No-Fly Zone

Friday night we threw a party for 80 of our closest Attache friends at the home of the USAF Band, a sort of post-tour-to-Texas gathering to hand out photo books, reminisce and eat baked brie. The band played a few Western-themed songs before the Singing Sergeants busted out some tunes of their own (including the most beautiful a capela version of "O Shenandoah" I've ever heard), before a couple singers came out in leather chaps to sing excerpts from "Annie Get Your Gun." A grand night, with everyone seeming very pleased by the turnout and the event.

But when I got in my car that night, the "Service Breaks Soon" light came on, so I had to slap it in the shop the next morning to learn that some rotor ring was ground down and would have been covered if my warranty hadn't expired three weeks ago. Luckily, we got it back before driving out to eastern West Virginia with my Dad to celebrate his retirement from productive GDP contribution.

We were supposed to hit the barn after stopping by Winchester and getting the chance to fly in the backseat of a WWII-era fighter jet (Christmas present from Dad back in the day when he had a job and could afford such stuff), but it was called due to heavy winds. We decided to go out to Ainsley's folks anyway on the offchance we could do it on the way back Sunday, but it turned out even windier. Still, a lovelier way to spend a weekend I cannot fathom. Except for those hours between 3:13 and 5:45 a.m., ERIN. But bless her heart, she's teething. 26 at once, it would seem from her attitude. She's to the point where she'll ask for something very specifically (ice, a book, 'down'), and once you provide said such, it's exactly what she DIDN'T want all a-sudden, so the fists go the eyes, she crouches like a catcher, and loses her breath crying.
So that's fun.

Blot on the Landscape

I was invited to the British Embassy last night by His Excellency the Ambassador and his wife the Lady -- I thought everyone in the office got an invite, as these invitations usually come in (I still get ones addressed to the person I replaced last July). But it seems these were more personal invites, thanking folks from various government and commercial agencies who have supported the Brits over the past year. Unfortunately, the two attaches I know very well weren't there, so I ended up hanging out with the only fellow I did know, a USAF officer who works on the International Affairs side of the house. We explored the gardens, ate finger food passed around, admired the basset hound rubbing his bottom on the cobblestone patio. The place was a mansion, like something transported from East Anglia via helicopter and plopped into the middle of Massachusetts Ave. I wondered if the employees drove on the left once they got inside the gates. No one seemed to have a good answer for that, even a bloke I met from the Foreign Service Office aptly named Clive, who nevertheless tried to get me a sausage roll from a waitstaff member, impressed as he was by both my accidental slight accent (can't help it when I'm around 'em all) as well as my longing for a good pork pie.
Just not the same, Clive.

It was early enough that Ryan was still awake when I got home, so I surprised him when he called for Mommy to bring him some more water. I hope I can someday record his genuine, happy, "hi" when I come home. Twice, even, he said it. "hy-ee.." he says with a funny accent. I could stand to hear that forever. As it is, my voicemail at work only keeps his "I pooped in the potty!" messages on the system for two weeks.

The lad is also standing up to pee, thank you very much, so we're learning about the difference between gravity and aiming.

Not to be outdone, Erin can identify a circle out loud when properly shown one.
There's another thing I need to get on tape.

Nary a tickle

I'm not sure what I had to break to get it, but I sure had 7 years' good luck thus far since the hence of matrimonial betrothelment.

The other connotation for marriages at the 7-year mark was abated by my gift to Ainsley of a large tub of anti-itch lotion. She's to take a dabble every day for 365 days.
"No need," she says. Aww.

Home Alonish

A couple weekends ago, I brought the kids over to my dad's to hang out and eat open-faced and slimy-hands peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and kick the ball and push the "That was Easy" button and run around in a circle, having so much fun that when it was time to go home for nap, Ryan didn't want to leave, close to tears. He locked on to something my dad mentioned about sleeping over some night after he retires, and begged to let him stay and take a nap. We gave it a try, and it worked splendidly, to the point of Ryan waking up halfway through to let Grandad know he had to take the Browns to the Super Bowl, if you follow, and then going back to bed and falling asleep some more.

With that successful trial, we decided to ask my dad to let Ryan spend the night so we could go out and celebrate our anniversary and leave our babysitter with only one mouth to shoosh. We packed his Bob the Builder Backpack(TM), as he declared "I'm going on a trip!" He was just adorable bounding up the front sidewalk to my dad's, waving us g'bye, seeming to know that he was going to be spoiled rotten with yummy desserts and hot dogs for breakfast, or whatever grandads do behind closed doors.

My wife and I had coincidentally both found a new French restaurant near Occoquan, a stone's roll down the hill from my dad's, called "Bistro L'hermitage", and we had a lovely four-course meal that took over two and a half hours to enjoy, including a third dessert the owner brought us on a red heart-shaped plate sporting a lit candle. It was wonderful to not be rushed, to not have to worry about Erin being (hands waving in the air) "awl da!", to chat about life. And mangle French on the menu.

We had planned on going to see a movie, as per our once-a-year-opportunity tradition, but we were tired enough that we just went home, Ainsley pouting a mother's lip, missing her little boy something fierce. As it was, she worried all night and ended up getting up at 4 (after being awake since 2:45) and completing little projects around the house to get her mind off things. Or at least that's what she told me, as I slept past 6.

