Panini Party

Got back yesterday evening, hotel-lagged and incoherent, so Ainsley sent me to bed at 9ish. But not after being amazed at the transformation of my children. Ryan's twoism was magnified by a lack of nap, but he's alluh sudden climbing into his own booster, thank you very much. And Erin is just huge and her hair's touching her ears and she's found a little personality that Ainsley likes to call her "Pterodactyl Voice."
Dad came over the next morning to walk the dogs, and we thought we might try Erin in the wagon, since she's sitting up so well. She made it about halfway before I switched her to the bjorn on my chest. Not done with milestones, Dad decided to throw a baseball to Ryan in the backyard, who twice hit it with a bat. *sniff*
After naps, I told Ainsley I wanted to go out to eat, just the four of us, to celebrate her birthday before her family came to visit the next day. Only instead we went to our newest Panera Bread, where a bunch of Ainsley's friends were waiting with presents (I'd coordinated over e-mail before my trip to the Pacific Northwest). I told everyone not to bring presents, but nobody obeyed. Heck, even I gave her some early gifts, appropriate for the occasion:

• WD-40


• Four teas


• A forty-ounce malt liquor

But her friend trumped me by bringing a huge bag with 40 individually wrapped presents. Hmph.

Drunk Safari

We toured a Boeing factory north of Seattle, huge hangars (literally 1 kilometer long) with various 737s and 787s being built. Had a bit of a snafu with only 34 headsets provided to hear the guide, when there were about 40 of us (the spouses had the morning off), so it was a struggle to hear what was being said among all the construction. Still pretty cool to see, though. Picture was taken in front of an engine that's probably as big as my garage. Including the roof.
The General audibled again, so while everyone had lunch there, we headed back to the hotel before turning around and visiting the local Museum of Flight, headed by a former NASA astronaut. The General is on the advisory board for the AF Museum, so he wanted to get a tour and ask if there was anything the Air Force could do for her. Missed out on getting hit in the head by a tossed fish at the famous Pike Market downtown, but I enjoyed getting a personalized, behind-the-scenes tour (they have a really cool space exhibit I could have stayed in all day).
Our last big meal together was on the coast, waves lapping below our balcony, a seagull perched in a nest. Traditionally (so I hear), the attaches give thanks and gifts upon our return, but the Air Commodore said that he didn't like that time period since everyone's tired and just wants to go home, so he used the opportunity during dessert. It was a wonderful experience -- it wasn't just polite applause, but a resounding, foot-stomping roar from the crowd, thanking the Air Staff for their hard work -- they even called me up to accept a small gift bag ("What?! I work at DTRA!"), and I was very touched. ("I hope we haven't scared you away," whispered the Commodore's wife.)
Back at the hotel, another hospitality suite was set up (the attaches actually provide the alcohol, specialties from their country), but there were only about a dozen or so folks mulling around, so I was looking forward to an early night. But suddenly, a group of twenty of them came roaring in -- literally -- in their silly Hotel Monaco animal-patterned robes. (Also pants, for the most part.) There were zebras and leopards and one giraffe on the German. It's like a kid's book for drunk adults. The colonel from Malaysia got up on a chair, banged a plate with a fork, and told everyone to make 'grr' faces for the camera. Everyone was having a blast. Amazingly, after five long, activity-packed days. They were still having fun.
I helped clean up the drinks when it was over, boxing up the extra unopened bottles for whatever next activity, then, after making sure I had everything the General needed in the morning, repacking my bags, and checking the computer one last time, I went to bed at 1, with a 5 o'clock wake-up scheduled.

His inseam is Generally shorter

Flew down to McChord AFB (near Tocoma, WA) for our final leg, with a fairly decent buffet lunch at the Officer's Club before getting some briefings from a few different organizations on base. The wing commander personally drove the General, so I sat in the back seat and took the opportunity to check my voicemail in case his office had tried to call. But instead I had a message from my wife, telling me I was on her 'shitlist' because her darling angel 2-year-old son had just requested to listen to "Meggy Death" in the car.
Unforutnatley, I spewed forth a raspberry crack-up, so I had to explain to the two seniors up front what I'd heard.
Heading up to our hotel in Seattle, we had a Chatty Cathy of a bus driver, thinking that telling foreign attaches about the local traffic cameras and television studios was interesting -- I tried to give him a hint that some people were trying to catch some shuteye after an early morning, but my attempts to grab the mike proved too subtle.
I escorted the General and his wife to their room, where we found in the closet two leopard-patterend robes -- but not the General's garment bag. So that was a fun forty-five minutes during which it couldn't be found. (Phone call at thirty minutes: "Sir, it's in his closet." "You know, that was the first place we looked. Try again.") But it turned up, and I was able to keep both my job and my spare tie (wasn't sure what he'd do for pants) while slapping on a suit for an exclusive dinner a third of the way up the Space Needle. (I'm getting paid for this??) The weather, I failed to mention, was absolutely spectacular our entire trip, which I'm sure contributed to the General's good mood.
He asked me to stand with him for a picture (with his camera) on the observation deck to prove I was there, so all seemed forgiven for my earlier lack of suituational awareness.

