley has amazingly taught him to blow his nose in an adult-held tissue (as opposed to just blowing through his mouth when we said "blow"). But he's still going to be sounding like a 65-year-old Uncle when he's sleeping (sorry, Dennis!). He was up from 12 to 12:15 just for fun this morning, and then Dover barfed up his dinner at 0530, so I'm a mite sleepy.

Proof of Ownership

No DNA test required to prove Ryan's my son, though these examples are enough to give Mommy-sahn "the pip" as my mom would say...

Not only was he swayin' and boppin' along to some heavy metal music during a commercial this evening, but yesterday Ainsley and I were invited to an '80s-themed costume party (Grandad was nice enough to offer to babysit all night). We got ready before dinner so we could leave right after, though Ryan didn't know who to regard first: Madonna with child on his right or some freakazoid punk-ass metal head to his left. Mommy just looked pretty and shiny and bauble-y, so he focused most of his gaze on me, asking in his polite inquisitive 2-year-old way, WTF?

But he did want to try on my wrist bands, and once we were able to get him to call the black smudges under my eye as 'make-up' rather than 'wake-up', he wiped his finger across his cheek and said, "Ryan?"

I LOVE YOU, said Daddy, proud as punch that his son, too, wants to be what his wife can only lovingly describe as a 'dork'.

Billowy is Beautiful

You have to choose your adjectives carefully around here.

I'm watching a lousy excuse of an NFL game live in rainy London. Apparently a streaker just ran across the field, though they didn't show it on TV. Though they did show a couple in the stands, one dressed as Captain America, the other as a Hot Dog.
I watched the Tampa Bay Bandits play the Philadelphia Stars (from the USFL) there at Wembley Stadium 20+ years ago...at least it wasn't raining.

Had a good day at work Friday -- got the Big Vector from the boss, giving me a couple projects I'll be responsible for during the next three or four months. I've also been given a job title I can live with. You are looking at the words being typed by the next: Chief, Plans and Assessments.

Exciting!
But at least I know what I'm doing, which is a relief.

Fathead Costello

I'll give it one thing, my new office is closer to the water fountain, so that's cool.

Speaking of hydration, we're enjoying day two of a long, slow, soaking rain after a record 34 days without. Which was probably easier on My Pregnant Wife not having to bend over to clean mud off the dogs' paws, but bad for the backyard frogs and hydranthias and avocado crops.
Ryan had his 2-year checkup today (complete with -- *sniff* -- shot), and is doing awfully very well. 50th percentile for height (33.75 inches), 80th% for weight (31.2 lbs), and 85th% for head circumference (to put together sentences like "Grandad will get it", recall six separate football referee signals, and know that the California fires on TV are not to be touched ("No, no.") and is developmentally doing everything he's supposed to at this age, except draw a straight line (Ainsley's been busy working on circles and dodecahedrons and such).
Grandad cracked up from Ryan's wordplay and consistent aping of whatever we say, like "Say 'bye-bye grandad'" ("ByeBye!"), "See you in a couple days!" ("Kuppa Days!")
Though we did have an issue tonight when Grandad said "Not you" and Ryan repeated it.
G: "No, you say 'me'."
R: "Say me."
G: "When it's Ryan, you say "Not Me."
R: "Not me."
G: "When it's me, uh, Grandad, you say, 'Not you'."
R: ....
G: "Grandad is 'you'. (Points at Ryan) Ryan is 'me'."
R: (points at Grandad) "Me!"
G: "No, 'me' is you."
I think I saw this skit on vaudeville years ago.

Pentagon Redux

Work is very much reminding me of my last few months at my old job two years ago -- not a lot to do, reading random briefings, waiting for taskers, no one assigning me crap, no one to supervise. I'm waiting for my Air War College correspondence material to arrive via snail boat so I can at least get something done. Due to unfortunate timing, I just missed a couple conferences, and the next ones are in Full Spin-Up mode, with the Major I Don't Really Work For But Who Sure Is In Charge telling me it'd be harder to spin me and the new girl up at this,"the 11th hour", than to just let me not go. 'Cause that makes sense.
As it is, it looks like I might have something to do in February or March.
I keep going back to my old office, using the printer, stopping by the snack bar, returning the odd stapler, seeing what's up in Actual Operations with the old fellers...
We'll see. The branch chief gets back Friday to discuss his Big Vision for me. My partner did tell me that they might use me to teach a Security Cooperation lesson in an upcoming course ... scheduled for the week my wife is due.
So, no.

Tonight we took Ryan to the mall, having been stuck in the house all day due to rain. We tried to get his yah-yahs out by letting him run around the kiosks and down the ramps and in the glassware aisles of "Linen & Things", but the boy is 98% sugar (2% moxie), and was still yammering away in his bed at five minutes to ten.
Mark your calendars for June 17th, 2025, the morning after our daughter graduates from high school: please don't call; Ainsley will be finally sleeping.

Guess who turned 11?

Well, he has a little trouble with the mechanics of putting up two fingers, so he puts one finger up on each hand and smooshes 'em together.

