Novender

Here's how we ended our last November as a 3-pronged family unit:
Monday: Drove to the Pentagon clinic to learn that a) my Mr. Mushroom condition is improving, so assuming my liver was alive (they took blood to test) I could take more medication and b) no, we can't discuss your back right now, but no, the Air Force doesn't have a permanent waiver and I'm not going to Medically Board you.
While waiting for my medication in the lobby, learned of the shooting of Redskins player Sean Taylor.
That night, Dad came over to help distract Ryan from our chosen task of decorating the Christmas Tree, since that's just not a job for a 2-year-old. We were still plugging along at 8:30, so Dad tried to put Ryan down, but he cried too much for comfort. And Dad doesn't yet know Ryan's current favorite Daddy songs, "Cheese" and "Timber" (from 'Whose Line is it Anyway?').
Tuesday: Turned on the radio in the driveway and learned that Sean Taylor had died. Broke the news to Ainsley. Absolutely senseless. A gloomy day round here.
Cyber Wednesday: Ryan didn't go down for a nap, so he was out by 7:15, giving me time to do some on-line shopping while Ainsley started wrapping Christmas presents. Anything we can do to knock out usual December tasks pre-birth-day.
Thursday: Drove to the Defense Security Cooperation Agency to chat with a guy who knows assessments and can teach me a thing or seventy-two. Helpful. Some of this stuff is starting to make sense. Unfortunately the top-level (OSD) guidance changes next year, so I get to learn something else.
The in-laws were in from their nine-day jaunt to Seattle for Thanksgiving, coinciding with Dad's usual Thursday night visit and a fortuitous water aerobics cancellation for the wife that left us with a full table at dinner (salmon, rice, green beans, the best Ambrosia-stolen berry salad on the planet). The next generation talked death and taxes and offered to pay for Ryan's college. Or at least that's how I interpreted it, and I'll hold them to it.
Fryawnday: Ryan woke up pissed (har!) and cold at 1:11am, so while Ainsley changed his bedding, I rocked him back to sleep in my arms (with "Timber", natch). But there was a cat where my pillow used to be, and a pregnant woman "J" pillow where my back usually is, so it took a while to contort myself into a comfortable sleeping state.
I believe I've participated in a Video Teleconference before, but usually a bilateral one -- today I got to sit in on one with SOCOM, PACOM, SOUTHCOM, CENTCOM, and some JWAC organization I don't understand. Then we took our branch NCO out to lunch since it was his last day. Apart from them putting mayonnaise on my sandwich like I un-asked, it was fun, good to get out of the office.
At home, Ryan is battling a new cold and fever, so it took some hugging, snot-rubbing, and Muppet Show-"Manamanah" on YouTube to get him calmed down after waking up from his nap in a foul mood.

Oanie and Butt

That's how "Ernie & Bert" comes out of Ryan's face. I wonder where he's from, with that silly accent.

We do run possible Baby Sister names by (through) him, to make sure "Stephanie" doesn't come out as "Sheepfart" or something else socially incongruent. One name came out sounding like "Redskins", so that's currently in first place with Mommy...


Meanwhile, the new nursery curtains are up, the bassinet is put back together and in place, the changing cushion is drilled into the table, and the fig newton-sized diapers are stocked. All we need is a contraction or two, and then Ryan has a new roommate. And maybe someone else he can get to act like Captain Feathersword at the dinner table.

ARRrrr.

Fire. Good.

I decided to put the last firescreen, the lesser of three evils, together after MPW and I collectively came to the conclusion that since the only thing wrong with this last one was the left door, I could just take one off the other units and replace it myself.

So guess what was also broken on the other two?

Oh, well. I'll just have a new left door sent instead of sending me a whole new (fourth!) unit. Putting it together was a bit of a chore, as I noticed that one of the legs was broken (good thing I had four more in the garage!). But when I called the company and asked for a new left door, they said they couldn't do that since it would negate the warranty and they could only send another firescreen.

Okay, I explained, I just spent 30 minutes putting this one together, and the door just slides off a hinge, it's not like the integrity of The System is going to be damaged. I asked them to at least check with the warehouse.

Warehouse can do it, but not until Dec 17th.

Or. They could send me a new unit.

No.

Dec 17th, fine.

Saturday I noticed that the right door didn't work too well, either, sticking as it opened (good thing I had two more in the garage!).

That night, for the first time in two years, I built a fire, lovely and aromatic against the cold 39-degree evening.

And apart from the burning eyeballs from all the smoke, it was an altogether pleasurable experience.