What's 'cajones' in Portugese?

Got briefings from Elmendorf's Wing leadership, to include another 3-star general -- everywhere we went, in fact, we were treated like VIPs, and not just because we had the Assistant Vice Chief of Staff on our trip. They truly went out of their way to make our military guests welcome. While they all got a tour of one side of the base, my General called an audible and wanted to go check out the new fitness center, so I went with him, should he need a breath mint. I was also his official coin hander-outer repository. I was trying to figure out a way to stick them up my wrist brace so they could come out one at a time like a change person at Vegas. Or Spiderman.
After a quick tour of a C-17, we changed into casual clothes and drove back down along the inlet to have lunch at a 5-star restaurant 2500ft up the side of Mount Alyeska (a ski resort in the winter). While some attaches took pictures in the snow, others remarked at my extreme lack of coat in the ~30 degree weather (hey, it's a summer tour, after all (in Alaska, the Brazilian reminded me.))
After a quick tour through a nearby animal conservatory (with orphaned or sick bison, caribou, moose, and others), it was back into a blazer for a catered meal in the main floor of the Alaskan Heritage Museum, where our Air Commodore exchanged gifts with the Elmendorf 3-star.
I went to bed a little after midnight, wit the sun still setting on the horizon, before having to get up at 4:15, with the sun already well in the sky.
Now I know why the Russians gave the place away.

Otterly beautiful

Up a little after 5 to download and print out news for the General to read on the next flight, as instructed by his execs back home. Went to knock on the General's door when his wife answered it and mock-cowered from my raised fist, so that was a running gag the rest of the week; me waiting outside their door (or an elevator, in one case) and raising a fist as it opened. To at least pretend I was on the ball. I only lost him four more times during the week, so...
Three-hour flight up to Elmendorf AFB in Anchorage, Alaska, then onto more buses to take us down the one highway in the state, along a beautiful inlet between mountain ranges and through a 2.5-mile one-way tunnel down to Whittier for a 4.5hr glacier cruise around the Prince William Sound.
I was unimpressed for the first hour, as the captain/tour guide kept pointing out glaciers way in the distance as we chugged along at 40mph in the middle of the water, but we soon were take up smaller passages and right up to glaciers 400 feet tall, or so they said -- it was hard to get our bearings. At one point, a bear was spotted, and the captain was telling us where to look, but all I could see was this little black thing that looked like my cat Tucker. Only Tucker doesn't jump over waterfalls. Saw mountain goats, saw eagles, saw glaciers crumbling away and crashing into the sea, causing our boat to rock from the waves. Truly amazing. I took cell phone pictures but I can't seem to get my phone to send them to my account. Grr. (Since I knew I was going to be escorting the General, I figured I wouldn't have that much free time to take pictures, so I didn't bring a regular camera.)
There was some downtime while we sailed between glaciers, so I was able to talk to some of the staff and find out how they put one of these trips together. Seems seamless from the outside, but rather daunting from within. Also got a chance to talk to a young attache couple from Norway, who probably weren't as impressed as the guys from, say, Algeria, but still. They asked where I live, and I asked if they knew where Potomac Mills Mall was. In unison, they said, "IKEA!"
Later in the trip, I asked the spouse how to say "Hello" in Norwegian: It's "Hello."
Got back into town and piled everyone into our hotel, and then we had 'leisure time' to shop and eat on our own. Still didn't get to sleep until after 10.

