Licking a Memory

End of Line

2009-07-13T22:06:00.002-05:00

After four years, 695 posts, and two children, it's time to put down the pen. It keeps marking up the keys.

I hope you six have enjoyed the blog.

It's been a thin slice of heaven.

Riverside Drive

2009-07-02T21:06:00.005-05:00

So it was a nice sunny day, and I'd gotten sent home a bit early to get a head start on the 3-day holiday weekend.

Why don't we take the kids for a walk around the neighborhood? we said to ourselves and then to our children so they wouldn't think us nuts talking to ourselves.

Great idea! came the pint-sized retort. On a gorgeous day like this, what could go wrong in 5-7 minutes?

....yes, well.

At least we'd had the good luck to think to bring along the strollers.

Erin was a trooper under the blanket, too.

Pushing our little paisley ghost down the avenue...people in cars looking at us strangely...

You had to laugh.

Her Leap Year

2009-07-01T22:32:00.001-05:00

I had to work late on Ainsley's birthday, hobnobbing with the elite, so we delayed celebrating until this evening. (Well, I delayed -- she went out to eat Indian food with girlie friends.)

I actually got home before she did, so I grabbed the nearest vegetarian cookbook to make her something A) special, B) different, and C) containing already-present ingredients, since I'm not one really to plan ahead, or else I would have thought about making her a cake on any of the other three days I was here by myself while she was being barny with the kids.

But the spinach and noodley pasta thing wasn't too bad if you added a lot of salt, and Dad had graciously purchased a strawberry goo shortcake for all to enjoy and get buzzed on (if you're under 4) before tackling the presents.

She was most thrilled with the fly swatter I got her. It's the length of a baseball bat with a swat-part as big as a Panera loaf of bread.

No, not thrilled. What's that word. Appalled. Same number of "l"s.

Flight of the Humble He

2009-06-27T21:15:00.000-05:00

Look ma, no hands!

After three weather aborts, the weather was picture-perfect enough for my 2008 Christmas present (procrastinate? moi?) WWII-era fighter plane ride.
Dad came out to watch the fruit of his depleted bank account, while Ryan and Erin did their best to drive their mother nuts while I danced around the western Virginia sky at about 4500 feet. After a bit of orientation, the pilot even let me climb and bank and do some slow 360-turns, then treated me to a couple barrel rolls.

What a barrel is doing at 4500 feet, I'll never know.

Note the clouds off in the distance...the pilot said they weren't around all that often, so he swooped and swayed the aircraft through them, dancing a slow waltz with the wings. Just heavenly.
After about an hour in the air, we found Erin Firma.

Ainsley took the kids to spend four days at the barn while Dad took me home -- I had a million and four things to do around the house, and I got to ... four. But at least I'm chopping away at the list.

Dangreen

2009-06-24T21:35:00.002-05:00

1. You have been diagnosed with a paronychia.

2. A paronychia is an infection in the skin on the side of a fingernail.

3. The tissue next to the nail is usually warm, red (or purple and green), swollen, painful, and may contain pus.

4. Treatment usually involves making a small cut (incision) in the skin next to the nail to drain the pus.

5. In your case, however, we'll have to force the pus out by pressing on your five-day sore finger in the most painful manner possible. Think about trying to squeeze a potato out your nostril by pushing your ears together. It'll be a bit like that, only with electrical shooting pains ripping out your fingers and down your arms like the Emperor at the end of "Return of the Jedi".

6. To add insult to your obvious injury, since you're in the Air Force and wasted our precious time in this here Army Emergency Room, we'll wrap your gauze in the pinkest bandage we can find.

7. Have a nice day. Here's 20 red pills that might help keep the swelling down.

8. In the meantime, keep the dressing on your index finger for at least a dauy even if yuour thyping suyffers in thje process.

Semper Fife

2009-06-23T21:20:00.002-05:00

Ainsley invited the entire fam to a B&B-worthy spread of eggs, soy fa-con and snotsages

ew. trying to combine not and sausages there. Poor choice.

fruit salad, biscuits, coffee, tea, juice, and some yummy pecan maple pillsbury breadlets that made one lick one's fingers and anyone else's that happened to be close by.

We were going to try and see the Udvar Hazy Museum, but decided that everyone was a bit spent from traversing all over Northern Virginia the last 3-5 days, so we just relaxed at our house, watched our Wedding Video for the two who hadn't been able to come, then went down the street to feed Occoquan geese. Rick & Jeanie said their goodbyes, missing out on the evening's festivities -- a picnic dinner by the Iwo Jima Memorial to watch the "Commander's Own" Marine Band and Silent Drill Team (only held on Tuesdays).

Ryan and Erin seemed to appreciate the music (particularly the drums) but we were a bit too far away for them to appreciate the squad that came out and did the drill with their rifles. We'll just have to scope out better/earlier seats next time.

We said our goodbyes at the top of the long hill where we'd parked, with congrats all around for a successful, albeit down-a-man, reunion. We were bushed.

So thank god we have kids. Ryan and Erin kept us entertained with their back-and-forth, as Ryan encouraged his little sister to say every single word he could think of or that came into view. "Can you say 'cloud'?" "Cowd!" "Good job! Can you say...'building'?" "Bing." "Close! Can you say... 'Red Winged Black Bird?' "........." "Can you say 'Red'?" "Rad." "Wing?" "weeeng." "Black?" "Blak." "Bird?" "Bode." "GOOD JOB YOU DID IT!"

Also learned that Ainsley was teaching him about syllables. How many syllables in "Ryan", "elephant," etc. He seemed to be getting it, and his head didn't explode when I asked him how many syllables in "syllables."

Did I mention Uncle George thought he was 7?

Seeing Things

2009-06-22T21:20:00.000-05:00

Up bright and early, banana/PB wraps in hand, to pick up everyone at the hotel to convoy up to DC for a guided tour of the Pentagon. It was shorter than I'd hoped, as we didn't get anywhere near my office, but I guess reg'lar folk don't need to be hanging out with the 4-stars. Still, the folks seemed to enjoy the trivia and history of the building. The kids did relatively well, especially once Mommy busted out the lollipops.

We then took a gander over at the Pentagon 9/11 Memorial, a simple, serene park along the side of the building that got hit, before agreeing on a light Mexican lunch that made us all go "Ba-ja."

Ainsley took the kids home to perhaps nap, while the rest of us got past the bad directions from the Metro employee to eventually find the Newseum, the new media-centric six-floor glass-enclosed museum in some prime real estate on Pennsylvania Avenue between the White House and Capitol. Interesting history of the US media, TV, journalists, newspapers. The mangled radio tower from the World Trade Center sits on one side, while hundreds of video screens of all sizes tell different stories (or today's news). Finished off with a "4-D" movie, basically your standard (but cool) 3-D movie with shaking seats and wind effects. PG-13, what with the 'rats' crawling around your legs.

Little did we know that two different Metro trains were crashing into each other in the northeast part of town, our Blue Line train took us back to our cars so we could go pick up the refreshed lot to hit my favorite jaunt, the Japanese Steak House, where the chef didn't just make a volcano, but an inverted one, too, sticking on top of it, to make it look like a train! How cool! Erin, don't you think?
Okay, she didn't like the fire exploding in her face. But still.
And Ryan was an untraumatized trooper trying to catch pieces of shrimp in his mouth while the guy shot it off his spatula, hitting him smack in the eyeball the first three times. Better than Aunt Patty, whose misplaced maw forced a rebound into her glass of water.

Uncle Pancakes

2009-06-21T21:58:00.002-05:00

This is my child.

My wife let me sleep all the way until 7:33 for Father's Day, and made me my favorite breakfast. Toast. What a woman. So I felt right getting her the Happy Thank-You-For-Making-Me-A-Father 's Day flowers.

I spent the morning putting together some Father's Day/Retirement patio furniture together in my Dad's backyard (Ainsley's wonderful idea), necessary since A) he was going to be hosting a lot of people, B) he didn't need to spend the Golden Years breaking his butt on those plastic 4H club chairs and C) Ainsley demanded it. It only took me 3 hours to put everything together, so only about 245% longer than I'd expected!

Back in time to greet the extendofamily to head over to the local single-A baseball stadium for some cheap and simple entertainment. Only when we got there, we learned that they were just finishing up the 1st game of a doubleheader since there was a rainout the day before. So we watched the other team walk home the winning run (1-0!) and then had to stall for a half-hour while they recombed the baselines and rotated the air in the bases or whatever they did.
The second game was about as dull as the first, with the too-occasional hit not letting Ryan learn much about the game. He just lay down on Grandad's leg for a few innings with a hat over his head, sometimes popping up to munch on a pretzel or go say hit to the mascot "Uncle Slam", whom my relatives kept on referring to as Grand Slam. Must not have had a very good breakfast.
But at the end of the game (thankfully only 7 innings), the kids got to run around the bases, so Ryan and I got in line while I told him what to do (basically: follow everyone else). I was a little worried that he'd freeze once he got into the great expanse, but when it was our turn I let him down and he darted towards first...a little too far to the right of first, so someone had to guide him back to the base. "Go, Ryan, go!"
So he started running diagonally towards the pitcher's mound.
He was again pointed in the right direction, while I heard my family cackling in the stands.
He was so adorable, huge grin on his face, a leisurely hop and skip in his step almost, and he looked so little way over there in front of second base (he wanted to stick to the grass). It occurred to me that this was his first time doing this, but he seemed to be in the moment. He cut off the route way in front of third, and then hesitated about halfway home. Uncle Slam encouraging him along the way.
"Ryan! Touch the plate!" I'm pointing.
So he started looking for dishware in the infield. Because of course that's what a plate is to a 3-year old.
"No, Ryan, that!" Uncle Slam and I pointed. I was going to say "that Pentagon" but it's not really a Pentagon, more a rectangle with a hat, and I didn't want him to learn bad habits. A little girl crossed the plate. "Run to that thing that girl just stepped on!"
So he ran to the plate...and stopped.
Three kids crashed trying to avoid stepping on him, and I finally got him to run to me before Uncle Slam pulled him off his blue furry self.

Highlight of the week for me.

Spent the evening over at Dad's with BBQ leftovers and a couple pizzas, while Uncle George played ball with Ryan and Erin, careful not to drop his cigarette on any of them. We then watched the digital equivalent of old home slide shows (thanks, Tim!) and made fun of Grandma's -- their mother's -- pastel clothing and hairdos, while we all lamented the loss of our youthful bodies.

I must have only weighed like 35!

Family Fuud

2009-06-20T20:50:00.002-05:00

Dad spent Friday with his twin siblings and Uncle George, taking a 2.5-hr sightseeing tour of DC in the top of a doubledecker bus (no hats, no sunscreen), but got back to Woodbridge in time for us to show them Hard Times Cafe, the local chili place that probably qualifies as our hangout. Only the Stlaskes got theirs with beans and the Californian got his with parmesan cheese instead of cheddar. So you can't bring these people anywhere.

Saturday I took the kids to run some errands while it rained on and off, before it stayed in the "off" long enough for us to hold the family reunion BBQ officially, courtesy of the Boivins' presence as well as another Gottrich Uncle, Rick and his wife Jeanie. Hadn't seen them since 2001. They haven't aged a flake.

Despite the fact that I seem to have lost the ability to successfully cook hamburgers (0-for-2 this season), there was still plenty of food and gifts for Dad, still dead chuffed that his family had come all this way to celebrate with him. We stuck some candles in Mrs. Boivin's bundt cake and sang Happy Birthday to the twins for good pile-it-on celebratory measure, before finally breaking the kids away from all the madness to let them* get some sleep.

*all the old people, I mean.

Out to Pasture

2009-06-19T21:56:00.002-05:00

So Dad is slowly retiring.
First in spirit -- he stopped the daily drive into work the last Friday in May, but is using up some of his leave through the month of June.
Second in ceremony -- Wednesday his boss threw a lovely dinner for him and a coworker retiring together, after having joined the company at about the same time 19 years ago, and commenting that they were in fact the first two people to stick around long enough to retire from his company. Their loyalty was well rewarded. With crab cakes.
Third in blood -- I'd been working with my Dad's family since January or so to try and arrange coming out sometime in June to celebrate along with us. One of his brothers, Dennis, flew in from California, and his sister Pat with her husband George came down from Chicago to surprise him yesterday. Of course, when they made their reservations months ago, we didn't know it would be the day after his dinner, so what a great week, timing-wise. Haven't seen Dennis since 2006, and while I saw Pat & George earlier that year on a trip from Ohio, they've not met the kids, who were in rare ham-it-up form.
Unfortunately, all this family relations is hard on a three-year-old's cranium, as Ryan asked after his bath, "Can I go downstairs and say g'night to Grandad's kids?"

Buy me some pinot and caviar

2009-06-11T20:17:00.002-05:00

Business has been good, it seems, in the Integrated Security and Threat Management field.
My dad had gotten Nationals baseball tickets from work before (see September 21, 2005 post), so it's pretty much what I was expecting again. Fair seats, but free, so who can complain?

Turns out the Company Seats are a in the primo club-level section 20 rows up from the field, with an inclusive $25 all-you-can-eat buffet available in the restaurant behind the seats, unless you just want to have your standard fare (dogs, beer, fries, nachos, hummus) delivered to your seat. This implies that the buffet was non-standard fare, and that implication is correct. Broiled angus brisket. Moroccan baked chicken with curry rice. Six kinds of cheeses along with four italian meats, fancy flatbreads, barbecue chicken, fried plantains in some sorta sauce, seafood paella, two kinds of sausages, and don't even get me started about the dessert table.
I commented that this was the reason why the stadium looks empty on TV half the time -- everyone's inside eating brownies.
The game was a bit of a snooze-fest, with sporadic rain turning to a deluge in the bottom of the 9th inning that ended up delaying the game over two hours, when the Nationals tied it up at 2 a piece...then lost in the 12th.
Or so I learned the next morning, as we were not any of the 37 people who stuck around past midnight.
Still, I've never been so pampered at a ball game, so now I'm trying to have my Dad re-think this whole 'retirement' deal. Until we at least find out what his company's Redskins seats look like.