Non-traditional Holiday

Well, Ryan doesn't like the leaf blower.

Perhaps it reminds him of the noise the hair clippers make.

Besides, there were so many damn leaves it wasn't doing much of a job in the first place. Fortunately, the lower half of the 40 is all natural trees-n-tundra, so I don't have to waste fifty-two Hefty bags a year trying to gather ye dead rosebuds while I may. I can just rake 'em down into the underbrush and let the dogs sort 'em out. Until my leaf blower craps out and I break the rake in half with overly vehement raking.

Thanksgiving, however, was a weird weather day -- it almost hit 80 during the day and then a cold front blew threw, literally -- it blew another 114,697 leaves onto my grass. Ten-foot-tall leaf-nadoes twirled around the cul-de-sac. Pumpkins were rolled.

So while contemplating wearing shorts to our friends' for dinner, it occurred to me that this would be a new event for us, which is odd. We've known these people for over 30 years, they've lived a half-hour from my Dad for over 20, and they graciously invite family (when we're in town) for virtually every holiday throughout the year and then some made-up ones for good measure. It's almost second nature.

But the epiphany was that I couldn't remember the last time we'd gone over there for Thanksgiving. Christmas, sure. Almost every year. But we'd gone out to my in-laws the last two years, and hosted a small family gathering at our 'new' house in 2004. 2001-3 we were in Colorado, 2000 I was in Turkey, and so on. It may very well have been 1996, when I flew back from Colorado Springs on Thanksgiving Day and just walked in the house unannounced.

That's a lot of missed mashed potatoes.

They had family of their own in town, and another friend made it a full house. I figured I'd be at the kiddy table with Ryan, but they went ahead and pushed some tables together so I could participate in conversation not involving yams in one's hair.

Ryan was a little shy at first, but then realized there was a young, pretty teenager with long hair across the room, so he started flirting by passing a green sticky pad back and forth with her, then pretending to check out her i-phone while leaning up against her. When he'd had enough to eat, he got down and walked all the way around to her seat so he could sit on her lap and play with her hair. And during dessert, it was all we could do to keep his head off her chest.

My boy.

Spitting Image

Ryan would like to wish you joyous stuffing. Literally and figuratively.

Hairy Lollipop

Part of the Parenting Experience is getting to learn about the world all over again. Like Halloween last month. Who knew there was a day you got to be someone/thing else and go knock on people's doors and beg for food?

So when I got a haircut last weekend, and the barberette wanted to reward Ryan for being cute and behaving himself in the waiting area, she reached in and got him a rolled-up piece of paper on a short white stick.
Having never eaten a lollipop before, he didn't know what the hell it was.

Tonight, though, after several successive days of bed-head emergencies, we decided it was time for Ryan to go under the vibrating knife again. After going ballistic last time, we tried a new place with new people, but unfortunately had the same result. As soon as he got the scarf apron tablecloth thing wrapped around him, out came the bottom lip, and then the tears and the coughing and the "up"s... it just traumatizes him now. Another hairstyling professional tried to get him a dinosaur and then opened up a lollipop for him, but he just licked it once -- not familiar with the stick-it-in-your-mouth concept. But he was crying so much, the cut hairs started to stick to his chin and neck like a beard.
He gave a feeble wave and a soft 'bye-bye' and 'happy thanksgiving' as he walked out; we went to reward him with his favorite UNO's side dish, smashed cauliflower, but they have a new menu upon which that is UNOt. Just wasn't the poor guy's night.

He had a better morning, playing in the park with the Monday Mommy Munchkins (the day is flexible) on a record-breaking 72-degree day before Thanksgiving. And he left a cute message on my voice-mail at work that I saved cause it's just too adorable.
One morning last week, Ainsley said he stopped what he was playing with and asked, "Daddy home yet?"
awwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Put That Rhodes Scholarship on Hold

The boy will learn manners. "Thank you" will never get old. You will not direct; you will ask, and say please. Asking him what the 'magic word' is doesn't work, because he just says 'magic word' back to you. If he demands something, usually a raised eyebrow and stare will illicit a "May-I-Please!" Usually.
But tonight he was out of water, and struggling to put his cup on the counter.
"Is it empty?"
"Yes."
"Would you like some more?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
...
"Ryan, what comes after 'yes'?"
"Five!"