I saw no ports

After going to bet after midnight, up at 4:15 to leave the house by 5 to get to Andrews AFB for a six-day TDY with the new gang and 72 of our closest foreign friends. My next boss asked me to tag along as an observer to see what one of the attache trips is like, but at the last minute I was informed that I was also going to be the 3-star general's aide.
We all gathered in the VIP lounge at the terminal, got to watch Condeleeza Rice walk up the steps to her Air Force Whatever airplane, and mingled over coffee. The first person I met was a Turkish general, so I said good morning and asked how he was in Turkish, winning brownie points with the boss standing next to him. I gravitated towards the Aussies and New Zealanders at first, but tried to say hello to a few others until they could figure out who this new guy was.
Charter flight direct to the Air National Guard Base in Portland (Oregon) where we piled into two buses and headed downtown for lunch. The baked crawfish penne was aMAzing, as was watching how a restaurant could be organized to feed 80 people.
The numerous attache spouses that came on the trip (~30) headed off to see some Japanese Rose Garden, while we took the attaches to some briefings from the base leadership and some hands-on equipment demos, before heading to our hotel and a coat-and-tie dinner next door. After I lost my general at the hospitality suite while talking to the British Air Commodore (one-star equivalent) about the Civil War (both ours and his), I figured it was time to turn in (but put an ear to the general's door next to mine to ensure that's where he'd ended up). Went to bed around 11, or 2pm east coast time.

Two for Two

Well, chalk another one up for gravity. And my incessant ability to keep my children on their changing tables.
Granted, this one was Ryan's fault. Acting like a nutbar, bouncing around on his bottom, kicking his legs in the air, flailing about. I turned around to get a trinket off the knickknack shelf to occupy him, when I heard a bump, a swish, and a thump, with the boy face-first on the ground perpendicular to the table. Momentarily silence/confusion, then crying. Checked his mouth, teeth all good, still had a nose, I told him, so all was okay. Fortunately, he had just sort of swung his legs too far off the table, and the momentum had him more 'jump' than 'fall' off the table, but boy did we learn a lesson that day. The pagan we. He and I. More I. Moron.

Momentary Mia Moment

Erin accidentally said "Mama" today. Probably not counting as an official 'first word', per se as such as it were would it be if you will what it is, since she wasn't even looking at Ainsley at the time or trying to get her attention... just seems to have found her Campbell's Soupsayer 'mmm' sounds and started experimenting with them.

This, after a six-month check-up at-the doc-tor Mon-day, where she continued her trend of normalcy, and also weighed 16.4 lbs and was a little over 27 inches long, making her in the 100th percentile for cuteness.

Ryan's first word was 'baby', since he heard us say it a lot. Based on that, Erin's first word may very well be "Ryan, take the green bean out of your ear."

Quit breathing on my stromboli

After feeling nauseous Monday and Tuesday, I started to wonder what drug addicts see in Oxycontin, but after taking it only at night, MAN did I get some nice sleep. Apparently Ryan woke up twice the last two nights, and I didn't hear a peep. (oops!) Also woke up at 7:15 today to learn that Ainsley had been up with Erin since 5. "Say Good Morning, Erin. Say Good Night, Erin," said Ainsley, two ships in opposite stages of tedium passing in the stairwell.
I thought I'd give Ainsley a short break, so later that monring I took Erin and Ryan out to run some errands and pick up lunch, which went well until Erin fell asleep in the van on the way back. I tried to play Megadeth to keep her awake (Ryan's choice! I swear! "Ryan, do you want to listen to 'Cows' or 'Megadeth'?" "Meggy Deth!") but she was an out puppette. Until the instant I opened the van door, of course. So Ainsley enjoyed a cold panini an hour later.

Yesterday, the office was nice enough to give me and another guy in my branch our going-away plaques and some snazzy Defense Meritorious Service Medals for being meritoriously defensive, while also receiving some lovely parting words, handshakes, and hugs, before YAY MORE FRICKLES at "Bungalows." Only lunch took two and a half hours for ten of us...started out with a half-hour delay because the computers were down, allowing me to reminisce back in my college restaurant time where we had silly archaic devices called pencils to write orders down.

Driving home on a nice night, I thought it would be a change to walk up the main road to a restaurant and eat outside, but we ran out of sidewalk (typical in this county), so rather than risk turning my kids into stroller pancakes, we ate some instead at IHOP. Erin sucked on a chunk of watermelon.