In Memoriam

2009-06-09T20:42:00.002-05:00

Today was the burial at Arlington Cemetery for my friend Lt Col Mark Stratton, killed in Afghanistan two weeks ago at the cowardly hands of a dumbass in a bomb-strapped car. He was about a month out from going to a dream job near his hometown, as the squadron commander of a Lackland AFB unit training basic military trainees. Who better to lead new recruits into the service than someone who had just spent a year as part of a Provincial Reconstruction Team, in the fight, doing good, making a difference? He left behind an amazing woman (whom I'd never met) and three kids, who, tragically, could not see fit to let go of the casket at the end of the ceremony. It made your heart thump in your throat, seeing that.

Sunday was a memorial service, attended by several hundred friends, family, and work colleagues (in uniform), as well as the USAF Chief of Staff to present a Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and two other medals for his service. After a coworker and a college roommate said some words, Mark's wife Jennifer took the mike, with a courageous, touching, funny, and inspiring speech.
Monday was a wake at a neighbor's house, with people out on the driveway on a warm night telling stories, toasting with scotch, debating the merits of deer chili, etc. Saw some friends I hadn't seen in years, from Colorado and Florida, good to see them, crappy reason why.

And today, the full honors. Caisson pulled by horses, twenty-piece AF band playing solemn music, a rifle salute and bugler playing taps from a row of headstones fifty feet up the hill. We heard the crack of two more salutes, for two other burials around the same time... it's my second funeral in as many years, and these honor guardsmen deal with a dozen a day.
Here's hoping they soon stop putting the young into this sacred ground.

I am a Daddy

2009-06-08T19:36:00.002-05:00

It's official. No, no, not biologically. I mean, I already knew that. I've got that paperwork here somewhere and the IRS is savvy.

I just mean that we have crossed the final "da-da" threshold, and Erin has found her eeee. Like Ryan still does, she sometimes calls me "Mommy" first, then realizes she's not getting anywhere and switches to "Da-dee?"

We've also determined that we should keep her away from nuns or social workers if she ever sees a frog, since when she says it it sounds like a different four-letter word beginning with f.

Not to be outdone in the cute department, the other night Ryan was flirting up a storm with a waitress at Uno's. Winkin' at her....smiling....eating everything on his plate....being bold enough to even say "I think you're cute!"
However, he might have blown any chance at a future prom date later in the evening; I had to pop next door to buy something so Ryan, Erin, and Ainsley hung around out front, but soon went back inside.

Waitress: "Did you come back to see me??"
Ryan (loud and proud): "Nope, I gotta go poop in the potty!"

D-Day

2009-06-04T23:19:00.002-05:00

Yes, really.

I am seriously starting to hate that pink syringe at the Vet's.

For the second time in less than six weeks, we had to put down one of our dogs. Dover was suffering immensely from rapid onset kidney failure. He was around 10 years old.

We got him in Colorado Springs in 2002; Ainsley offered to anonymously foster him at our place while his owner was admitted to a home for abused spouses, but the lady's case was so severe that they let her stay more than the usual 8 weeks ... by the time she got out, she'd decided that whoever was fostering Dover had had him longer than she had, so she asked Ainsley to check with the owners to see if they wanted to adopt him. Griffin and Bailey said yes. Besides, his color matched.

Dover was the 'safe' dog. Loud when he wanted to be, susceptible to bee stings that made him swell up and look like Winnie the Pooh, but he didn't need the electric fence (though he was the first to find a hole in the real one) and would have been happy his whole life just lying down next to someone or another dog.

He was in so much distress it was again morbidly easy to make the decision, but it was so different from Bailey. With her, we knew her time was coming, knew the meds weren't working, and planned it out for a particular day, knowing this was her last time walking down the back steps, this was the last time she'd be in our back yard, etc. For Dover, I went to work stupid and happy and by 3:30 got a call from the Vet saying words like "chronic" and "severe" and "walking on the edge".
Hell, is there ever a good time?

So now it seems silly about Dad coming over to help "walk dog." And Griffin seems to be consciously acting on his best behavior, folding his napkin after dinner, sticking out a paw when I open the door to let him out and going, "No, no, after you." and refusing to get anywhere near a car. "No, no, I'm good. In fact, can I mow the lawn for you?"

G'night, Dover Doodles. Thanks for hanging with us for a bit.

No-Fly Zone

2009-05-31T21:52:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-27T22:39:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-25T22:26:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-25T22:04:00.000-05:00

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

2009-05-23T20:42:00.003-05:00

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

2009-05-22T19:54:00.002-05:00

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

2009-05-20T20:57:00.001-05:00

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

Oundstone Oundstone Oundstone

2009-05-18T21:03:00.001-05:00

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

I get the test results in a week.

One Helluva Roar

2009-05-15T22:48:00.003-05:00

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

2009-05-13T21:40:00.003-05:00

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.

Roominiscing

2009-04-26T22:18:00.002-05:00

She was the best dog in the history of ever.

And I almost missed out on getting her.

Friday, she could barely get down the stairs, even the way I'd been doing it for a couple days, walking with my legs right up against her head, holding her collar, steadying her, guiding her. Down on a flat level, she was okay, but still bumped into the occasional chair. It was obvious she was having trouble with depth perception ... I'd give her a treat and she'd stick her mouth past it first and then realize it was to the left. She didn't seem in pain, per se, just perplexed. Stop the world, she needed to get off.

I brought her into the living room so I could put on my shoes and asked her to lie down so she'd stop spinning and rubbing into things... I was instantly taken back to a January evening in 1998 at the Humane Society in Minot, North Dakota, in a small room, when this happy brown puppy, not knowing what to do with a silly cat toy on the floor, gave up and laid herself down on top of my shoes.

I'd finally owned my first home, rather than an apartment or the basement of someone else's house, and wanted a dog. The shelter only had maybe 10 cages, and I spied a yellow lab pup first. It was a yellow lab. Happy, bouncy, licky, soft, big feet. Typical. It'll do, I said. But the staff balked when I told them my yard wasn't fenced in (saying the breed needed room to run), so I went looking for a smaller dog, since that made sense in my head. And the next one down from the lab, in all the hubbub and dogs barking to and fro, was this little quiet thing, leaning against the wall, looking up. Not excited, not timid, just there. Just waiting.

I'd learned that she'd been given up by some folks who said they didn't have time for her; she'd been living in a garage and smelled of oil when she was dropped off.

After gluing herself to my feet, I told the shelter I had a huge porch that I could block off until such time that I bought a fence, and they allowed me to take her home the next day. In the lobby, she suddenly came alive, barking her happy fool head off at the staff, as if to say, "HaHA! I've got an owner, now! Shows how much you know!" The first stop with her was a WalMart to buy toys and bowls and food and such, and I was surprised to find her curled up in the back seat of my Thunderbird when I got back, no worse for the separation. Her expression was more "Oh, it's you again. You were serious." From that point on, whenever I'd leave her in the car, I'd walk back to see her staring out the window at me.

First thing was to get rid of the silly name she'd been given by her first owners: "Fantasia". It didn't take long to equate her golden hue with the Irish Cream Liqueur, and "Bailey" stuck. "Bailey Roo" was just a natural off shoot. You can't explain it. Kind of like "Dover Doodles." It just is. Although Bailey did tend to hold her lips in an "o" shape when she barked at something, an audible "roo! roo! roooooo!"

It was January 25th.

The next day, she ate my newspaper off the coffee table, but it got better from there.

Sanford & Daughter

2009-04-22T21:36:00.002-05:00

Why is it that of all the cute things my daughter does, it's her Public Eating Area Garbage Runs that get the most aww-ttention?
I gush internally (in a good way, not like this head cold thing) when I hear people stop what they're doing to tell the person next to them to watch this little girl grab a piece of trash from Mommy as instructed and hip sashay-it over to the garbage can to reeeeach up and push whatever in (Ryan helps by pushing the THANK YOU door) then excitedly go back for more.
When the family came to have lunch with me at the Pentagon, she about busted the DEFCONCUTE scale, especially when I had her walk all the way out into the corridor, clutching an empty Coke bottle, to squeeze into the recycling bin hole.

Now if I could just get her to stop calling me Mama in public, we'll be golden.

Cut me, Mick

2009-04-20T21:56:00.002-05:00

After hacking and coughing through another slumber period, I awoke on Sunday looking like Rocky Balboa at the end of Round 14. I was able to pry my eyelashes open with a razor blade and

Kidding! That's just a movie! Used a sterilized cotton swab and rubber gloves and butterfly wings, I swear!

But my eye was still full of goop and pink in the lower hemirant. (Two quadrants.) So I did the noble thing and went to work for 7 hours. No need to be spreading germs at home.

NyQuil was no use to me last night, with wheezing 10- and 12-bullet tight-chested uncontrollable machine gun coughs forcing me to hack into my pillow or sit upright to its eventual halt to get some air in. Speaking of air in, at least my I didn't wake up my daughter a thousand times each night (no, that present is reserved for the wife). Though she was up from 2 to 3:30 after teasing us by pitching a complete game the night before, if you'll allow the baseball analogy (go Nats! 1-8 to start the year!).

So I reported to the flight surgeon first thing this morning, without even changing into uniform first. LOOK AT ME, I said to the person at the window, who immediately grabbed a phone and called a doctor and cowered in the corner behind a filing cabinet until I was whisked away.

Diagnosed with conjunctivitis and borderline pneumonia (pulse ox only 97%, where 95% is trouble), he loaded me up with four more medications including one with codeine, which, it may surprise you to note if you've read this entire post, I've not yet taken.

It only hurts when I breathe or swallow or look

2009-04-16T21:18:00.002-05:00

Not unlike the Native Americans unprepared for the viral intransigence of Europe's plague-infected world travelers, I am insufficiently immune to the thundering horde of toddler germs present in your everyday fun factory. I have lost the battle. I fear I may die of botulism. If I knew what that was.

A throat thing started Monday, followed by aches, headaches, then upper respiratory, then re-attacking the throat for good measure, now sniffles and all of the above... orange juice, chicken soup and NyQuil be damned. Every time I rolled over in bed last night, my head, throat, and chest felt like one of those sand and water kaleidoscope framed dealies at Smarter Image, where all the liquid at the top seeps and sloshes down to the bottom.

Fortunately I had my annual physical scheduled for today, although the doctor told me my throat is fine, my lungs are fine, it's just an upper chest buildup o crap trying to shake loose, perhaps I'm just menstruating, and other nonsensical stuff I just couldn't argue with in my state. Particularly since I was still stewing about having somehow passed the hearing test despite my ears sounding like UHF Channel 13 at 2:40am circa 1974, yet being told I failed the vision test ("failed" per flight surgeon standards, that is). You would have thought they would have factored in the glazed film over my eyes from being sick for three days and gotten little sleep, not to mention the small layer of crusty phlegm coating the eyepiece (I asked the tech for a tissue to clean it up). At any rate, I now have to go to an optometrist to see if I need corrective lenses to push me back to 20/20 from my debilitating current rating of 20/25.
I imagine the corrective lenses are the size of a chick-pea.

Hoppertunity Rocks

2009-04-12T21:25:00.004-05:00

Our nay-borhood easter egg hunt was canceled for the second straight Saturday due to rain, and back-up plan B to get Ryan a haircut so he'll stop saying Zoinks and solving murder mysteries with his talking dog was foiled by half the county having the same idea (only so many cartoons to be cut in front of, it seems), so we just went to Chuck E. Cheese and tried to shove salad bar food into our children when we could twist their heads hard enough to face their mouths away from the animatronic bandmembers. No dino-ball-toss-in-the-200-ticket-hole luck this time around, our friend's kids were nice enough to donate their winnings to the Ryan and Erin cause, which they traded in for a plastic dolphin and some CEC heads for Ryan's crocs. For the holes. Whatever they're called. Croc hole nobules. Or something.

A 90-minute presentation from Thompson Creek Windows turned into 2.5 hours, but Jodi kept the kids hopped up on Jelly Beans long enough that the delay in dinner wasn't too impactful. Unless you call Ryan going to sleep at quarter to 11 an impact (still not realizing that we have a monitor, I guess, he was up out of bad slapping his wooden puzzle together when I walked in at 10:25).

Today, after the usual overdone Easter baskets from Mommy were opened (I got my Bubba Keg Travel Tea Mug! A full liter of tea tomorrow! Wahoo!), Erin had to back out of a planned Easterfete at Kids N Motion because she's up and down with a fever and has Goop N Hereyes. Seriously. She's crying snot. The hell.
The place had advertised a 'petting zoo' which consisted of three bored goats in a 6 x 10 foot cage, plus a pony and a horse, which happened to buck his first passenger onto her face, so Ryan stuck to the pony. A rabbit and a couple guinea pigs were inside in the waiting room, but Jodi and I were thusfar unimpressed.
Inside, after initially sticking to the standard playground equipment and small floor apparati, Ryan relaxed and got me to climb and bounce around with him in the inflatable slides and obstacle courses, doing my back a world of good, but he seemed to be having a grand time. He didn't even seem to mind the Easter Bunny showing up looking like a deflated ferret, the pre-teen inside obviously loving her job immensely.
Continuing the trend of zaniness, they told the kids at lunch that someone had a gummy bear baked into their cupcake, and whoever had it would win a prize...which turned out to be a one dollar bill. Because the 4-year-old girl can really appreciate that. "Ryan, do you know what a 'dollar' is?" "...what?" he said, between frosting licks. Exactly.

Got home to learn that Erin wouldn't go down for a nap after an hour of nursing, so I gave it a try to allow Ainsley some sleep. She had at least stopped crying when I walked in, deciding to show me all the animals in her crib and how the aquarium worked and babbling on about this and that. Less babble, more (sleep) action, that's my motto, so I started the six-step back-and-forth I've come to know and love, particularly that one squeaky board under the fan. She was still kicking and pawing and pointing and chatting, still not agitated, but still not tired, and my fake yawns and closed eyes routines weren't working, so I started singing songs to her, which backfired because every time I came to the end of a song, she'd start applauding, do the sign for "more" and say "mo" and rub her belly ("please"). I ran out of songs, and she was no closer to la la land, so I just brought her outside with me and the Roo to go dig up dandelions in the front yard (she pointed, I dug).