I just want to burn stuff

A month ago we had our fireplace insert removed. We now have a fireplace-shaped hole in our house that goes all the way up to this new-fangled top o' the chimney criss-cross metal flue thing.
We have a long chain.
Because Ainsley is experienced with this sort of thing, she suggested putting something in front of the hole so the cats wouldn't climb up the chimney. I thought that was ridiculous until Tucker immediately stood up in there, exploring.
So, while we've shopped for a firescreen, we've had a wooden bar door sitting sideways in front of the fireplace.
With throw pillows in front. We're not philistines.
A couple weeks ago we found one we like on Plow & Hearth, and we finally ordered it a week ago Sunday.
It showed up broken. Not worthy of sticking in front of a plow, let alone on our Hearth.
No biggie, call the company, get a replacement ordered.
Two days later another one arrived. Broken.
Slight biggie, but call the company, ask them if anyone is actually looking at these things, OH SURE WE DEFINITELY WILL THIS TIME YOU BETCHA.
Five days later. Good. Someone actually cared enough. "Q/A" written in red on the side. Taped very well, styrofoam in place, yippee.
But broken. In same place. Clip missing behind a window.
E
Called the company. "Nicole" put me on hold for ten minutes. Hung up on them.
Called the company. very bad line to Bangalore or wherever. Heard 'hold on', then beeps.
Called the company. No one answered, I was put in a cue.
Called the company. Put on hold for seven minutes. Call Waiting beeped, it was Plow & Hearth. Tried to answer it, hung up on them instead.
Called the company. Explained it was my fifth call in thirty minutes. (All the while feeding the dogs, cleaning up after my son, throwing the football back and forth while he sported his new Redskins helmet, and reading him a story naked on the potty.) Call waiting beeped, it was Plow & Hearth, I found the flash button, it was Nicole. She said 'corporate' was going to contact me tomorrow, and ensured me that they would personally select a working firescreen. I told them not to bother. I have three broken ones sitting in the garage awaiting UPS return labels. We can barely park the car. No. Thanks for nothing. Or a lot of broken somethings.
Fortunately we're in a "One-Day Warm Wave", so we're not exactly pining away for a warm fire.
Just yet.

Daddy Nightcare

I've been put in charge of Ryan's bedtime a lot lately -- MPW goes to withchild water waerobics twice a week at 7pm, so it's up to me to convince Ryan he's not getting any nursing out of the likes of me. She's also taken the opportunity once or twice a month to get with friends at "Recollections" for all-night scrapbook sessions (literally: she's done at midnight). Then Friday she hosted ten of her closest friends with checkbooks at a party for a friend of hers getting into a side sales business; it went on well past 9, so I was able to break Ryan away from the hot chiquita mommas (and three youngsters) to get him down. Or "in," anyway. He gets himself down. On it. "Get Down On It," I tried to get him to say at dinner the other night. Not so hep a cat just yet.
Anyhoo, it was a typically well-done affair held by the daughter of the attache...wine, garlic spinach dip, mood candles, even an ice bucket. You know that keeps ice from melting? For like hours! How does that work?
We've learned that Ryan is tall enough to reach up and grab food off the kitchen island, so I had to keep my eye on him. At one point, I picked him up so he could see everything, and offered what I felt was appropriate: "Do you want grapes...or crackers and dip...or bread and cheese...or strawberries...or blackberries?"
He points at the Belgian chocolates on the corner.
"Cake!"
Saturday we met a friend of Ainsley's up in Springfield and bypassed the Silver Diner since Ainsley forgot the coupons and I'm a cheap bastard and instead tried this place on the way to my work that seemed quaint, "Benjamin's", open for breakfast and lunch. I'll steal a joke I heard describing a waffle house: picture a men's room that serves pancakes.
We'd signed up for a re-tour of the Delivery Area at the Ft Belvoir hospital, but after waiting twenty minutes past the time (with a sleepy boy who did not want to eat cherry tomatoes) for the tour guide to finish a class and do the tour, one of the nurses on staff went ahead and answered all our questions. She even used Ryan's Born Identity room as the example. awww.
At the hospital, Ryan started spontaneously walking sideways. He's done backwards before, but this was the first time I'd seen him do this. I wanted him to demonstrate for his maternal boss. "Ryan! Show mommy how to walk sideways!"
Ryan paused, then put his hands on his hips.
"No, no; not 'offsides.' Walk sideways."
Curse his selective hearing and football sign knowledge.
Ryan didn't fall asleep in his crib, so he was pretty baked by 7 -- Ainsley had gone out to a friend's housewarming, so it was mano-a-boyo again. Glad he's comfortable with the routine of dinner-hide under the crib-naked boy-baths-books-hugs-aquarium shusher/lullabier.
I'm also glad I can try and make up for all the lost time, and all the time Ainsley's had to do this routine on her own, and give her a girl's night out occasionally. If I had friends outside of work I'm sure she'd let me go to ... uh ... do .. whatever guys do. When they're not teaching their son the difference between a collie dog and a scottie dog.
Saturday night, after Ainsley got back, we started wrapping birthday and Christmas presents so my sherpas-in-law could take a suitcaseful with them to Seattle this week. Sunday the Browns won on a weird field goal and the Redskins lost to the Cowboys but played very well, so even Ainsley wasn't all that horrendously murderous. It helps to have a cute kid cheering them on in burgundy and gold, even sensing a tense part of the game and blurting out, "Oh, Goodness!"