Tonight we hit the mall to buy me some new dress shoes that are not in '80s fashion, raid a Linens 'n Stuff going-out-of-business sale, and grab a quick bite, hampered by the fact that some very strange 8-year-old decided to pull up a chair and grab Erin's arm, then sit next to me, leaning on our table, not saying a word, talking about the baby...very freaky stuff. I half expected her to grab my wallet and run, but she was just this personal space-invading, clueless wonder, not being minded by her extremely obese obliviot family members the next table over, each thumbing their cell phones. I finally politely asked her to go away so we could eat.

Our gutters are fixed. So of course part of my backyard fence fell over and the attic fan is about ready to explode.

Reproductive Benefits

After three man-years of child-rearing, it was nice to get five hours of reimbursatory fun.

Hit the hospital for a quick follow-up on my wrist, where more x-rays and a consult with a sports physician (yay! steroids!) were ordered. Then Ainsley, Ryan, and Erin swung up to "the building" to join in on DTRA's annual Family Day. Ryan rode a horse, a train, and an airplane (and wanted to ride the nuclear materials sniffer robot), then we had a picnic in the shade.
(Erin rode daddy for a bit.)
Seemed to enjoy themselves on a beautiful, warm/not hot day, and I was touched by the number of times I heard other people, talking amongst themselves, comment on how adorable my children were. Ryan caused a bit of a stir by blocking an entrance to a doorway when he suddenly had to dance to Shania Twain's "Feel Like a Woman".

We now have a new roof and new gutters, and after I get the contractors to fix the roof and the gutters (sigh), we'll hopefully have a leak- and drip-proof house. Fingers crossed.

Right Back to Monkey Town

If you wake up with a crick in your neck, which has a relatively small surface area, what is it called when it's your lower back? A crock? A crack (not that low)? A crikey? Cricker? Crickest?
The crucks of the matter is that Sunday my back felt worse than it had in a while, and the hot tub was no help for once. It's for sale now, if anyone wants it.
However, Sunday was a naked picnic in a meadow full of funnel cakes compared to how I felt Monday when I woke. Can't say 'woke up'. I didn't get that far. How's woke two-thirds?
Back being squeezed by an imaginary King Kong, pain and pressure down my right (?!) leg, in the front (as opposed to the back of my left leg, per previous centuries of herniative disc matters), and down around my kneecap. Had to lean on things to move, and because of my wrist brace, I put pressure on my knuckles, like a simian with a bad haircut and larger nose.
Well, this won't do.
Drove myself to the ER, and after three hours, I had a Toradol IV muscle relaxant seeping through my veins, which allowed me to stand up long enough to get in line for some Valium, Percocet, and Naproxen. And also a note from Epstein's Mother's Doctor excusing me from work for the next two days so I could become a temporary drug addict.
After the first dose of all three, I was feeling pretty good, buoyed by the fact that I finally got my computer CD burner to work after six months of hoping it would happen by itself, and that the guys who showed up at the ungodly hour of 6:42am to give us a new roof were done eighty-four seconds before a thunderstorm rolled through.
But by the time dinner rolled around, I started to feel hot, light-headed, and nauseous, with a sensation that bugs were crawling on my neck. Ainsley sent me to bed after dinner. I felt bad, but she apparently got the kids to sleep relatively easily, and enjoyed two hours of personal time.
This morning, my back was still stiff, so when I got to work, I popped two more pills, knowing I wouldn't have to drive for six hours.
Bad move. Come 9:30, I was hovering over a men's room twallet, drooling waterfalls, but stopping short of revisiting breakfast, amazingly. Just felt dreadful all morning.
Ironically, once the medicine wore off, I started feeling better, and can now walk around and do normal stuff, with only occasional twinges. Even walked the three dogs while Bjorning Erin on my chest, with Ryan following close behind carrying the poop bags. Here's hoping it was just a temporary setback. Har!