The inpatient is doing remarkably well, perhaps responding to the prednisone, but her dizzy spells were few and far between today, more sure-footed, more herself. She even rubbed her back in the grass, when a week ago she couldn't even lie down on her side very well. If we can use drugs and keep her at this manageable and happy level, we may just get another 11 years out of her.
;-)

Dognosis

2009-04-11T20:39:00.003-05:00

Mass, right brainstem and cerebellum, meningioma is most likely. There is a midline shift of the brain from right to left within the caudal fossa. The mass measures approximately 1.5 x 1.7 x 2cm.

Chemotherapy with hydroxyurea is recommended and usually is helpful without causing harmful side effects, if you decide against radiation therapy.

So sayeth the doctor.

Stop the car, I need to go back and scrape up my heart that just exploded.

She's responding well to prednisone (anti-inflammatory steroid), although she responded well the first day after the antibiotic, too, so we'll see what shakes tomorrow. So to speak. We discuss options with the vet on Monday after reporting on how she's faring after the MRI scan.

She's still eating like a champ (when she can hold her head steady enough and at the right angle to reach the bowl) and oddly can tear off running in the backyard with no issues. Perhaps she realizes there are fewer pieces of furniture out there to run into.

I don't know what else to say. It happens to everyone, seems to happen to us almost every year. Doesn't make it any easier, doesn't make it fair.

She's such a great dog.

Animaladjusted

2009-04-07T20:25:00.003-05:00

Bailey's having a better-than-lately day, after having three god-awful ones in a row. Ainsley noticed the right side of her face seems to be sliding off her skull, and she about feel backwards down the stairs last night, the big hulk of Griffin following behind the only thing that kept her upright. We're taking her in for an MRI on Friday, if the appointment time is available.

Meanwhile, Dover has so far not thrown up today for the first time in a while, Jeremy is nursing a bite wound on his butt for which we have to medicate him every night, and Tomas is hobbling along like a three-legged cat after discovering that jumping up on the electric stove probably isn't a good idea.

Just blows our minds to note that Griffin is the only normal pet we seem to have these days.

Buy me some penis and cracker jack

2009-04-07T20:23:00.003-05:00

So Ryan needs to learn to enunciate before he starts singing, uh, 'willy' nilly in public.

I think he also root, root, roots for the Nashville.

Probably all that country music Ainsley played while he was in utero.

Bloomin' Young'ns

2009-04-05T21:11:00.000-05:00

Ainsley and her friend Toni picked a perfectly blue, 60-degree day to go see this year's infestation of cherry blossoms around the tidal basin and 10K finish line. Not sure the kids appreciated the beauty of it all, but they enjoyed getting out and about and seeing a dead fish and petting a horse and eating hummus-dunked cucumbers by the Jefferson Memorial and playing chasey chase with sticks until Mommies said no sticks.

Zonked kids napt past 4:30, when Dad came over to give the dogs a break from the backyard; because there were so many people up in DC and we had to park a bit far away from the trees, we decided not to have Ryan drive around in his plastic tricycle (he calls a "motorcycle") as planned, so I decided to let him try it out on the walk to the park with the four dogs and Erin in a wagon. We're quite the Motley bunch trying to get up Pocomoke unscathed. Also didn't consider how hilly Rollingwood Drive is, so I ended up carrying his bike half the time anyway. So with that and having Ryan on my shoulders the whole way back to the car in the morning, I pronounced that this weekend would be a Double Hot-Tub Weekend.
Makes one a happily stewed dude.

Erinormous

2009-04-04T12:11:00.003-05:00

Erin visited those mean ladies at the clinic with needles the size of number two pencils again, though was able to say thank you ("tenk tink") through large post-immunization tears when said ladies gave her a Dora sticker.

The skinny minnie is in the 25th percentile for weight, despite her affinity for anything on her plate or mommy's or Ryan's or the occasional piece of paper.

This is counterbalanced by the tally wally being in the 100th percentile for height, meaning she is taller than any other 15 and a half month-old child on the planet, which has to be stressful at any dances she goes to.

Otherwise, she's healthy as a clam sandwich.

Speaking of cute brown things, Bailey has actually improved some after taking a couple days' worth of antibiotics, so perhaps this thing is more infection than carcinogen. She may be just having a couple good days, or there's some placebo affect to taking pills, but when I got home yesterday, I was stunned to see her standing erect, head perpendicular to the ground, wagging her tail. Still a little cautious and stumbly, but she did a much better job locating her food bowl and whoofing it all down.

On the flip side, at 9pm and 2:20am she made a horrible gagging noise in the bedroom like she was trying to throw up a windsock.

Our planned neighborhood park Easter Egg Find was postponed a week thanks to yesterday's storms, so we instead took the chicklets to the same mall as last year, where Ryan again behaved marvelously with his friend the freaky bunny while Erin was, well, Erin.

#1 Goes #2

2009-04-01T21:16:00.002-05:00

Ryan has been extremely successful making his bowels an international media event; we're thinking of just putting his bed in the bathroom since he seems to want to pop over the pot every 3.8 seconds. 'cause that is one attention-grabbing event, boy. It's a little unnerving how much he wants to show everyone in the neighborhood his underpants. But tell mom you gotta go and WHOOSH everything stops, papers fly up, and Erin spins in the cartoon cloud left behind while we anxiously await the plop plop fizz fizz.
This too shall pass.

Meanwhile, Erin has found baby Ryan's old "mo" for "more", particularly when you zrbert her belly, and I could swear she said "Nemo" this evening, parroting her brother's description of his underwear du jour. Her "hi" sounds a little southern and drawn out ("haaa") and her "thank you" is a her-specific piece of gibberish that doesn't sound like anything else she says, so we're going with it. She's also good at labeling face parts, though you want to be outside arm's length when you ask her where your eye is, lest she also poke your retina into the back of your head. And darn if she wasn't stacking construction blocks four-high the other day just to impress her grandparents.

Have I mentioned lately that I like my kids? Even more than baloney and cheese sandwiches?

Downward Spiral

2009-04-01T21:03:00.002-05:00

Bailey has gotten much worse in recent days, going from a dog who occasionally fell over after shaking to a dog who can barely stand up straight. Her head is lilting like a sunken battleship, and she keeps running into things, hugging the wall, unsure of her footing, collapsing up and down stairs. And yet her demeanor, despite looking confused as to what the hey is going on, is about the same as before: happy to see us upon our return, tail wagging, wanting to throw a nerf football around the office.

We took her to a neurologist today to get an assessment. The doc liked that she's still eating, sleeping, behaving 'normally'; that Bailey doesn't seem to have any other symptoms of nerve damage (responds to stimulus, fixes her paw went bent, leans into a push from the side, etc.), and it may just be a severe inner ear infection causing pressure that could go away with meds. But the fact that this started in November and has gotten progressively worse leads her to believe that it's something growing inside or just next to her brain or inner ear, either a tumor or cyst. So we'll get an MRI soon to see what it is we're dealing with. If it's in her brain, there's not much they can do. If it's somewhere else, maybe radiation or chemo, but we'd want to know what kind of life she'd have afterwards. If it's a polyp or cyst, they may be able to go in surgically. A lot of what ifs, but we're encouraged that the doctor didn't take one look at her and start shaking her head.
Still, it's ruff watching her stumble around the house. I even left her downstairs last night just so she wouldn't have to manage the stairwell again.
Meanwhile, we're into week three of pet sitting a friend's dog and cat, so we're creeping into crazy animal people territory again, getting looks from the neighbors, etc. At least the dog isn't brown. That'd just be nuts.

Download

2009-03-29T21:13:00.002-05:00

So Ryan dropped a deuce in the kiddie pot.

Wasn't that worth the long wait between posts?

Have a lot on my mind, almost too much to try and catch up on, but if there's one thing I learned last week -- you just need to get back up on that horse. Returned Friday from a whirlwind visit to Texas (and literally, in Abilene, with 40mph winds the standard) where we crammed three weeks of activities into two half days and three megafull ones. Wonderfully successful trip, with a highlight being getting to watch 800 airmen join the USAF after their graduation from Basic Military Training. Goosepimpling hearing the oath yelled back at you in one massive barbaric yawp.
I also enjoyed the flan.

Kids were almost as glad to see me as I was them, and we had a great weekend together, save the few hours Ainsley and I stole away to go see a High School production of "Guys & Dolls" (thanks to Grandparential sitting yet again).
Then this evening, the kerplop du resistance...Ryan runs into the living room holding his Rescue Heroes Police Car, saying "Mommy, mommy, save me!" So I'm thinking some 'bad guy is after him'. But no, it was just the only thing he could think of to get her attention that tonight was the night to practice what we've been preaching since 2005 -- get thee to a pottery! Or something.
One may remember a blog a while ago where Ryan accidentally...let's say..."Pollocked" into his receptacle, begetting premature calls to grandparents, aunts, the media, etc. But this was no paltry sum, no sir. Think the scene in "Jurassic Park" near the Triceratops. If you follow.
My boy.

Grandproxy

2009-03-18T22:03:00.002-05:00

So I've been about useless all week, to the point that my wife's two-day fever had to be managed by:

My dad taking off a half-day to come to my house and play with the kids and eat peanut butter sandwiches;
My mother-in-law dropping everything and driving from West Virginia at 6:30 in the morning to play with the kids and eat peanut butter sandwiches and do seventeen loads of laundry and fluff pillows and iron the cats and replenish the hand soap and bathe our kids; and
Me opening a jar of Tylenol at 4 in the morning <-- my entire contribution

My job isn't the most important work in the history of the planet, but it's my only one currently, and this is a week where I have to be in, unless I want to be in until midnight and each day this weekend. But I still feel guilty. I'm just glad the grandparents were available and willing to bend over backwards.
Moving to Montana is just going to suck.

It's Training Men

2009-03-14T15:20:00.004-05:00

I'm really starting to like the weekends. I love turning off the light next to my son's bed after reading about the never-ending dispute between the north-going Zax and the south-going Zax and telling Ryan I don't have to go to work in the morning.
"Yay!" he inevitably says. In a whisper. Since the sister's already asleep. Good boy.

It's nice he misses me. Thursday my dad came over for dinner and Ryan asked why he wasn't wearing a tie like per usual (he had been at a conference downtown and had gotten out early enough to go home first and change), and Dad said in a few months he wouldn't be wearing ties anymore, because he'd be retired.
"Do you know what retired means, Ryan?" asks Mommy.
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
"I don't know."
"It means that he won't have to go to work anymore ever!"

Ryan looks at me.
"Are you going to retire, too?"

It's tempting, after a week like this one -- getting awful super duper mega busy, but instead of staying at work late Thursday I printed out a bunch of stuff to take home...then promptly left it on my desk. Still, I was able to e-mail myself some material from my work blackberry, worked until 12:30, slept on the couch, and got up at 4 to drive to work and get stuff done when no one else was around and the phone wasn't ringing off the little gray triangle thing the phone rests on which is not hook shaped in the least bit.

Ainsley told me about a Boy Scout fund raiser at a local school in which a bunch of model train sets would be set up, so I took Ryan and Erin while she ran some errands. I thought it was going to be a bunch of kids with their small sets, but they were more gymnasium-sized dioramas spanning several model zip codes, being run by middle-aged men hovering over electrical boxes. Sadly, for whatever reason, in a bunch of rooms the trains weren't working yet, and most of the railscapes, though intricate and cool-looking, were set up on tables about 4 or 5 feet off the ground. So I got my workout with diaper bag on my back and a kid in each arm to show them the occasionally moving trains. One room did have some Legos and Thomas trainsets set up, so they appreciated those more. Except when I was taking a picture of Ryan and didn't notice Erin had grabbed a Lego dude and placed him down across the tracks to commit suicide for the oncoming train, which subsequently derailed.
Maybe that's why everything was 4 or 5 feet off the ground.
Hmm.

Just Say No to Tootsie Rolls

2009-03-14T14:26:00.002-05:00

So Erin could just about eat her weight in mashed potatoes. And what the perfect food for someone just starting to be able to use a fork by herself. And doesn't mind a spud goatee.

Still no luck on the de-pull-up-ing of our son. He's getting too long for the changing table, we tell him. He's going to have to learn before he goes to college, we tell him. He can't play with the Big Ass Rescue Hero Jeep until he does, we tell him. He's even got me saying brilliant things like "Poop now, or forever hold your pee."

Speaking of brilliant things to tell your 3-year-old, the other day Ryan let himself out the front door while Ainsley and I were upstairs. We heard the door, so I ran down, toothbrush still in mouth, to call him back inside from the driveway. Started right in with one of the happy admonishment speeches, where you try to be forceful, but not angry, to make sure it sinks in. "Ryan," it begins, "please PLEASE don't walk out the front door if Mommy and Daddy aren't here. We'd be very sad if we couldn't find you. And someone could..."
(I didn't want to scare him at this point and say that someone could snatch him up, so I shifted, mid-sentence.)
"be out there that doesn't know you, and they could offer you candy, or you could fall down and get hurt and we wouldn't know, or you might get lost! We don't want you to get lost. So that's a big no-no, okay? No opening the door without Mommy and Daddy. Do you understand?"

*thinkthinkthink*

"Who wants to give me candy?"