Year 3 of Gorapproved Transport

Driving less, saving less, but still: at this pace I'm a year away from breaking even on the extra price of the hybridization of my Ford Escape. Everything after is cake. Or icing on said such. Pick your proverb.
So in three years, we've driven 28K miles, averaging close to 31mpg, and we've poured nearly $2,500 worth of gas into the tank. But if we'd bought a standard SUV, we'd have spent close to $4,000. If my car had a Facebook page, I'd click "I'm a Fan."

Another thing I realized the other day: huzzah for the left-side gas caps. Our old Suburu had its tank access portal on the right rear of the car, which meant that in order to get out of the car and open the cap, I'd have to walk around 3.2 seconds more, each way, than just stepping down to the left rear side.
I've filled up my Escape 80 times. Because I fill up on the left, I've had 512 more seconds to live my life in otherwise happier pursuits. 8 and a half minutes of Me time, not Mobil time. As much as Ainsley loved her car, given these statistics, I'm certain she'd agree wholeheartedly that I'm a loon.

Girl Talk

The below video may not sufficiently highlight how verbose Erin has become. Beyond that, she seems to understand the vocabulary of a preschooler, able to respond with a "mm-hmm!" and a nod when we ask her stuff. Words that have just popped out this month: Bath, Yes ("yeth"), Frog, Flag, Turtle, Purple, Blue, Ball, Bowl, Rhino, Watch, Down, Hawk, Bucket, Shoes, and sort of "All Done" (we get the gist).

Unfortunately, she has also learned the word "no". Not in a bad, talking-back kind of way, but when she's crying and we ask her if she needs A, B, or C, she can tell us "no" and pout out the bottom lip and make us feel even worse about not understanding her immediate vital needs. So that's a hoot.

Worse still is that she seems to be teething again after her gums were in hibernation for the winter, leaving her with 6 teeth for the last 6 or so months. She's drooling, crabby, and getting up a bit more, though still sleeping through* the night more often than not.

*if that's what you count 5:30 in the morning as being

Still, we need her to sleep 16 hours one of these days so Mommy can get healthy. Ainsley's on week four of being sick, now officially with laryngitis, a sinus infection, and probably strep throat. Plus a ridiculous pollen count outside doesn't help. Nor the husband bringing in weird diseases from Morocco.

Erinphatic

Proof that my daughter can multi-task...and win American Idol some day.

Oundstone Oundstone Oundstone

Well, that was a fun way to spend a Monday morning off.

I get the test results in a week.

One Helluva Roar

I took a Friday off to take the fam to the DoD-only Air Show at Andrews AFB, before your regular riff-raff get to go on Saturday and Sunday.
After finally finding a parking spot past the undescribed signs for "Blue", "Tan", "Orange", etc. Parking, I finally just stopped and asked a random airman in an orange vest where the hell we were supposed to go.
"General parking is over by the shopping center," she said.
"How about Lieutenant Colonel parking?"
"What?"

The kids enjoyed the static displays of jets and helicopters and WWII planes, but Erin would like to write to her congressman about this "F-22" business with the noise and the loudness and the hurting of the chest.
Still, despite her trying to bury her entire head into my armpit, it was an amazing sight watching that machine do things an aircraft just shouldn't be doing. It maneuvered like a kite.

At the end, it did a final fly-by with a WWII-era P-51, and a Cosby Show-era A-10. Not something you see on your average pay day.
The highlight of the afternoon was watching the Thunderbirds do a twenty-minute show of close- and/or upside-down flying. Got some great pics with my new telephoto lens. I remember taking pictures at previous air shows, you could barely make out the white dots in the sky following small trails of smoke. Now? You can almost see the sweat dripping on the canopy.

So Ryan would very much like to be a pilot now.
Erin fell asleep. My little flower child.

Snausagefest

Ainsley realized the other day that we're now living with five male pets. That's it. Nary a uvula among them. Or whatever. I didn't really pay attention in health class, what with Lisa Whatsherface there and all.

Ainsley also commented how weird it is to just have two dogs, and how "normal" that is. I mean, we could pass for a respectable couple now. Could maybe even get on-base housing or an overseas assignment. She can walk our dogs all by herself, even. Two. For the first time in like 7 years.

During the meanwhilst, tattooed Bailey black arm band notwithstanding, life goes on. Just got back from a week around the country with some awfully gracious members of the Royal Moroccan Air Force, then spent a relaxing Sunday out at the barn for Mother's Day (I gave my mother-in-law 100% recycled toilet paper and organic chapstick, so she can "work both ends", her husband said). The three non-me's stayed an extra two days since I had to be right back at work on Monday, but Dad came along for the day and the ride home, too. Great to see Ryan enjoying both grandfathers, chasing them, asking to be chased, encouraging them to chase each other... even Erin got into the game, with the cutest little grandpa-copycat monster roar you've ever heard.

So my glasses will be here in 3 to 5 weeks. I 'failed' a flight physical eye exam in April (being rated 20/25 two days before I came down with conjunctivitis, mind you), and although the optometrist today said that if I were a civilian, he wouldn't prescribe anything for my 'slow' 20/20, he went ahead and filled in an order for glasses so I could be correctable to 20/20 for my exam upstairs. I don't have any problems seeing, but I have to admit the itty bitty letters were clearer with through the better lenses.

My wife with the 20/4003 vision would like me to shut the hell up.