Look Mighty Cute in Them Genes

Twas a great weekend, and not just because we got our babysitter back.
My father returned from a near-fortnight in Italy and England, after tragicomically requiring us to drive him to the airport on two successive days after Dulles decided to close down with an armada of airplanes stuck on the taxiways, unable to take off in never-ending storms.
Erin had an inquisitive look on her when he came over to tell us about his trip, as Grandad had been gone for 8% of her life. But she was proud to show off her sittin'-up skills and chewin' on stuff skills and wearing a strawberry dress skills.
Saturday Ainsley took Erin grocery shopping in the early morning, so Ryan and I slept in until 8:15. Still reveling in my academic freedom, I did yard work, trimmed trees, sat in the hot tub, cleaned out my Basket o' Crap with expired coupons dating back to March, and did absolutely nothing worthwhile on the computer. (Youtube is really amazing for watching obscure 80's metal videos.)
A friend of Ainsley's had a Hawaiian-themed cookout, so we all dressed in our finest flowered frocks complete with patriotic Flag Day leis, and were glad to see at least two other people with flowered shirts. There were five or six other kids there, all under 5, so a bit of a madhouse with kids running in circles, spilling bottles of bubble juice on the porch, throwing beads. Ryan played by himself for a time, but he finally got into the spirit of togetherness, and contributed his own unique style of tongue-flapping babble that the other kids joined in on.
Plus, this amazing kid of ours, is the type of child who, entirely on his own, finishes his lollipop, walks twenty feet into the kitchen, lifts up the lid to the garbage can, and throws away the stick.
Of course, his second lollipop had him bouncing off the walls at home at 8 o'clock, right when Erin crashes hard, so trying to get these two to bed at the same time is a challenge. (Friday night, Erin watched a KISS concert with me until finally falling asleep at 11:47.)
Father's Day was fantastic, festooned with gifts and cards and creamcheesey spinachy eggs and biscuits. Later in the morning, we worked on the Father's Day Gottrich Family Project, getting everyone (even the pets) to dip a hand/paw in paint and slap it on a white shirt for me to enjoy in perpetuity. It was kind of a pain, particularly the offended pets, but it really turned out lovely. I tried to take Dad out to see Indiana Jones 4, but it was sold out, so we went back home, scooped everyone up, and took them out to Hard Times Cafe, which has become our staple for quick hot food, and the Cheers to Ryan's Norm, since waitstaff are starting to remember us now.

Slo-mo D.Go ergo so-so

I have found a doctor who is willing to give me a permanent medical profile that will a) prohibit me from having to run in a fit test and b) not kick me out of the air force. The unspoken c), it being 'permanent' and all, means that I don't have to go back every year and explain my life history to a new doctor and get my fitness exemption updated for another 365 days.
However:
A) This doctor is in the Army. He claims to have spoken to an Air Force doctor, who told him that the Air Force 'should' accept the Army form, since I work on an Army Base.
B) I'm not working on an Army base in three and a half weeks
C) The doctor is leaving in five days
So stand by.
At any rate, the couldn't give me a permanent profile for my back and a temporary one for my wrist, so I'm on a temporary for both until my wrist is cleared up (which isn't looking good) and then the permanent one will be in force.
We'll see.
At a different rate, in lieu of running around a track six times, I sat on a stationary bike hooked up to a computer, peddled at 50rpm at progressively higher resistance, and out spat a number that tells me how well my heart is converting blood into iron or oxygen into plasma or sweat into methane or something. It's all very scientific.
But thanks to rides with Ryan in the trailer and weekly scoots to the library, I outspat the best number ("46!" Ainsley: "What does that mean?" "I don't know! Isn't it great?") I've seen in a decade or so of taking the silly test.
So I am officially numerically more fit than the Air Force has every known me to be.
Time to celebrate with a pizza.

Thought Control? Unnecessary.

Had a bit of a scare: showed up at the testing center ten minutes early, and the lady says, "Did you get my e-mail?"
Not so much.
Especially since they had sent it to my schriever.af.mil account. Circa 2004.
Apparently the system was down.
Great.
But she had written to ensure I'd brought the test confirmation e-mail so they knew what test to give me. I'd happened to print it out just before leaving so I'd have the phone number.
So phewph.

Even phewpher, I got 32 questions right out of 36 for an 89% score. Last test, done. It wasn't easy, but after reading over 1000 pages since March and watching 3 hours of video lectures, enough crap stuck to my synapses to pass.
Good news all around.
Told the family, who were excited for me, not having to stay late at work or go away on Sunday afternoons to study, and although it wasn't meant this way, the initial reaction was like a lance to the stomach:
"Ryan! You get your Daddy back!"

Sonburned

After over 270 pages of Air War College yesterday, I still had about fifty more to read, but figured I should at least spend part of my hard earned DTRA Field Grade Officer of the Quarter One-Day Three-Day Pass (long story) with my family. Since it was about four hundred and seventy-three degrees out, I thought we might all go swimming, but since school is still in session, the pools (with the requisite teenage lifeguard workforce) don't open until 4pm. So we instead went back to a neighborhood 'sprayground' Ainsley had taken the kids to last week.