Barack Lobster

2009-03-07T21:21:00.005-05:00

Thanks to a military special and a separate coupon for free kid's admission, it was only $7 for the four of us to head up to DC to tour the bizarrely named National Aquarium. Yes, nation, these are your fish. The Congressional Kelp. The President's Pufferfish. Star-spangled sturgeons. Etc.
I had no idea we had an aquarium in downtown DC, since when I think 'aquarium' I think 'flooded coliseum', a multi-story, winding, escalatored building with waterfalls and tunnels where you walk through tanks from floor-to-thirty-foot ceiling, orcas sharing time with scuba gear-laden oceanographers learning what makes seahorse poop so sparkly, and I just couldn't think where something that monolithic would be among the other monolithic entities like the FBI building or Tower Records.
Instead, we were in the basement of some building (the Dept of Commerce, maybe), with tanks as big as...tanks, but mostly smaller, fiat-sized ones or even itty bitty ones you'd find in a dorm room, only with some rare blue-skinned frog in it as opposed to a beta fish your suite mates decided to feed beer to. One floor, maybe thirty exhibits, nary a shark feeding. I think we spent more time in the gift shop afterwards.
Still. You couldn't beat the price, the size was just about perfect for the kids, and we would have had some adorable pictures of Ryan in his turtle shirt nose-to-whatever the amphibial nose equivalent is with a swimming sea turtle if our camera's battery hadn't died taking cute pictures of Erin in her sunglasses during the Metro ride up. They also had a couple mini-alligators, a lobster the size of a medicine ball, a bunch of fish Ryan recognized from "Nemo", and some cool other stuff you don't see at PetSmart every day (eels, an octopus, piranhas).
A froot smoothie and walk down Constitution Avenue later on a gorgeous 70-degree day, we were back home for quick naps and then more outdoor time since every kid and his bicycle was out on Pocomoke Court. Ryan rassled over a big ball with Jonathan in the neighbor's yard (barely missing Tully poop) while I blew bubbles for Erin and thirteen of her new closest friends who inadvertently insulted her by saying she looked like me. Ryan then wanted to ride his tricycle, so now that Erin has gotten too big to pump on the handlebars, I put her in my bike trailer and pushed her up the street, using the bicycle attachment bar doohickey thing to push the back of Ryan's cycle when needed all the way up...then all the way down Pocomoke Court.
It's going to be an awesome summer.

Unleash the Fury

2009-03-06T21:52:00.003-05:00

Went to my first Washington Capitals hockey game last night, with 75 of my closest work friends and 18,725 others we were less familiar with but who were no less hoping for a romp of the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Well O, Canada, if those tables weren't turned. A rather dull defensive struggle (0-0 after two periods) turned into a bit of a rout when the Blue Frozen Mounties scored twice in the third. It got a little exciting near the end, when the Caps scored with about 39 seconds left, but it was one little, too late.
It didn't help that their star player, Alex Ovechkin, had hurt himself with a puck off the ankle the day prior and was scratched from the lineup. So that was a disappointment. For those non-sports enthusiasts out there, it would have been like buying tickets to see Oprah and five months later when you finally get to the studio, it's Mindy Cohn from "Facts of Life."
Oh well. You take the good, you take the bad.
Hell, you take them both.
Still neat to see a professional game, with a much rowdier crowd than the game I saw in Denver 7 years ago. Little surprised to hear 18k people shout "RED" during the National Anthem's "rocket red glare" line ("Rock the Red", the Capitals logo reads), as well as yelling "O" (for "Ovechkin") during the "Say Can You See Where #8 Is Because I Sure As Hell Can't Dammit These Tickets Cost Fifty Bucks" line.
Got home around 11, mind racing, jazzed from the videotronics no doubt, couldn't sleep, which is fine because the boy wakes up crying at 12:40, and then the dogs need to go out at 3:30 and I shoosh them until 3:40 when I figure I may as well get 'em out seeing as Ainsley's up with the other kid (actually zonked out on the nursery chair, but still) and then she comes back to bed at 4:50 and then the alarm goes off at quarter to 6.
So I'm a mite spent. Plus I worked out four days in a row for the first time since I was like 2 or something, so I need to go rest the weary musks.

Talk to the Butt

2009-03-04T22:01:00.005-05:00

Okay, the snow was delivered, a hearty enough dumpola to strain the ol' back against the shovel. Ryan helped. By eating whatever snow he could find and sticking snowballs up against the tree. Even Bailey got a rare respite from the electro-shock collar to come and romp around in the front yard like her youthful days of Minotian indiscretion.
We were on a two-hour delay, but it still felt like I was one of only seventeen people to make it into the Pentagon. Though my car does look like a glazed doughnut, from all the slushy spray off the highways.
Missed the last two nights with my kids due to work functions, though Ryan was awake enough to be kissed asleep when I checked on him. Also got the recap from the Missus, particularly over the continued potty issues. We're trying to provide him incentive to ride the little bus to poop town, but the opportunity never occurs to him, or he can't make it happen on demand. He really tried last night and got so frustrated he started to cry, asking for help that Mommy cannot give. "Talk to your bottom!" she tried, so he turned his head and shouted encouragement to the ol' butt cheeks.
A Poop Talk, if you will. Go, team, go!
Meanwhile, Erin progresses nicely, looking like a little person more and more every day. Cutest is how she twists her whole body to say "no", and does little mini-crunches to say "yes." I've attached a video to show how she's faring in these, the uber-padded years.

Oom Pa Pa Oom Grand Pa

2009-03-01T23:06:00.002-05:00

It's probably a good thing that I have dogs, because those mornings that Ainsley lets me sleep in? I'd probably snooze until noon. Lunch in bed? Yes, please.
Wanted to get the kids out of the house and leave Ainsley to some home projects, so off we schlept to Grandad's house, where he was nice enough to pull out of some dusty corner his vintage, Eisenhower-era accordion and see what fell out of it, note-wise. Ryan and Erin were enamored, wanting to push all the keys and buttons, until we distracted Ryan with a wooden spoon he could use for conducting. Dad busted out "Mary Had a Little Lamb" right off the bat, and followed with two ad-lib requests for Ryan's favorite Christmas Carols. Two revelations:

I was in band for four years, and even took instrumentation classes in college. But I still don't know how the hell the buttons on the left side of the accordion work.
Apparently, my "Everybody Clean Up Time" song that I've known since my own pre-school (thank you, Ms. Storm) and taught to my children, is the exact same tune as "Mary Had a Little Lamb." Took me 34 years to figure that out.

We stayed only a short time, since Erin was getting fussy and needed to eat, so Dad took us to Taco Bell, for a family-style meal where the kids ate a little something off of everyone's plate, when they weren't enjoying their open-faced crunchy tacos (a tomato that fell of Dad's here, a ripped-off portion of my soft taco there).

Since Ainsley had experienced nearly 3 hours without the kids, she was jazzed at nap time and didn't feel like taking one herself, so she asked if I wanted to watch a movie.

! What's that like?

Only Erin woke up twenty minutes into it, so Ainsley had to go tend to her, getting her almost to sleep before Tucker pushed his way into the door Meowing in a loud conversational way, then it took another ten minutes, but she was up again in another half-hour and would not cotton me trying to put her back on her cotton sheets, so downstairs she came, and of course Ryan starts a coughing fit from his ongoing bad cold that wakes him up crying so I went up to comfort and lay down next to him, so...

We'll watch a movie some other year.

We're supposed to get anywhere from 5 to 12 inches of snow tonight.
I'm not buying it.

The Two-Kid Diet

2009-02-28T13:32:00.003-05:00

I've figured it out. You can order all the crap you want at Mall Food Court establishments, you just need to share your lunch with your kids! Smaller portions! Perfect! I'm trademarking this idea! Look for it in bookstores! Just down the way from the Food Court! How convenient! Turns out Erin LOVES chili dogs.

Erin does NOT yet love, however, Mommy's Night Out, that rare quadrennial occasion where Ainsley gets to spend a night out with other adults, sans kids, oppositeofsans margaritas. Ainsley said her goodbyes at 7:00 pm last night.
Erin stopped crying around 7:40.
Of course it didn't help that at 7:01 I took her upstairs because Ainsley's cold was obviously preventing her from noticing that the Hezbollah was trying to smuggle some biological weapons of mass doodoo in my daughter's shorts, and the fallout was significant. I stood her up on her changing table to roll the stained onesie up against itself to keep it off her skin, so of course she pees all over her changing cushion. I quickly got her shirt off and put her in her crib so I could change the cushion cover, and she promptly and voluminously pees in her crib. So I quick stick a cork in that dam (Pampers, Size 3) and grab the phone to call Ainsley to find out where the sheets are kept and all the while Erin's shrieking because boobs are nowhere near her face (present daddy excluded) and I get the sheet but due to Federal Safety Regulations Concerning Acceptability Levels of Loose Bedding, it's like trying to pull a condom onto a Buick, and by then Erin was halfway down the stairs backwards all Screw It I'll Find Her Myself Dammit and meanwhile Ryan broke the mouse to the computer so Pluto certainly isn't going to be able to find those instruments on the Playhouse Disney maze. Finally got Erin calmed down and to sleep soon after 8, with Ryan following soon after, then I fed the dogs and cats and sat down on the couch and complained not an iota to anyone, since Ainsley deals with two kids and six pets by herself all the time.
I just need to get better at it.
And buy Ainsley a lot more professional massages.

Parenting Isn't Brain Surgery

2009-02-25T22:12:00.002-05:00

Forgot I was working the closing shift yesterday, so, since I was going to miss out on slugging back to my car, I told Ainsley I'd be home much later, whenever the bus left the Pentagon to get me down 95 through traffic. Only she came up with the much better idea to shoehorn our co-children into the Vanulator and have dinner with me up near the Pentagon.
Unfortunately, Erin's now got a hacking gramma cough, probably a sore throat, what with her lack of appetite for anything that isn't an ice cube chip. It's probably against sanitary regulations, but dammit, if me pressing my hand up against the ice drop lever thingy is going to keep my daughter from crying her fool head off next to her mother, my hand will be a cold press.
So it was nice to almost sort of have dinner in the same vicinity of a restaurant as the other half of my family.

Tonight I came home to more maternal exhaustion, as Ryan is being more refuserant than ever to not only take naps but be quiet not doing it. So he was a unibarrel of monkeys tonight, hands a fisted blur of movement, our little IncrediRobot. He did join in on a rousing rendition of songtime at the dinner table, since Erin seems to love short little ditties seemingly sung just for her. Claps at the end, big smiles, signing 'more'. Ryan even busted out all three verses of "Mary Had A Little Lamb," politely asking his parents to not join in, thank you very much. Ham.
Got everyone upstairs and changed just in time for more Hop On Pop time, Ryan enjoying a see-saw action of my holding him up with my knees and pushing his whole body up with my feet. But then Erin wanted to get in on the action, and climbed onto my chest, only she slipped a little, catching her fall by shoving her ring finger palm-deep up my nasal cavity.
So now I can't get the taste of baby lotion out of my mouth.

Have you ever seen bridled joy?

2009-02-22T22:05:00.003-05:00

Ainsley woke up feeling crapatocious, so I schlepped the kids out of the house so she could rest. Went to Lowe's first to spend a coupon and let both kids climb on the tractor mowers, then tried to find a McDonald's with an indoor gym since it was too cold and rainy to go to the park (and I didn't feel like hanging out at a mall). I was a little worried because it was basically a series of little-boy hamster tunnels suspended fifteen feet off the ground, and the last time we had hit the Chick-Fil-A playroom, he freaked out and asked for help I could not give (a four-year-old helped him down). But today he had a ball! Climbing all over the joint, screeching, zooming down the winding tunnel-slide, back up again, over the netted portions, lookit me, red faced, huge smile. The picture of unbridled joy.
Erin had fun, too. Climbed up a few steps, wandered back and forth, chatted.
I was even able to convince Ryan that we shouldn't eat there, but rather go to the Carter restaurant. (Carter's his stuffed panda, figured the kids would like rice and chicken, expressly.) Ryan spied Carter everywhere. On the doors, on the walls, on the trash can in the bathroom.
Dad came over to watch my new PDQ Bach video, and because of the cold, blustery evening brewing outside, I was going to build a fire, but then Ryan decided he needed to play chasey chase with Grandad, getting all red and hot, so I figured the fire would be overkill.
Stayed up until 11:30 to await the in-laws, back from Costa Rica, to kick their Costas downstairs to get some sleep.

Dellightful

2009-02-21T22:46:00.002-05:00

The Pets worshipping at the Box of All Knowledge

Finally got the new computer on-line, after 1) it sitting in the living room for two weeks, 2) needing to talk to "charles" in India for 40 minutes to realize the error on the screen was a simple fix and 3) spending another 30 minutes on the phone with Verizon to realize my stupid fault for not being able to get synced up with the internet.
So here we are, six years after the purchase of our last computer, which, in technology terms, is like buying a Ford Escape Hybrid when your last car was a stegosaurus. So far, it rocks. I mean, you double-click on an icon, and it opens! Like, right away, not twenty-eight minutes later!

Ryan was better the day after my birthday, so whatever he had went away just as quickly, thank goodness. And having a four-day work week was nice, though I worked late the last two days, making me miss my daughter grow six months. It's incredible. Where did my infant go? Now I've got a girl who looks like she even forgets how to crawl, walking this way and that way and in a circle and over yonder. She's learned how to sign "please", blow her nose, and sent text messages to her Aunt Beth.
Okay, not that last one, but it's coming! She's going to be dating soon!
*wheeze* *wheeze*
As it is, I'm the object of her affection; as I say 'bye-bye' to her in the morning, and she waves bye bye back and I say "kisses?" and she walks all the way past the length of the couch, lips tightly together, going "mmmmmm" the whole time, till she catches up to me to stick her forehead against my lips.
And the plus side for her rapid expansion into womanhood is that she's sleeping so much better, we could just about cry. She still gets up anywhere from two to three times a night, but rare are those occasions when it takes longer than a few minutes to get her back down, and usually she stays asleep for four or five hours after her initial nocturnal nursal nightcap.

Meanwhile, we can't even get our son to remember to say please the first time:
"Can I watch 'Mickey Mouse'?" he asks today.
"What's the next word?" I retort.
"Clubhouse."

He's also recently found his knob.
That didn't sound right, let me expand:
He now lets himself out of his bedroom. Nice thing in the morning for Ainsley, as he can come on downstairs when he's ready and she doesn't have to deal with Erin and go get him at the same time, but today when he was supposed to be napping and was all-a-sudden wandering around the house, it was a little unnerving.

Took the Roo back to the vet today to try and figure out if some medication can help her more-frequent dizzy spells (shakes her head, falls over, freaks out), but the doc said it's not really treatable (or diagnosable). No one knows why it happens in older dogs, but it does. Just need to keep her in a safe, quiet environment, the vet says.
He's a funny guy.