Pig Under Balloon

Not a phrase you'd really expect to hear from a two-year-old, but that is a part of the book. He does like to point out the obvious. "Hat!" on a man. Yes, Ryan. "...blue!" Yes.

Through the baby monitor, he can be heard in his crib, saying "Good idea!" over and over. One wonders what his stuffed bedmates are telling him.

Is it still a "baby monitor" if he's 2?

Is a german shepherd in Hamburg just a shepherd?

If more than one person comes down with the clap, is it considered applause?



Hard to get back into the working groove after a long weekend at home. The nursery is more done-r, with an extra shelf and three extra clothes rods* installed by Dan the Tool Man, battery-operated screwdriving assistance by Ryan, overall supervision by Bailey.

*easy to maximize space in a small closet when you're dealing with pint-sized clothes

Monday was kind of a bust, as I waited all morning for a roofing contractor who then arrived 2.5 hours after our appointed time, then I was on the phone with my IT support -- uh, brother -- for an hour trying to get our computer's CD drive fixed. But Ryan got to go watch the car take a bath bath bath and then run foolheartily around the mall, each stomping footstep cutting into his vocal emanations "Uh/uh/uh/uh/uh..." He's starting to get awful shy when people ask him his name or age or mother's maiden name or account number. We have to whisper him the answers, so he just whispers to the people asking.

Still trying to learn the nuances of the new job, as this plan and that Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Instruction and those binders and these forwarded e-mails all talk about Regional Counterproliferation Strategies and... my contract partner told me he liked how one of the books is laid out, as he's a 'linear thinker'. I hmmmed, knowing that's not me, as I struggle with this.
So what's the opposite of a linear thinker?, I ask.
"Scatterbrained?"
<>
"How about 'abstract thinker'?"
Better.
Tomorrow I work on submitting a budget for the next seven years, since, on paper, it doesn't seem we exist. We've started a kitty up by the classified printer: Your Spare Change Keeps Security Cooperation Alive. Tis the season of givi
OHMIGOD PUMPKIN PIES NEXT WEEK YAY

Thank the hell out of a Veteran.

Couple of quotes for you. Here's me, July 8th, 2001, in an old e-mail I just found written in Turkey a few days before I left:


Last night, my troops took me out to dinner in "the village" and gave me some lovely parting gifts, including a couple urinal cakes. (Long story.) I thanked them for their hard work and their service to their country, an especially difficult concept to consider when one isn't currently living in that particular country. I reminded them that I was just going to another place, and I'd still be working with them, in the best job in the world, serving in the best military in the history of the planet. And there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Since eyes are pretty moist 24/7 anyway. Basic biology. Tear ducts and whatnot.

Sticking with the American theme of the week, this afternoon I braved disaster and drove, in a crappy stick-shift rent-a-Tofas Sahin, to the mall on the other side of town to see "Pearl Harbor" (in English with Turkish subtitles). I'd read and heard almost nothing but bad reviews for it over here, but MAN what a phenomenal movie. Only I don't know what the hell the Japanese were saying because all their subtitles were in Turkish, too.

It was interesting to see how the movie affected the Turkish people in the cinema, 'tsk'ing and sniffing up tears at all the right spots... Not sure how you can see it and not be affected by the horror and sacrifice of the men and women involved. Sure, it's more story than history, but that's what movies are supposed to be. Maybe some of these movie critics need to come live in another country for fifteen months to realize how the film can inspire new levels of admiration and patriotism for this great country of ours. Don't knock it, folks. Don't knock being able to pick up the phone and getting an instant line out. Or getting in your car without looking for wires or fingerprints near the hood. Or leaving your home after 9 pm. Or going out for a slice of pecan pie.

And I hate pecan pie.