Ryan again had a blast, though Erin didn't seem to enjoy sitting in an inch of water in a funny hat. There were some older kids there (~6-9) acting like ick-prays with water pistols and such, but Ryan held his own. Watering can.

Got everyone home and to bed, then rode my bike to the library to study and watch video lectures on my computer. Got home late, just as the family van was heading down Pocomoke, so Ryan got to see me in action (and ask if I had a good ride today).

Unfortunately, getting upstairs and ready for a shower revealed the sunscreen we'd used was either not powerful enough, eight years too old, or comes off in heavy-duty fountain spray far too easily. Though only his shoulders got it, my entire back looked like salsa.

So we'll stick to indoor pools from now on.

Or Ryan's spray rubber animals in the tub.

Take Me Out to the Short Game

Ventured back out to the unfortunately named Pfphitzger's Stadium to join all of our friends brave enough to withstand the stands, 98 degrees in the shade, of which there was not much. After last week's thunderstorms, I'd re-invited six or seven friends and their families; Ainsley another half-dozen.

Yes, well.

Seems my New Mexican and her African upbringings have made us hardier folks.

Or everyone else just didn't feel like paying $2.50 for an airline-snack-sized bag of Cracker Jacks.

But still! It wasn't that bad when some clouds parked themselves in front of the blazing sun, Ryan had fun running up down the bleachers (why do little boys have to get up on the highest step?), dancing to the batter intro music on the loudspeakers, joining the crowd in whatever they were applauding, and asking what the hell the big blue thing was.

This is not my child.

However, just as I gathered the clan at the end of the top of the 7th inning for a rousing rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game", the fans started cheering, the billboard lit up "We WON!" and announcer stated that the second game of the double-header would start in thirty minutes.

What?

I knew about the double header, knew that fireworks wouldn't happen until after the 2nd game, knew we we'd be long-gone and (har!) asleep by then. But I did not know that meant the first game was going to emulate a tiny-tot T-ball match and quit before my son gets to sing the 'baseball song'. I stomped down the ramp, readying my complaint that I'd paid a steep price ($0) so my son could enjoy a complete baseball game, never mind that the admission fee was good for two games, but still...

Then they announced that they were going to go ahead and do a between-game stretch and cranked up the ol' organ, so I had to run back into the bleachers to be a part of the throng joining in.

Ryan didn't sing a word.

But he had a great grin on his face, as if to say, "Hey. Lookit all these people who know my song."

As it was, the fireworks started early, in the form of yet another thunderstorm (our 112th this Spring). Amazingly, the hour-long meteorological version of "Stomp" didn't wake up our daughter, plum exhausted from the day's excitement.

I've now purchased us season tickets.

But pretty much given up on trying to get out of Ryan's room before he's asleep, as he turns into a puddle of scrunched-faced tears and high-pitched 'no's, even when the sky's not exploding outside his window. He wants a new diaper. He wants a song. He wants a hug. He wants mommy. He wants to watch TV (!). He wants to go downstairs. He wants up. But mostly, he just wants me to lay on floor. I can't explain to him that I have other things to do, that my back hurts, that I have to study, that his toy box is on fire downstairs, nothing. My only chance at escape the other night was when he said, "Please go away....and get Mommy."

Last night I resorted to bringing my Air War College book and reading it by the night light until he fell asleep past ten.

So I may pass my test on Tuesday, but any future eye test is seriously in doubt.

Up. And at 'em

For a lark, while Ainsley was in the kitchen, and Erin was being a fussbucket in my arms, I put her down on her blanket in front of half a toy, a hand on her back.

Well, let's just see what happens when we move the hand.

Huh.

She wobbled, that weeble, but she didn't fall down.

Several minutes she hovered there, kicking her feet on the toy more than using her hands (we think she's part mermaid). But she seemed to enjoy the new perspective and the idea of balance and self control and dearth of boring ceilingscapes.

Which means I'm due to accidentally let her fall on her face again.

Ainsley had also noticed, over the last few weeks, an intense glare from Erin whenever we ate, as she watched each morsel disappear from our hand/fork into our mouth/lap (Ryan only). She had a very Oliver!-esque "More?" look about her, so based on her new found standing, we busted out the ol' high chair.

LET'S GO ALREADY WITH THE FOOD.