38? Special.

2009-02-15T23:27:00.002-05:00

Slept in until 7:07, what a treat. And if my fifteen-year-old former self could hear me now, he'd put a gun to his head.
The good news is that all of that carrying on at Grandad's house seemed to wear out our daughter, rendering her fitfully sleeping a solid 9 hours.
The bad news is that 9 hours ends at 5 a.m. But Ainsley got up with her and let me snooze another two hours, just like yesterday, just like most days. I have the best wife in the history of ever.
The kids rank up there, too, though, with Ryan quick-stomping his way downstairs when he woke up to wish me a Happy Birthday. Aw. Big hugs, pal.
Yummy cinnamon rolls for breakfast, then Ryan helped mommy with my cake, insisting that it be a cake, and that it be yellow, since I made the mistake of telling Ryan a while back that of the two color cups in the tub, I pick the yellow one, so now he says that's What I Like. So no pumpkin pie for me this year. If you're reading this, Mrs. Lacer, you have my address.

Unfortunately, Ryan turned into a bit of a Grumpy Pill on Steroids, even during a quick walk up the street to get out of the house. He ended up not falling asleep during naptime, even under the threat of not getting to eat any cake, if he didn't. So we knew the evening was going to be a treat with him, mood-wise.
As it was, after we ate cake and opened my presents, he started randomly complaining that his belly hurt. I didn't really believe him, since he'd be fine and rambunctious and annoying and then stop and start to whine that his belly hurt, as if he just wanted the attention.
So he got our attention outside the restaurant when he threw up all over the pier by The Chart House in Old Town Alexandria.
My favorite color is no longer yellow.
Lousy service in a hot, loud dining room didn't help our mood any, and Ryan got sick at the table again (his shoes just took a beating), so we quickly got the check and got everyone home, Erin happily singing and chatting away, Ryan falling asleep, towel in his lap. He got sick twice more in his room, reverting to dry heaves, since he hasn't really had much of anything except a few sips of water since his first episode.
So I'm thinking it's back to pumpkin pie next year.

I Heart Speedy McMuffin's Mommy

2009-02-14T22:50:00.002-05:00

The Grover Cleveland Awareness weekend started early, and not in a good way, but more in a dental way. Thought that turned out well in the end (or the front), since the Cleaning Lady was a delight, in that she didn't seem to take great joy in causing me an enormous amount of pain. It was almost a pleasant experience. Waterpick, slurp, polish, fluoride goo, you're done.
Wrote her name down for next year.
Then the boss called me into the back room mid-afternoon, and I was genuinely surprised by few folks in the office today singing Happy Birthday around an ice cream cake with a solitary candle burning in the corner. So hooray for military records.
I had planned to take Ryan shopping for a V-Day card for his mother after dinner, so asked that we eat a little earlier than usual. As it was, she had me stop and pick up some pizzas, one of which was in the shape of a heart. Papa John, ya big smoosh.

We started Valentine's Day early, with presents over breakfast tea, before schlepping the gang up to the Verizon Center in downtown DC to go watch "Disney On Ice", your basic lip-synched production centered around The Incredibles saving Mickey and Minnie Mouse from Syndrome's Robot Bowling Ball-cum-Dr. Octopus. Erin really enjoyed the show, even tapping her foot to the songs while nursing, while Ryan sat transfixed by it all, until he offered a short little wave to Alice (as in In Wonderland). Apparently he thought it was Cinderella. Whom we saw later. Along with Buzz Lightyear.
It was an eclectic show.

At intermission, I decided to let Erin stretch her legs in the concourse, and bought Ryan some cotton candy with an Incredibles head-mask thing of the superhero-fast little boy from the movie (Dash) whose name escaped me at the time, so I called him "Speedy McMuffin." Though it really just made Ryan look like a Keibler Bandit.

If my new computer could actually get on the internet, I'd share pictures.

Thanks to Frozone (the only one comfortable on ice, really) and Audience Participation, we were able to save the day, but Ryan still lost it at the end, all sad that no one came to shake his hand or that the show had actually ended or something, who knows. Been a while since I've been 3.
When Erin woke up, I took her to the store to buy dinner, then drove it to Dad's to stick in the oven, even leaving Erin there (the house, not the oven) to go pick up Ainsley & Ryan and give Erin quality Alone with the Big G time. I'd gotten a heart-shaped lasagna to continue the theme, after which the kids ably ran around the house like a couple of nutheads on too much sugar.
Did I mention Erin loved the cotton candy? Or at least it stopped her crying for a few minutes?
I'm such an awesome daddy. I should write a booklet.

Potty Mouth

2009-02-12T22:35:00.002-05:00

Had to go to the dentist yesterday, as the military mandates we go every year for a check-up and cleaning in exchange for all those free paper towels in the men's room.
Before the doctor came in, the assistant, a civilian lady in her mid-forties with a strong African accent, took some x-rays and my blood pressure, then asked a rather odd question, I thought:

"Did ya youse da bat'room?"

Jeez, how long is this exam going to take? I thought that little bowl was just for spitting.
"Excuse me?"

"I sed, 'Do ya use tobacco?'"
Well sure, that's where all the free paper towels are.
The dentist came in, saw my name on the form, and started speaking German inquisitively to me, but I responded in the American. Perhaps I should take up Rosetta Stone again.

If I may have only been teasing before, Erin is a full-fledged card-carrying member of the Bipedal Elite, Squirt Edition. Yesterday it was bending over, picking up toys, and straightening up again, and tonight it was walking hither, yon, and spots in between. She grabbed a two-pound tractor (not to scale) from the toy box and walked across the room with it in one hand. She's even rarin' to hurdle the side of the tub to let her damn self in, thank you very much.
I came home yesterday to everyone outside in record warmth, waiting for me on the porch, like the good ol' days of summer, only now I've got two kids on the sidewalk standing and pointing and acknowledging, with Erin's machine-gun Da-DAT! jetted out between a sparsely-toothed grin. She also really liked me doing the noise a bee makes and copying (sort of):
Me: "Bzzzzzz."
She: "Sssssss."
Last milestone, then I'll leave you to your own recognizances -- she pointed at a picture of herself on the mantel, then pointed at herself. Which really is amazing, because we have no idea who that 3-month-old crabby girl who never slept is in that picture; certainly not the angel we see before us. Because WHOO were those a rough 3...8...11 and a half... months.
In unrelated news, congrats, Chris and Todd on the new additions!

Sprig in a Blanket

2009-02-10T23:12:00.003-05:00

Tagged to go to another embassy function tonight, meaning arriving home late, after kids in bed, which made me glad I was able to talk to my son twice on the phone though he's still struggling with the concept:

"Hi Daddy I Love You Erin is Here Ummmmmmmmm Are You Done With Me Bye Bye Daddy See You Later Bye."

Perhaps this will nip that telemarketing career in the bud.

Turned out to be a nice evening, in a grand ballroom at the HQ of the Organization of American States, not having realized that Serbia had recently moved next to Guatemala, Balkan Squatters that they are. It's nice to feel more comfortable in the settings, recognizing more folks and being reciprocally noticed, able to say hello in various languages, kiss various cheeks. Plus the finger-food was awesome, to include asparagus wrapped in a prosciutto-like meat, loosely surrounded by a baked pastry, making it look vaguely like a vegetarian corn dog. Sadly, by the time I was done talking with the Zambian and Kenyan Air Attaches and heard the speech from the Ambassador and some American Congresswoman, the plate of them was empty and sad, much like, I imagine, the hole left in south-east Europe, thanks to Serbia's move. Perhaps Montenegro can buy some large plants at Hellenic Home Depot.

With the venue at Constitution and 17th, I stole five minutes away for myself and crossed the street to go look at the WWII memorial, as I'd not seen it at night, other than driving by. Unlike the the Look At Me bright white searchlights on the White House and Washington Monument, the lighting here is yellower, dimmer, subtle, everything awash in a soft glow, literally like a night light. Despite the recent warm weather, disappointed that the lake and fountains were understandably drained for the winter, so I'll have to come back in the summer.
But when I turned a corner at the front of the memorial and saw the Lincoln Memorial shining like a temple in the distance, I literally got chills. Something about the quiet night, being in uniform at that location, the clop of my dress shoes echoing against the marble, American flags billowing slightly... I don't know. Wonderful feeling. I do so like this job.

I wonder how green beans would taste in a Pillsbury Crescent Roll?

I love summer

2009-02-09T21:13:00.003-05:00

Had a lovely weekend if you discount Ryan getting smacked in the nose with a baseball.
Granted, it's a plastic baseball, and we think his pride was more hurt than anything. Builds character. Hones the instinct to catch. (Or duck.)
A little early in the year for outdoor sports, one would think, but a couple days in the high 60s had everyone out washing their cars like us or walking dogs or going to the park. Erin loves going down the slide, and wants to walk back up it like her big brother (what say you master walking on a flat surface first, there, cricket). And she still loves being pushed in the swing as long as she gets to pretend she's kicking her father halfway across the playground. Big, toothy, squinty grins and chuckles with every pump. Warms the already toasty cockles. As does Ryan's peacock-feather-like emoting for the 4- and 7-year old girls who joined him on the playgrounds, all "look at me" and "I'll show you how to do it." He also busted out a "Thank you for sharing" to his sister all unpromptedly and stuff, swelling his mother's head full of pride bubbles.
You kinda hadta see it.

Wiesbaddy

2009-02-03T21:35:00.001-05:00

Happy Birthday, Tom Lindenstruth. Wherever you are.

Ralph

2009-02-02T22:17:00.003-05:00

Heard a funny noise at 5 this morning over Ryan's monitor that sounded like Donald Duck was singing the last few words of the National Anthem. I went in to investigate, seeing as the garbage truck had just stopped by and I was up anyway.
Ryan was showing concern that his stuffed rabbit was sitting on the floor.
I was more concerned with the six gallons of vomit on his pillow.

Got all his bedclothes off and changed his shirt, and he happily crawled on the floor next to a floor pillow thing I used to use when I had to pretend to sleep next to his crib, and pulled the comforter over him. He threw up on that later. Then the couch, then his mother, then the cat...it was a Monty Python movie.

I asked for frequent updates, which was pretty much the status quo: couldn't keep anything down. Even ice cubes. Heard Erin LA LA ing away in the background, so at least she was okay.

Had to go to Walter Reed yet again for an elbow consult -- thanks to a surgery call, I didn't get seen until 2 for a one o'clock appointment, which would have been fine if he had been able to tell me anything at all about how to fix my problem. It's not tender to the touch, I have full range of motion, and granted it's much better than it was five months ago, but it's still 'there' and no one knows what 'it' is. The inner-elbow-version of tennis elbow was ruled out since it wasn't swollen or painful to the touch. The professional recommendation, just like my back, just like my hand, is to Live With It. Let Pain Be My Guide. What. Ever.

Checked on Ryan from work, who I heard was lying on the couch, moose slippered-feet still on the ground, blanket over his head, telling his mother to take him to The Man Village.
I wanna go to the man village!
When I got home, he was a pitiful mess, warm all over, not hungry, not moving, except to tell Mommy he doesn't feel well over and over again. (Which is ultimately less heartbreaking than the "Mommy, fix it," he tried earlier in the day.) And to throw up yet again into a bowl I was directed Just In Time to bring mouthward.
The issue was compounded by the fact that Mommy didn't feel well, either. They must eat at the same chiliburger joints. The two of them to bed early, I read with Erin for a bit (she's SO into books now, and MAN a lot of them star a cow she can go voo to), let her watch me eat dinner, then was able to sway her struggles and protests into a sleep of her own, now entering its third hour thankfully. Ryan's only been up once, with whatever going on inside him causing him to just say, "No, no..." but he just coughed a bit and then plopped back down on his pillow. He's still moaning and heavy breathing from time to time, which makes me wish we didn't even have monitors, the poor thing. Just a button like Wallace to ring me when he needs me. :-(

Daddy-Do Due

2009-02-01T23:01:00.002-05:00

Begged out of another invitational family jaunt to take care of things in the house that I've been meaning to get to for months. Felt bad leaving Ainsley alone with two crabby kids (Ryan has finally found his "no"), but I crammed more into those five hours than I've been able to accomplish in a year. And left a handful of things still on the table.

Late back home, so late naps, but perfect for Super Bowl night, with Dad's help throwing nachos and lima beans into our respective soy- and cheese-eating and soy- and cheese-averse children. Erin started out the evening a wreck, just crying hysterically whenever she was in the same room with Ainsley and not being held by her, or even hearing her talk from a different floor in the house. But the lima beans did the trick, and she got excited with open-mouthed-smiling screams when the action during the game called for it. And she was nice enough to stay asleep through a very exciting second half before the Steelers squeaked out a victory. Ryan, on the other hand, seems to be turning into a night owl like his ol' block.
This won't win me any points with the missus, son.

But as ornery as he is becoming, with two new phrases in his vernacular competing for orneriest (1: accompanied by a stop-in-the-name-of-love fully extended palm, "Don't Worry About Me"; and 2: a sharp-eyebrowed "Don't Tell Me No."), coupled with other displays of "tude" at the dinner table (whoever taught him how to roll his eyes? A dead man.), we still feel lucky that he's not a holy terror, and relish the good in him, if I can get all Jedi on you.
This evening, overheard on his bedroom monitor, while he was all alone:

*burp*
"Excuse me."

Riding the Special Bus, the Wheels Upon Which Went Neither Round Nor Round

2009-01-31T23:17:00.004-05:00

The snow is gone, save the old piles that Ryan still likes to kick with his little shoes, but we're still ending January on a cold note. Today we were invited to Ryan's friend Oliver's third birthday party at his house, and his parents had arranged for The Fun Bus (TM) to park in the driveway. It's basically a gymboree on wheels, with standard Excitable and Engaging Lead Dude coupled with Obviously Not Glad To Be There Trainee Dude Who Probably Has To Drive and Clean Up Spittle. They ran, bounced, swung, shot little baskets, rocked in a doughnut, hung from chains, and then went down a slide out the back door, all with raucous kiddie music blasting through the speakers. Back in the house, there was a few-minute period when I was in the romper room with about 8 kids under 4. Ten years ago? Would have felt overwhelmed, uncomfortable. Now? I'm Solomon, telling kids to share things or I'll take them.
Maybe that wasn't Solomon. Who was going to slice the baby in two?
Need to get back to Sunday School.