I'm just saying. I'll get off my soapbox. Just don't forget where we came from, and what we represent. America isn't the best at everything, and isn't always right, but there's one thing it can truly boast: the glory and honor of freedom. We've earned it in blood.


A second quote, which retired USAF 4-star General Eberhart used in a speech to us at DTRA on Thursday:

"The willingness with which our young people are likely to serve in any war, no matter how justified, shall be directly proportional to how they perceive the veterans of earlier wars were treated and appreciated by their nation."

- George Washington, 1783

Stay-at-home Dad

DTRA senior leadership gave military folks an additional day off for Veterans Day weekend, so I've been off all week. Wednesday felt like Thursday. Sleeping odd hours. Mashed potatoes for breakfast.

But before taking the opportunity to beat the weekend rush at the dump and Lowe's, I was able to witness first-hand the increasingly incorrectly named "Monday Mommies" troop, as some of Ainsley and Ryan's friends came over to spend the morning and eat Goldfish and throw magnetic letters at each other.
You'd expect better behavior out of a bunch of ladies in their 30s.

More nursery work to be done this weekend, hence the (military discounted!) trip to Lowe's to buy curtain rods, shelving, duct tape, etc. Then I spent twenty minutes in the rain at the gas station trying to fill up my tires and get a 'low inflation' indicator to go off, to no avail. Finally just drove up to the dealership, which was nice enough to check out the tires and valves and refill 'em for free. So everyone should go out and buy a Ford today.
Hopefully someone from the company will read this someday and send me a coupon for a free car.

Apparent I'm A Parent

You know you're elbow-deep in daddyhood when you give your dogs a treat and then ask them if they thought it was "yummy."

Planned Parenthood

With a baby due on Dec 14thish, and Ryan having been born a week before his due date, we're not really sure when Girlie Gottrich will bring herself forth onto that great night. Although Grandad is hoping for a Dec 7th expungement, that would sort of cut into some delicious daughter-in-law-cake-making time.
It hit me epiphinously -- Ainsley should work on her exwhoomation taking place on December 10th, because it'd be the same numbers: Ryan born on 10/21, the girl born on 12/10.
THEN!
Ooh! How about super early, plenty of Christmas Cushion, and have the unpregnancificatory sequence take place on the first day of the month: we'd have palindromic children! 10/21, and 12/01! And we could name her Nayr! Which Ainsley says is a hair remover. But still!

Place your bets.

Danzheimers

We have to use our ID Cards to log in to our computer at work and use many military websites; a card reader scans a computer chip to ensure I am Me, assuming I enter the right password. Dual-level authentication. Maybe certification. I forget the term. Information Assurance at AFIT was so long ago.

Twice last week I was getting dressed for work and realized my ID Card was sitting in my computer. Which wouldn't be a huge deal if I didn't need it to get on base.
I was able to talk to the guards out front and show my work badge and they were good enough to let me in. Probably get that a lot.
So the second time it happened, I decided to leave my car keys by the reader as a gentle reminder.
And it worked! Walked out with my ID Card.

But I forgot my keys.

A Boy and His Weed Whacker

Ryan loves the back yard. Loves going up up up up the small ramp up to the garden shed, leaning back against the doors, and directing me to entertain him. Like throwing Bailey the ball. Or to "go get it" when it rolls down the hill. Loves to shuffle through the million and a half leaves. Loves his sandbox. Loves to go into the tool room and request a "hamma" to go tap tap tap on the ground, any piece of wood, a dog....
Doesn't love the lawn mower. When it's on.
But we tried the weed whacker on Saturday. RrrrRRRRRRR!
"Off?" says Ryan.
So we had to let him squeeze the trigger a few times. Get the hang of it. So he can earn his allowance next summer.

Ryan is still getting over his nasty cold, and skipping his nap on Saturday (actually, "bouncing" would be a better verb) probably didn't help. He was good and snackered by 7pm, so even though the rest of the western world got an extra hour of sleep, moving the clocks back only meant that he woke up at 6:15 Sunday morning.

Which was fine because we had a house to clean. Ainsley hosted a "Tastefully Simple" party so the proceeds could go to La Leche League (a.k.a. "Ma-Mas for Ta-Tas"). It was held during a Redskins game, so that shows how passionate Ainsley is about the organization. She was lamenting the fact that only a few ladies came over to sample the wares, but that just meant there were more leftovers for Ryan and me.

We also used part of the weekend maneuvering the furniture in the guest room-cum-nursery, which meant finding a home for a headboard and footboard, which meant moving everything around in the storeroom, which meant that we bought too small a house. Because we have precisely the correct amount of crap.