The sweet potato in the oven wasn't ready yet, so Erin's first food had to be different than Ryan's -- several scraped spoonfuls of very ripe banana.

She approved.

Five months, three weeks, one day old.

Goulash is next.

Asha

We said goodbye to another kitty today.

Asha, the prettiest, softest, most well-meaning cat in the history of the world. Ainsley had raised her for fifteen years. And had given her that great name -- it means "Life". After not eating for a week, being diagnosed with kidney failure, and not rebounding after being fed baby food and protein from a tube, we decided it was time. As hard as it is, the good thing is that she is no longer suffering. Now it's our turn.

The bedroom she's occupied for four years is a quiet, lonely expanse when we don't get to say "Hi, Asha Bear" whenever we open the door. We were able to co-exist on a queen-sized bed, usually with her on or about my head. She had a funny way of licking the air when you scritched her lower back just right, and the most delightful, friendly, cockle-warming mew when she knew she was about to get fed.

She was a wonderful cat.

When I am reincarnated as King of the Universe, I'm going to ensure that animals never get sick, never feel pain, never have to die with our help. They're just going to evaporate into pixie dust and settle into children's facepaint and give kids one last smile.

Handrecap

Here are things I can not effectively do with a wrist brace on my left hand:

• Snap
• Adjust the seat in my car
• Wash my right hand
• Play the pinkie-intensive guitar chord associated with the second half of "Dust" in "Dust in the Wind"
• Hold a fork upside-down posh-like
• Scratch my left armpit
• Deflect bullets (probably; sure feel like I could try, though, Wonder Woman-style)

Here are things I can only effectively do with a wrist brace on my left hand:

• Emulate Michael Jackson (from the mouth-wiping "Dirty Diana" years)

Third Watch

Sunday started a mite early, but Saturday never really ended for Ainsley, so I can't complain. At 12:35, she'd had all she could stand of Little Miss Sunshine, and brought her into bed with us.
She may as well have hauled in a salmon, what with all the thrashing about and moaning. Or whatever fish do.
I had been somewhat asleep for about two hours, and knew we weren't going to be able to coax, coerce, or bribe Erin into lalaland, so I took her out to the next best thing: TVLand. Figured if she was wide awake, she'd enjoy some VH1 Classic, "The Fugitive", SportsCenter, etc. LOVE channel-surfing while walking around the basement with a sack of potatoes, confusing the cats (who didn't seem to appreciate all the excitement).
At about 1:45, her fussiness would not be moved by different positions or motions, so I went upstairs and defrosted an Ainsley Bube Blanc circa March, and after chugging that down and releasing a hearty belch, she fell asleep in my arms.
Now what.
Who knows how long this will last, so sway back and forth, sway back and forth...
After about twenty minutes, I slid backwards into the Redskins chair, able to keep her asleep. An hour later, when I could no longer stand how itchy my ear was (the torture of parenthood!), i slowly freed a hand -- also allowed more rapid surfing, but honestly, why change the channel when you've got great(ish) 80s Hair Metal Bands all night? AC/DC, Kix, Keel, Ozzy, Warrant, Def Leppard, Dokken.
Apparently, Erin didn't approve, since I looked down and she had placed a fist over her exposed ear.
Glad she was aleep, though, and missed all those "Girls Gone Wild" advertisement. Don't want her getting any bad ideas.
About quarter to four my back couldn't stand the arch it was in any more, so I braved standing up, and was actually able to get Erin all the way upstairs and into her crib, asleep.
She promptly woke up thirty minutes later.
But still. Ainsley got a skoshe more sleep than she normally would have. We'll have to schedule this rotational sanity check again someday.
Hung out at home all morning, then had a lovely soda & cheese lunch on the back porch -- Erin even had her first food to gnaw on, a carrot, like Ryan two years ago.
Back to the library in the afternoon, after a long, detouring, sweaty bike ride around the neighborhood I'm sure the fellow patrons in the Quiet Room appreciated. Pew! And let me tell you how interesting the National Military Strategy is on four hours' sleep. Raced home to mow the lawn before it rained, changed the filters in the hot tub, and further cut a big branch I felled last week into smaller, fireplaceable sections -- Ryan even got to move the saw with me. It took a while. "I do it I do it..." I tried to equate the motion to brushing his teeth, but he doesn't do that every well, either. What he does do well is take any two sticks, put them on his head, and say, "I'm a Reindeer!"