I got Erin back to sleep once in her crib, but when she woke up again, I brought her downstairs, thinking she was all done, but she actually crashed again in my arms in the chair -- sadly, away from the remote, so when my movie ended, I had to sit and watch all the credits, then wait for the tape to run to the end and then watch whatever was on that particular channel (end of U.S. Marshalls, the first 30 minutes of "Die Hard With A Vengeance").

Snow Business

2009-01-27T20:20:00.004-05:00

IT'S ABOUT TIME!!!!

Got a call at work, caller ID says it's home, so I say something silly to Ainsley.

Pause.

Little boy responds: "Hi, Daddy!"

Oh, dear. Ainsley's dead, and instead of dialing 9-1-1 like I trained him, he's called me at work to chat.

"It's SNOWWW-ing!" he exclaims.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"It's snowing at the Pentagon, too."

"Whoa." Clearly too much excitement for one day. But I was able to convince Ainsley (not dead, it turns out) to bundle up the munchkids and get them out in their first snowfall of the season in the off chance that it's the last.

There was enough daylight when I got home to join him outside again per his request to go and build a snowman, but the consistency just wasn't quite there, so the results aren't going to be put in the Louvre anytime soon. The neighbor across the street provided the carrot and buttons, then her son and Ryan spent another twenty minutes throwing wispy snow at each other's backs. So thank you, Mother Nature, for reading my blog. Sorry about all the nasty things I said about you the other day, but we needed this.

Snuffleupagirl

2009-01-26T20:49:00.002-05:00

"Again?" says the boss when he asks how my weekend was and I tell him I'm sick.
I know! Twice in one month! It's insane (in the mucus membrane, as the song goes by those dudes. Way back when. Had to look it up. Cypress Hill. They spelled Cyprus wrong. Perhaps they're from Turkey. I know the lead singer from System of a Down is. But I believe I am slightly digressing)!

My eyes sting, my nose feels like a cannonball was shoved inside it, and I'm sneezing with the regularity of a Swiss clock. DayQuil, no help. Three cups of tea, a little help. Temporary.

The whole house is miserable; Ainsley was at a friend's yesterday afternoon, and when Erin got up at 3, she cried until 4. Went all over the house, from the basement to our bedroom, looking for Mama with the Mammoes. Finally took everyone's Happy Ass to Grandad's to dirty someone else's dishwasher for a change. Though this is the last time with the seating arrangement of both of them on the bench together. Too much leaning and wandering hands. Got home and started to do laundry wrong (apparently cold water doesn't work) so I drowned my sorrows in NyQuil.

But I came home from work today to find everyone in a much better mood, helped by the fact that we had "We Love Daddy" cake. I'd never heard of it, but I sure liked the sound of it. (Turned out to be yummy plain vanilla pound cake. Bland Like Me.) And Erin finally walked for her mother; she (Erin) had always walked around when Ainsley was out of the room or not home or sleeping, so she (Ainsley) didn't believe me (Dan). Entirely. But she walked five steps towards the front door when I got home, and walked a good five yards between the ottoman and the dining room after dinner. So Yay for little Miss E being even More In The Way.
I mean just Yay.

Catch ZZ

2009-01-24T21:46:00.003-05:00

After a typical Up A Bunch couple of nights, Erin's surprised her mother with two consecutive nights staying asleep 7 hours. (I say 'her mother' because I just can't be trusted with whether or not I hear her in the middle of the night.)
Unfortunately, those 7 hours tend to end around 4 o'clock, which does us no good, so: new bedtime: Midnight. I figure she should get to know David Letterman before he keels over with another heart attack anyway.
The other issue is that Erin may be getting 7 hours sleep, but Ainsley isn't; she's either awake every fifteen minutes wondering if she's heard her; can't sleep because she's worried about her; or is having dreadful dreams about losing her in a roller disco or something. She could count on her 50-minute cycles and had adjusted her body. This, this bizarre 'sleep' thing is new ground for her.
Actual conversation this afternoon showing the depth of our care and concern for our children:

Me: Ryan's monitor's batteries died. He could be on fire.
Ainsley: No, he's not. I'd be able to smell it.

Tried out a new Japanese hibachi place tonight, the third one in a span of 5 miles. The first has all the ambiance of a truck stop on I-70. The second I love (see my last birthday entry). This one was somewhere in between, not great, not bad. Nice enough folks, entertained my son well enough (though scared the hell out of Erin with the big fireball), but the food was absolutely drenched in sauce. At least Erin enjoyed her saltwater soup and ate a Buddha Body Weight in steamed rice.

Another cold front came through tonight, which is cutting into my hot tub time. I mean cold nights are fine (went out there the other night when it was 19 degrees), but there's just something about a cold breeze that blows the whipped cream off my coffee, if you will.
Yes, I understand there are children in Ethiopia who don't even have the option to pick and choose their hot tubbing experience, but this is my house.
Speaking of cold fronts, we all have one again. Not surprising, since we're constantly sharing silverware and toys, and what with Erin grabbing my tongue for fun. I just wish we could have some snow for once if we're going to continue with this cold weather (those of you in Wisconsin, yes, I know where I can stick it). I promised my son a snowman last weekend when the Weathermen forecasted it; you know how hard it is to make a partlycloudyman?

O

2009-01-20T22:01:00.003-05:00

Coming down from the high of a bonus four-day weekend, thanks to the federally endistrictized of us being told to stay home rather than battle inauguration crowds, and bolstered by the fact that Erin Leigha slept nine hours straight last night.
It's just a tease, we realize.

Sunday Ainsley hosted a Gal's Night Away From Their Stupid Husbands, or whatever they call it, so I took the wee peas out to look at the fish birds geckos and kitties at PetSmart before stopping off at Hard Times Cafe for chili and hot dogs and fruit cups and cornbread (kids eat free Sundays!). We had a blast, and Ryan was amazingly behaviorant. It's Erin who was the more screechy and throwy, but most everyone else in the joint was engrossed in the NFL playoffs on the big screen. Got 'em home and bathed, and Ryan chatted away with the ladies while Ainsley put Erin down, showing them his grass-eating whale named Ryan (really a blue oven glove).

Erin still surprises me with this growing up thing of hers, with a little-girl personality emerging every day. I was startled by a clear and lucid "apple" coming out of her mouth this morning, and she's thrown out a "kitty" and what a cow says, too ("Voooooo"). Tried to teach her banana ("ba-na") this afternoon, and yesterday reading her books (she does the sign very well), she preemptively danced at the dance part and did peekaboo at the peekaboo part. And she cracks me the hell up by responding to her brother doing the elephant commands from "Jungle Book", immediately echoing his "Company...!" with a hands-spread "Halt!" of her own ("Uh!"). Then waits patiently to answer his "Forward!" with a "March!" (also "Uh!", but we get what she means).

Today Dad came over to watch the inauguration, which is a difficult concept to explain to a 3-year-old who just wants to watch "Rescue Heroes." Not that I remember Ford being sworn in. We probably had lousy internet coverage at the time.

Buckarootine TDY

2009-01-17T21:03:00.002-05:00

Just back from a few days in Texas to scope out locations for a future tour. Invaluable to get "eyes on target" if that target is going to include places to eat with names like "Booger Red's", "The Elephant Bar & Saloon", and "Lonesome Dove Cafe". I will also now be able to tell the attaches to avoid the 'cattle fries'.
Those of you in the Pikes Peak Region who enjoy the occasional Rocky Mountain Oyster know what I'm talking about.
Though I would recommend the rattlesnake sausage, kangaroo nachos, deer chops, and St. Arnold's Fancy Lawnmower beer.
Despite a few problems with the GPS sending us hither and yonder, it was a good trip, to two locations (Ft. Worth and San Antonio) I'd never been, the latter city apparently close to a mortal sin for someone 16 years in the Air Force -- it has four AF bases ringing the city, as well at least one Army post. It's going to be hard to narrow down stuff to do with our group. Especially with the Alamo and the River Walk, with all the restaurants and mariachi bands therein.
New career goal: open a restaurant in downtown San Antonio that specializes in putting ice cream on top of other things. Call it "ALaMode's"
This idea hereby trademarked by the Federal Department of Commerce & Agriculture, Sec. 1492.3 dash A.

As always, nice to get home, though these single-digit temps can go bye-bye in a hurry. The cabin fever just adds to the end of a crappy week for my son, which started with him almost pulling a motorcycle on top of himself at a sporting goods store (the next one in line broke its fall, but it still scared the bejoojooze out of him). It ended on a high note, though, celebrating a friend's 3-year old birthday at what amounts to his first tea party -- he looked dapper in a clip-on red-and-black square tie, Erin in her finest look-I'm-starting-to-walk tights, and even his father in a bow tie and bowler to look the part. His daddy's a bit silly, it's been noted.

Abbasault

2009-01-11T23:03:00.002-05:00

Bless her heart, but as previously mentioned, for Christmas my wife got me the film version of the most popular musical on the planet for anyone over 12, "Mamma Mia!"
It is now not only a daily request from the boy, but Ainsley was also good enough to find my "ABBA Gold" cd, so at least we could pick and choose a few songs for him to listen to after dinner, rather than trying to coax him, crying and pouty, away from the television.
He now wants to hear the cd every night during dinner (no), and can't wait to get down and run around in the Office in a marionettesque dancing-like fashion.
"Can I hear ALL the songs of Mamma Mia?" he asks between bites of peas.
Maybe two, after you finish your milk.
"Can I hear...'You can dance...you can dance...having the time of your life...ooo...see that girl...watch that thing...diggin..dancing tween...'?"
What else.
"Mamma Mia...here I go again...my my...how can I a sister?"
Meanwhile, Erin claps and sways and undulates and grins in her booster.

Okay, good that something makes him super-happy, and Ainsley notes how neat it is that the musical and the movie are bringing the Abba music to a whole new generation, but I am beginning to resent their very Nordic, spandexed existence. I'll be at work and a song will stick in my head. I will wake up in the morning humming "S.O.S."
For a third change of pace, I found some of their videos on YouTube, so that's fun for a lark if you're every bored or need a Halloween Costume for 70s-themed party.

Walk Like Amanda

2009-01-06T22:36:00.001-05:00

Been a rough week, getting-to-the-computer wise. Felt like crap the first half of the week, so much so that I had to call in sick on Monday. It didn't help that Sunday night I had an MRI on my elbow at 11:45 pm (Bethesda runs 24/7 ops, and that was the earliest appointment I could get), got home around 2, and then found myself alternating with Supermom trying to get Erin to go back to sleep -- she had a fun awake and crying period from midnight until 3:30.
So when my alarm went off two hours later and my head felt like the Hindenburg, I figured work didn't need to see me that day, and I'd get better soup at home.
Having failed pretty miserably at trying to nap with the rest of the house, I stayed up after lunch, and brought Erin downstairs after her usual wisp of a snooze (she's going to be great at college, with all the late-night studying and sleep deprivation practice she's had here in these formative years). For a lark, I decided to try her (no) hand at walking, and tarnation if she didn't take a few itty bitty steps with no help before plopping on her haunches. I managed to bust out the video camera and got her to go again a couple more times, so she's definitely on the precipice of finding her land legs. She's also climbing up the stairs with wild abandon and sliding down them with less wild and abandon-free precision. I don't know where my wife came up with the whole "toes and knees" idea, but the kids just get it. Down stairs, off the bed, from our laps on the chairs, she's a sliding, floor-bound fool. The other morning I plopped her down in the couch, told her to stay (works for Bailey), then went to go get her a banana. Came back, and there she is on the floor, looking around the corner at me on all fours. "Howdy!", was her smiling, didn't-fall-off-the-couch expression.
Her vocal acuity is getting better, too, as her "Maaaaaa-MA" and "datdat" attest to. "Grandad" comes out as a definitive two-syllable g-sounding thing quite different than her 'daddy', and we think we're hearing the attempts at "kitty" or "Tucker" in the yiddish-like "chcchchch" she spits forth when she sees him. But the Word of the Month is definitely "up." "Up" means "I want up." "Up" means "I want down." "Up" and a point means "I want that." "Up" can mean "do that again."
Not such a good thing, though: I was reminded, during one of my 3:30am sessions of walking her around her room to get her back to sleep, how Ryan learned the word "open" and used to say it so sadly and pathetically when I was holding him, reaching out to the door, hoping his mother would come in.
But despite the fact that Erin still gets up 4-7 times every night, we are seeing progress -- she actually put herself back to sleep once, and a few other times I've gone in and she was still lying down, so, sleepier than the usual grabbing onto the siderails. I even got her to go back to sleep without picking her up, just by gently shaking the end of the crib. But it occurred to me that except for that one night in December, she hasn't really slept through the night, so neither of I, since the last night in Hawaii back in early November. Granted, this doesn't compare to the years Ainsley's gone without, but this is my blog, and these are my beans. As it were.

Say Goodbye to Holly, Wood

2009-01-03T22:13:00.003-05:00

The holiday adrenalin protective viral force field has now, the weekend after, failed. My wife put me on NyQuil last night, and I slept till nearly 8:45. Tea and grits for breakfast helped soothe my throat, but it's still a head- and body-cold that looks like will be visiting for a while.

I did get Ryan out into the backyard with me after lunch to do yardwork, which turned into just playing in the sandbox and driving him around in the wheelbarrow.

Did manage to dehang some of the Christmas lights outside, put away the Redskins Christmas village, and stopped turning the tree on, as we slowly pack Christmas away again, going so far as to tell Ryan that I would in fact NOT sing him Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the guitar.

Anyone know any good January songs?