Ainsley's parents arrived on Saturday for the celebratory weekend, jumping to work immediately (per usual) digging up a couple bushes from the front yard which were bogarting good air space from the azaleas, and putting them in my mostly pre-dug holes in the back yard by the patio.

Ryan helped by getting his garden gloves good and muddy.

We were worried that Griffin would get all spray-y on them, so Mrs. Foulds said we could get an anti-urination spray. Ainsley said she would use it on Bailey in the wee hours

(har!)

when she whined to be let out.

Said she would call it "Piss Off."

Comedy is her second job.

Sunday we had a hearty breakfast in the cool morning sunroom, then my dad came over to help walk the dogs with the Colonel while the ladies whipped up a cheeseball. As ladies do. Ryan found a white balloon, walked backwards, spotted airplanes miles up in the sky, and generally impressed the pants off his elder generational relations.

Thankfully he went down for a nap, just in time for the start of the Redskins-Cardinals game, where nachos, veggies and artichoke dip, and appropriate levels of beeah were enjoyed by appropriate non-preggipeople. Ryan awoke and the Boivins arrived, in time for a nail-biter of an ugly finish to the game, with a failed 2-pt conversion, recovered on-side kick, and missed field goal keeping things awful close to spoiling the Redskins-themed birthday party.

Good thing he got a Clinton Portis jersey. Went with his football birthday cake.

Ryan also got a mini-acoustic guitar, a "I'm the Big Brother" t-shirt, some books, DVDs, and the big hit, a rocking horse that sings and whinnies when you squeeze his ears.

He enjoyed it all, behaved himself, and charmed the bejeezuz off of everyone, again just amazing us with how smart and fun and happy he is. He did out-distance everyone at night, still gabbing away in his crib while the rest of us tried to go to sleep...

Apparently he did start to cry when his Mimaa and Grandpa went to leave this morning, causing Mimaa to cry in return, promising to come back next week for Ainsley's baby shower....

Diet starts tomorrow

So Ryan pats my belly last night and says, "Baby Sister!"

A Man Without a Countrywide

Here's a toast to Dad, the proud owner of an entire home, now that he has paid off his mortgage.

Even though he wasn't supposed to pay it until November so we could throw him a Last Check Writing Party.

But we shan't quibble.

Miss Pisswater

Seems Bailey Roo has acquired a rather unflattering nickname due to her elderly nighttime bladder needs.
Other things I've learned this week:

• Ryan cannot properly floss with low mein noodles.
• Looks cannot actually kill. Particularly if you've dropped the hint to a 23-month-old that he should NOT try to floss with low mein noodles.
• As lame as most commercials are, they're still better than the constant Public Service Announcements we get repeated on Armed Forces Network.
• The DTRA gym no longer provides towels. Probably a good thing. They were getting a little funky, and I didn't like the 'tude' from the gym staff when I asked for towels without thirteen holes in them.
• I am not going to Tampa Bay the end of the month, so now I get to take my son trick-or-treating across the cul-de-sac to Jonathan's house.
• I transition to the new job Monday, and will be some sort of "Team Chief" (me and another guy -- we could be a two-man luge team!) doing some security cooperation strategy development coordination liaison thing with NORTHCOM (Colorado Springs) and CENTCOM (Tampa, responsible for countries between Sudan and Kazakhstan, Syria and Pakistan).
• Ryan is napping less and less frequently. Does not bode well for Mommy's sanity.

Here endeth the lesson.

Reswingified

Blogging.
hmm.
out of practice.

I think this is where I tell you what I did today.
I fed my son an apple turnover that was more turnover than apple. They must have turned that sucker over five or six times. Then covered it with sugar. Forgetting for a second that we live in the Waldorf Astoria, we were not permitted to lick said sugar off our fingers.
That's what Griffins are for.

Far from totally jet lagged, I'm still super sleepy by 8 o'clock as I try to adjust back to this here hemisphere; with four days off in a row, however, I've gotten some of the best sleep I've had at home in a while. Helps that Ryan slept 13 hours Saturday night.
As always, it's an adjustment to come home after such a long time, learning where everything is, where everything goes, how everything works. And Ryan's progress is just amazing. Here I am trying to shove his little arms in his shirt, and he rolled his eyes and put his own shirt on thank you very much. He walks down the stairs face-first now (with assistance), knows his colors, knows all the pets' names, and has thrown the occasional "g" sound into grandad and grandpa. Ainsley has done such an amazing job with the boy. Hope I don't break him.

As of Friday we no longer have a functional yet inappropriately loud and hot wood-burning stove, as some dudes came and dismantled it Friday and re-mortared our chimney, while cementing a stainless steel tube up the entire length. Now once we get a screen or doors, we'll be able to have a roaring fire and actually have a conversation in the same room.

My dad had been out of town for a couple weeks himself, so we met up for dinner Friday night; as I approached his car with Ryan on my shoulders, what greeting did father give to his son he hadn't seen in two months?
"Hi, Ryan!"
So I see where I rate in the cute department.

Back to work on Tuesday, to see what the hell's going on with my new job. Then it's back to the ol' pattern...assuming Ryan can stop telling people his Daddy's "in Russia" and doesn't mind that I don't wake him up in the morning...

Mist

So, how've you been?