Barnes & Pudding

2009-01-02T21:43:00.001-05:00

Wanted to give Ainsley some time to herself to do things women do when they have time to themselves which are understandably unbeknownst by guys since we're guys and are rarely women alone, so I saddled up the kidders and took them to the library.
Which, on a cold, cloudy day, was more crowded than I'd have liked, making me wish I could stop having bright ideas to take my kids to where others are with their germs and stuff. But we watched a short movie, did some puzzles, read some books, rocked in a rocking chair, hugged a teddy bear, coveted the Spanish version of Cat in the Hat, looked at Squirt the Turtle, and then got disappointed:
Ryan, at the front desk, holding his football book to check out -- "Can I have a library card?"
Lady, at said desk -- "How old are you?"
Up go 2, then 3 fingers -- "3."
Evil lady -- "I'm sorry, you have to be 5 and in school in order to get one. Maybe your father can get one, though."
Dad, incredulous -- "I'm not in school..."

I mean, seriously. He's cute as a button, asking so nicely, and you slam the door in his face? Give him a coupon to Bath & Body Works and call it his Library Card. Make him happy. No, the gingerbreadman bookmark and the orange "I Visited My Library Today" sticker aren't going to cut it.

After naps, we all went to my Dad's to bring him some soup post-dental surgery. We also brought him some tapioca pudding, and Ainsley made him some jell-o. So he should be good to go for a couple days. He was also on cloud 9 having won the inaugural version of Chutes & Ladders, though that may have been the pain medication.

Starting the year with a bang. Then 11 more.

2009-01-01T13:58:00.003-05:00

I woke up on the wrong side of the year.

What it with being 12 minutes past midnight, and the third Battle of Manassas taking place on Pocomoke Court.

It seems our dear sweet neighbors aren't your average 'county regulation readers', as the law clearly states:

Any fireworks that explode, rise into the air, travel laterally or fire projectiles into the air are not allowed.
Violations can lead to fines of up to $2,500 and or 12 months in prison.

After the 6th Football Stadium-appropriate cannonade and accompanying aerial explosion, I was on the phone trying to call the cops in one hand, soothing a screaming daughter in the other. The police never answered, which didn't matter since the idiots ran out of artillery fodder (I heard someone else down the street yelling at them, too), but it was another hour before Ainsley could get Erin back to sleep (despite my two successful attempts, lasting all of the distance from her door to ours).

I've never been so upset with another human being in my life. Not helped by the fact that I haven't slept particularly well (relatively speaking) in three days. Dogs got me up at 7, so I just let them out and sat in my 'stew pot' as my wife lovingly, but this time appropriately, calls my hot tub.

O Christmas III

2008-12-31T23:07:00.002-05:00

Ainsley's parents returned Monday from two weeks out in snowy Seattle, and I was able to pick them up after work, saving them the $50 Super Saver charge and the 3 hours it would take for them to get someone to wander around Northern Virginia before dropping them off at our door. Ryan was quick to show them every single thing he got for Christmas, particularly the illuminating elephant on a stick. I think it also has a propeller of some sort.
Tuesday we awoke to Ainsley's oven-fresh cranberry pecan bread, then opened the remaining kilotons of Christmas presents among the six of us. I drove up to DTRA at lunch to see a friend's promotion ceremony, seeing old compatriots, eating the same teeth-staining blue-frosted cake we all get at these things.
Cooped up all day, the rest of the family wanted to go out to eat, so we decided on TGI Friday's to avoid the mall traffic. Erin ate loads, including an entire chicken strip, several platefuls of fried green beans, and some cucumbers and croutons, before being full and fed up enough to require me to carry her around the restaurant, pointing out the crap on the walls (astronaut, picture of JFK, Rod Stewart album covers, Darth Vader helmet) while people commented how cute she was. Which was true, since Ainsley had changed her outfit from whatever pink-on-polka-dotted-orange concoction I had come up with.
Went in for a half day on New Year's Eve (to a sparse office anyway), but I was grumpy most of the day on account of being up since 4:24 when the garbage men woke up our daughter and then me shaving the tip of my cheek mole off in groggy bathroomed stupor. But I made us nice big fire, and the ladies whipped up a yummy fondue for us all (Ryan was more interested in the forks than the cheese), before popping some bubbly and watching the second half of "Mamma Mia!", now Ryan's favorite movie in the history of time. Plum exhausted, the can-do Foulds-types kept us up chatting till near 11, but for the second straight year (at least?) the ball dropped in our sleep.
We need to move out west again. New Year's comes MUCH earlier out there. Live-TV wise, anyway.

La La Land

2008-12-28T14:28:00.002-05:00

The strangest thing happened yesterday morning: I asked Ryan to go get his slippers, and he said, "Okay."
!
No "No", no "I don't want to wear slippers," no "Will you help me?", no going to do something else. I asked him to be sure to get up on that side of the bed every day.

We were able to open just a couple more presents before needing to get out of the house on a warmish December day. We strolled up to the park and threw the kids in the playground, Erin discovering that she's a big fan of slapstick, laughing uproariously by me pretending to get kicked in the face by her swing.
Barely able to get some soup and grilled cheese pita sandwiches into the kids before nap, which was rudely interrupted by fire & rescue sirens. I was able to get Erin back to sleep, who lasted another 45 minutes...before more sirens woke her up (new rule: if you don't see emergency vehicles coming, they get to shoot you out of the way with a bazooka. No need to keep waking up my daughter just so they can get through intersections faster).
Erin and I watched some TV and ate raisins until her mother got up, then I offered to take Erin with me to go get some take n bake pizza. She chatted away in the car, and when we had to wait in a small line, I bounced her around the foyer, her singing away the whole time, a lilty, lovely "la-la-laaaa.." over and over again. I just wish Ainsley could see her like this. Of course, we get home, and as soon as Erin sees her mother, she starts crying, reaching out for her, wanting to be held, wanting to nurse, don't let me go. As terrible as they may end up being, I can't wait for her "two"s, since then at least she'll be able to communicate what she's feeling.
We ended up having a very fun night, as we gathered around the living room table to eat the pizza and watch "Mamma Mia!", which my wife got for me. When the first song came on, my daughter started dancing like a crazy luauer, clapping and swaying, while Ryan just furrowed his brow, mouth agape, wondering why this girl was suddenly singing (Oh, because the Wiggles never do that). He eventually got into the spirit of things, dancing by the table, waving his new construction equipment utensils around in the air, while Erin climbed around on the floor, going "la la laaaa" whenever a song came on. And I would swear she's making air-guitar-like movements, too.
Able to get them in and out of the bath, and both kids crashed hard...Erin even slept six and half hours, no doubt helped by her new Metallica "Rockabye Baby" CD. She was up for an hour between 3 and 4, then slept until 7:30. If we could get the dogs to start using our toilet instead of wanting to get up at 7, we actually might get some sleep around here.

A Long December

2008-12-26T14:26:00.002-05:00

I was a little off with yesterday's prediction, as Ryan and Erin got a mega-early start on Christmas -- 2am! Neither Ainsley or I could get Erin back to sleep after getting herself up, and Ryan started a hacking, every-three-seconds cough that had us pulling out strange options like Chloroseptic (he said it tasted 'yukkie') and cough drops. The saving grace was that Ryan didn't seem upset about the events, a sweet smile on his face while we gave him medicine. He seemed generally happy to see us, which contrasted from the attitude of little miss gotohell next door.
I finally laid down next to Ryan on the floor and he fell asleep a little before 5, while Ainsley got Erin finally down around the same time. She was up again at 6, but I was able to get her back down in just a couple minutes, then Ryan was up crazy-coughing by 7:15. Ainsley brought him into bed with us for a bit, but when he wouldn't stop coughing in my face, she took him into the shower with her, after which Erin was crabbily awake, around 8.
Thankfully, we were able to tell the kids that Santa had used that small window between 5 and 6am to stuff himself in our house, fill stockings, eat cookies, and leave Ryan a 6-foot rug with town painted on it, roads, schools, pizza places, and four new cars from Cars to go with his others (Erin got a small doll with a stroller and a little baby bottle she kept slapping up against its forehead).
Managed to get through stockings before Grandad and Tim arrived to start on theirs, then took a break from all the festivities to have a small parade around the downstairs, Ryan the Conductor out front, telling who needed which instrument, when to start, when to stop, huge grin on his face being in charge. We then opened a handful of presents before getting a few bites of lunch into the kids, who then both enjoyed the heartiest of naps either of them have had in a while. We were able to get all the Big People presents opened before getting everyone ready and out to the Boivins', where the usual spinach dip and cheeseballs awaited, not to mention a Newcastle Brown Ale, opened and ready at my spot on the coffee table.
Throwing tradition to the wind, we opened presents right away, while everyone was still in a good mood (Erin more so thanks to the spinach dip), then despite the small grease fire and spilled water glass at the table and Erin spinning and clonking her head on the leg of a chair, we enjoyed a lovely family gathering.
Erin fell asleep on the way home, and I was able to transfer her into her crib, where she stayed asleep until past one (then four, then seven, if you're sensing the pattern). Ryan's cough was better, thanks to the kiddie mucinex pop rocks we had him swallow allowing him to get to sleep relatively quickly, and Ainsley and I even got to bed before midnight for a change. Our little present to ourselves.

Yes, Woodbridge Virginia

2008-12-24T23:28:00.003-05:00

Took a day off from the family and went in to work today, but we were magnanimously released just after noon anyway, giving me time to get home and get nothing accomplished except hold my daughter and walk around so she'd stop itch-baying at ommy-bay. I then started my traditional Daddy-surprise Christmas Eve meal, which as usual took about thirty more minutes than planned, as well as requiring two additional skillets to hold all the stupid eggplant, potatoes, peppers, and tomatoes in the Suksaka or whatever it was called, obviously designed to feed a boatful of Ottoman sailors. Thank goodness my brother helped peel and seed the tomatoes, or we'd still be there with no fried egg to stick on the hand-breaded chicken cutlet a la provolone e prosciutto, which actually didn't have a recipe, just a picture. I was well complimented by the adult members of the family, though Erin just complained until I picked her up, and Ryan was in no mood to not be three (I'm not sure the boy's eaten much of anything since June). Still, you gotta feel for the lad, snorting through his sinuses, calling his mother "Bobby" and Uncle Tim comes out "Unkl Tub."

So, if you ever need your kitchen seriously @&*# up, you know who to call.

Despite (or because of) Ryan's 'tude, we took a stroll down the street to look at the multitude of holiday lighting attempts, and tried to explain to Ryan that he should probably be good for at least fifteen seconds if he wanted Santa to bring a present (on top of the thirty-eight thousand he already sees under the tree). But it's actually fun going through the 'Santa' motions, seeing the amazed disbelief when we talk about him landing on the roof and coming through our chimney, and even leaving out cookies and milk by the fireplace for the first time.

Unfortunately, this also meant that we'll have to unwrap stockings in the morning, and what with him still coughing away up in his room, it probably won't be an early night.

Last present wrapped in 2008? 10:58pm.

Well, except for the stuff that I knew was already going to be mailed late, so why bother?

A Man of Few Skills

2008-12-24T00:43:00.000-05:00

I totally have no idea how women put tissue paper in gift bags and make them look halfway decent.

World War 3(year-old)

2008-12-23T22:08:00.003-05:00

The Russians could go ahead and attack, since our own little wolfette's near-constant cries sound like an air raid siren anyway.
It's simply exhausting, and I've only been experiencing it for seven days. I seriously don't know why Ainsley isn't in a bell tower somewhere shooting bystanders who don't look like they want to go to sleep, either.
Ryan's joined the bandwagon, as he didn't nap for the third straight day. His cold may have something to do with it, and we're still amazed that he stays in his bed for 2, 3 hours, yammering away, yawning loudly, singing songs, without getting up and working that doorknob thing or just pulling out a bunch of books or destroying his clothes hangars. But we'd still prefer just a smidgen of sleep from the lad. Tonight he was an unholy terror (for him), running around like a tornadic idiot, especially after finding a fifteen-foot-long strand of packing paper in an amazon.com box. Luckily, Erin was able to duck and weave for the most part, avoiding the dragon's tail, but still -- with all his carrying on, we're considering changing Ryan's name to the slightly less conventional but infinitely more appropriate Not In Her Face.

The Fall of Fall

2008-12-22T21:48:00.001-05:00

We needed to get the kids out of the house on Friday, a dreary, drippy, grey day, and decided to take Uncle Tim to his favorite haunt, which Ryan likes to call the "Cow Store" but we all know as Chik-Fil-A. Got the kids to bed that night and took off to a friend of Ainsley's for a short holiday gathering with people I barely know, but it was good to do adult stuff (even though I was more interested in playing ping-pong or Wii with the numerous kids running around) and play "guess the meat ingredient" in the dips and random balls of puffs sitting in the kitchen. Unfortunately, Erin was a bit of a fusspill for her grandfather, so we were glad we had called it an early night.

Saturday I worked on more presents and even took the dogs for a walk with Erin on my chest, before heading out with the whole family to the Bull Run Festival of Lights, a nice 2.5-mile rolling trail past and through a multitude of Christmas- and Fairy Tale-themed LED arrangements. We then stopped at "Santa's Village", which turned out to be almost the exact same fairground setup as the Fort Belvoir Octoberfest, only with fire pits for roasting smores (even Ryan talked about "the music in the tent" -- the German oom-pa-pa band from the last event).

Sunday we noticed Ryan's Ya-Ya level pinging, so we got everyone dressed to go visit Mr. Cheese (Charles Edward) to dance to the animatronics, play whatever age-appropriate games, and turn in 169 game tickets for a 5-cent piece of plastic. To no avail, though: Ryan didn't go down for a nap at all, while Erin oddly napped for over 4 hours, nearly three times her usual length. Turns out she had a temperature of 103 degrees (accompanied again by a cold), so she just felt dreadful during the Redskins-Eagles game. Ryan didn't even go to sleep that night until well after 10, while Erin was up every twenty minutes or so between 8 and midnight. So we're just going to leave most of our gifts unwrapped, what say?

Today, despite the fever subsiding and reappearing in the middle of the night, it was finally in the high 90s/low 100s at breakfast, so I didn't feel as guilty to go on the planned jaunt with Tim to the newly renovated American History Museum up in DC. Good thing to do on the coldest day of the year (4 degrees with the wind chill), though the venue itself wasn't as grand as I'd hoped. The new Star-Spangled Banner display is pretty cool, but the rest of the museum looked mostly the same. Hit lunch at the Old Post Office, then came home to an again un-napped Ryan, sporting a Niagral Nasal passage himself, and a red and whiny 1-year-old girl who still obviously felt like crap. It was all we could do to enjoy Carraba's take-out and play with Erin's new musical instruments (Ryan on the tambourine, Erin on the bells, Daddy and Uncle Tim on the maracas) before getting everyone medicated and to bed. Here's hoping everyone is semi-coherent for Christmas...

It Just Hurts

2008-12-18T21:40:00.002-05:00

So today, after eleven months and three doctors and lots of gaps between appointments due to their only being one hand specialist in the entire military (the Navy, as it turns out), I learned that below the dorsal aspect of the third carpometacarpal joint, just deep to the MRI marker, there is osseous prominence at the junction of the base of the third metacarpal and the capitate with a spur compatible with a carpal boss. There is

Wait there's more

There is abnormal signal within the overlying extensor digitorium and indices tendons, with abnormal soft tissue thickening and enhancement surrounding them. Now I know what you're thinking, and no, there was no discrete soft tissue mass identified.

I certainly appreciate all your cards and flowers.

She Made It

2008-12-18T21:19:00.001-05:00

More specifically, Ainsley let her make it.

After 366 days (stoopit leap year), we were able to celebrate the second "December 16th" in Erin's life, complete with Mimaa and Grandpa support and just a silly number of presents, including a doll from Japan, books from Indiana, and a spoon from West Virginia. Let alone an uncle from England.

We kept the celebration going all week, with Ainsley's parents Tuesday, Tim on Wednesday, and adding Grandad for birthday cake #2 at the Boivins'. Good excuse to take leave for a week.

Tim was actually a late arrival Tuesday night, but since it was 3am his time, we let him sleep in rather than come over for breakfast at 5:30 when our household rattles the cribcage and shakes the collars. We instead met him and Dad down in Occoquan to mail last-minute packages, look at ducks (since it's the sign Erin knows) and eat lunch at the granola-esque Blue Arbor Cafe.

It's very weird to have kids around my brother. I mean, it's just odd to Be A Father, when he knew me as a punk-ass 9-year-old being a dork reading Archie comics eating Ho-Hos by the handful. Hard to explain.

Thursday we picked up to-go manhole platters of hummus and shish so the Boivins wouldn't have to cook for us Yet Again, allowing us more time to hang out and open Erin's multitude of overly generous gifts (including a Metallica lullaby CD which I have no idea how it appeared on Erin's amazon.com wish list). The Boivins were also nice enough to sequester the dogs downstairs, so Ryan was a lot more relaxed and himself, meaning we had to yell at him a lot more often to not be so rambunctious around the delicate Christmas tree ornaments. Ainsley had made a second (!) birthday cake for the occasion, a double-layer affair with kid's blocks all around it, "E", "L" and "G" at the top. I would seriously like to know where she finds the time.

I also don't know how we're going to explain to our children that most kids only have one birthday every year.

Amphibious Assault

2008-12-15T22:11:00.002-05:00

I told him it was heavy. I told him to be careful. I told him I'd be right back.

But lo, I get downstairs to feed the dogs and I hear the boy crying above the kitchen, and run upstairs to find him lying on the floor, head on a pillow, comforter over him, holding his forehead, and the offending object lying a few feet to the side above his cranium.
He'd decided that the ceramic frog I'd given him to hold would be more interesting held at arm's length while lying on the ground, and I'm sure he lost his grip and a sharp corner of the 'lillypad' it sits on got him right smack two inches above the bridge of his nose; he had a wee little pin-sized blood spot there, making him look like the Virgin of Calcutta.

An aside here to point out how a 3-year-old's mind works as he formulates language. He'd also asked for the other frog trinket, the one wearing a crown for some reason. Together, they were the "frog with no crown, and the frog with yes crown."
Makes sense.

Anyhoo, Mommy came in, as she does when she hears her first-born in tears, wondering what the hell I'd done, but when she asked him what happened, I just started cracking up, since I knew the answer was, "Mommy, I dropped a frog on my head."

I need a leap month

2008-12-13T14:03:00.003-05:00

Astounding how far behind I am for the holidays this year. I mean, really? December 13th, and I'm wrapping my first presents? Honestly? Where did November go?
It's not that it's hard to get into the Christmas spirit -- we had some good, crispy cold weather there for a stretch, and everyone has their lights up and music singing and random gift nuts and cookies and calendars are appearing at the office, not to mention the near-daily hallway parties one organization or another is throwing.
My unit's was last night, a cozy affair at the Club at Bolling AFB, with the highlight being the USAF's Strolling Strings, a 15-piece orchestra whose members walked around our tables, mariachi-like, playing a slew of Holiday tunes. They even had an accordionist, which made me think my Dad followed the wrong career path.
Ainsley's dear friend Kim watched the kids again, with Dad's help once he could get down the beltway in Friday-night traffic. Apparently Erin was her typical split self while we were gone, neither wanting to be held nor let go of. We learned that she crawled all around the house looking for Mommy, until she finally got to the door to the garage, pulled herself up into a standing position, put her head down on the door, and cried and cried, looking every bit like Charlie Brown at his empty mailbox.
Kim really is an awfully lovely person, don't get me wrong. Erin just prefers the Mom that Feeds.

O, Tannenbundt

2008-12-11T22:16:00.002-05:00

Confused, the boy was, as to why his toy box had been moved from under the big office windows to the dining room.

"Well, let's go see," I said, guiding him back to the office, where sat the large white cardboard box with the artificial Christmas tree inside. "What do you think is going to go in that spot?"

Ryan contemplated a few seconds before responding excitedly. "A big cake!"

I received Wednesday off to try to squeeze October and November's forgotten shopping into one day, but ended up restringing the porch lights (with the right sets this time) and teaching my son how to "pump".

I'm sure this is legal.

Despite a long list of people I need to buy for (though I don't shop based on lists -- I'm more of an impulse shopper), I only found a few things to buy later at the mall, so this year's presents may consist of a lot of small, unique intangibles, such as "Your Name in a Limerick" or "Coupons Redeemable for Moral Support."

We did get most of our Christmas cards folded, stuffed, and labeled, continuing a two-year trend of being unable to personalize them, what with the little hand already well past the 1. But at least we got them out before Groundhog Day.

Fun Fact

2008-12-09T20:22:00.000-05:00

My son is officially too tall to put on my shoulders in the basement.

The stitches come out next Thursday.

*Kidding! He's fine! 'Twas but a minor beuummp.

It

2008-12-07T22:12:00.003-05:00

The Boivins invited us and my Dad over to sit in for my brother who usually helped with the outdoor lights, tree decorating, and cookie frostinging, but he conveniently scheduled his inbound flight for late enough in the season to require substitution.

Ainsley has been steering Erin towards no morning nap, but despite our best efforts, and Beth busting out her flute for a holiday tune, she zonked out post-lunch at the suckle-pod.

She didn't last to the car, though, and we couldn't get her back to sleep at home, either. At least Ryan took a nap, which was important because

***drumroll***

I Was Left Home Alone

***cymbal crash***

Ainsley was invited to celebrate a friend's 40th birthday at a resort in Maryland, so we arranged for me to have some backup bottled bodily bounty, a grandad to help run the "cover 2", and a hope that she could actually get more than 3 straight hours of sleep for the first time in nearly 2 years.

We had a good night, with Erin devouring a plate of saffron rice, green beans, and leftover stuffing, while Ryan and I added some frozen fish. (Dad, stuffed from an extended stay at the Boivins', didn't partake.)

Got them* in and out of the tub, and thanks to Erin having but that 20-min snooze since 5 o'clock int he morning, went down easily after some books and a bottle.

*not Grandad

***tuba***

Dad had equal success with Ryan, and then he helped me bust out our own Christmas decorations before leaving me to my lone recognizances.

The fun began at 9:50, though I was able to coax her back to sleep in my arms (despite kicking over a stack of puzzles that had been under her old bed), and I got her down a little after 10. I was running around in the basement until midnight, hitting the hay, and...

woke up at 4:38, stunned that I my sleep hadn't been interrupted. I could still hear the lullabies playing through the monitor, so I knew it was loud enough. I fell back asleep until she woke up at 5:05.

She had slept 7 hours straight.

She's my best friend, don't you know.

Got her back to sleep twice more in my arms, but she wouldn't stay asleep once down, so we had an early breakfast together.

Ryan got up at 6:34 (sadly asking after his mommy), but cheered up with some bites of orange and the prospect of Wiggle-Watching and surprising Grandad with birthday doughnuts; as it happens, he went to church a half-hour earlier than he'd planned, so we missed him. The three of us went Christmas shopping at Lowes and Bed, Bath, and Out There in Mid-Air Three Stories Up.

Unfortunately, Erin didn't last, falling asleep in the car literally a block from home. Despite my attempts to sing louder, snap to the music, throw random bits of garbage on her head, etc. The garage door didn't wake her, nor did the automatic van door. I got Ryan in and settled, and found her still snoozing in her seat, so I pulled off her shoes and put her in her crib, jacket and all. She snoozed about an hour while Grandad came over again to help put up our tree and watch "Toy Story 2" and eat his doughnuts already.

After Ainsley got home, we got everyone down for naps and I started putting up lights outside in teen-degree windchill, before taking the gang out to go see Santa at the mall. When Santa asked Ryan what he wanted, he said, "I would like a green...." (long pause) "...I'm thinking." Which cracked Santa up. When Santa asked Erin what she wanted, she said, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH."

Like brother, like sister.

The Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force Likes My Wif'e's Fudge

2008-12-05T22:02:00.002-05:00

I don't remember there being a Christmas party at the Pentagon when I was there in 2004, but there seems to be one every day this month in some corridor or another. Today's was the "Command Section" party, with the CSAF and SECAF and a BANDAF and some PORKAF. Our office was asked to bring in desserts, so my wife took it upon herself to make the most fantasticful yummilicious pistachio cranberry white chocolate fudge in the shape of a wreath.
My boss sampled an early sliver before the official start.
Apparently, this will reflect positively on my Performance Report.
It stood out partially because some other folks brought in pre-packaged cookies or store-bought pastries -- granted, everyone's busy, but my wife's raising two munchkins and doesn't sleep and still gets up to run downstairs at 6:15 in the morning to find a decorative bow for the right-lower quadrant of the wreath.
Everyone raved about it, especially since I kept pushing people towards it, there in the front of the desserts in front of the mousse and next to the doughnuts.
Seriously. Kripie Kreams.
Zipped home to meet the rents-in-law at "On the Border" on us, as they were gracious enough to come in to town to grab the twin bed in Erin's room, taking up valuable walkin'-around space.
They also got some leftover fudge.

Sarcasm: The Lost Art

2008-12-03T22:00:00.001-05:00

"Ryan, where is your napkin?", I ask for the third time tonight, knowing the answer.

"On the floor," comes his earnest reply.

"Blow me down."

So of course, *whooosh* comes the puff of air from Ryan's side of the table.

We've been the Sick Family Robinson this week, with Ryan needing cough medicine at 4:13 this morning, Erin, with her low-register, throaty wail from the crib sounding like a cross between Bette Davis and a giraffe giving birth, and Ainsley with the nonmedicatable sinus/chest/face/nose/inseam/everything cold. Even I have succumbed, but at least I can take some Bennadryl. Which, for some reason, Ainsley doesn't like hearing.
In fact, Erin was looking like she was feeling a lot better today, so Ainsley found the time to teach her how to find everyone's nose. "Where's Daddy's Nose?" *Honk* comes the little gripper. "Where's Erin's nose?" *Oh look a picture of some flowers on the computer*, her finger and expression seems to say.
We'll work on it.
It's just wonderful that we've reached the stage of actual communication with our daughter. Her 'more' is phenomenal, and she can identify the hell out of a dog. She just seems to be understanding more and more each day. Plus she can pull off her own socks on the changing table, as she grins and hands them to me so I can drop them on her face with accompanying bomb whistle.
It's a guy thing.
I'm also getting to experience the heart-melting two-pronged attack of the "Daddy's Home" twins, with Ryan running over and asking how my day was, and Erin patpatpatpatting behind on all fours like a miniature charging rhino, readily tugging up my pantlegs, a gaze to the sky.
"Up?" I always ask.
And up, yes please, go the arms.

203.4

2008-11-30T21:45:00.002-05:00

That's the combined number of degrees our children were the night of Thanksgiving, how did yours go?

Ainsley had arranged for a different petsitter (who somehow screwed up the order of payment for services due and also left me a pumpkin pie the size of a spare tire in the fridge) so my Dad could come out to The Barn for a couple nights. So knowing I'd be riding the Metro to near his workplace whenever we got released at the Pentagon, Ainsley had planned on driving me to the Slug Lot at 0630, seeing as Erin's usually up by then anyway and Ryan could just sleep in the car and they could get bread at Panera and finish packing and be on the road by 0830.
HA says Erin to that plan, being up from 2 to 4:30. I tried to get her down between 3 and 3:30 to quite the lack of avail. Did I mention the garbage truck comes now at around 4:47am?
So I told a dozey darling that my car would be fine in the lot for a few days, that she should snooze as long as she could.
There were only four folks in my office, the rest on leave, so it was fairly quiet. The boss let me split around 1, and Dad and I hit the road a little before 2. With 4.5 million other people on I-66. But it cleared up after a half-hour and we made it to Berkeley Springs before it got dark.
Dad had a great idea on the way -- since we usually have a devil of a time getting Ryan and Erin to sleep in the same (albeit Children-in-the-Attic large) room, he offered to let Ryan sleep over with him at the 'Tukul', the African-themed guest quarters over the double garage. Although a little confused why I was leaving him there, he happily waved at me from the top of the stairs, and apparently didn't make a bit of a fuss about where his parents were. Dad was tickled enough that he's offered to let him slumber over at his house any time. We may have to take him up on that prospect.
The weather was crisp but sunny for Thanksgiving, and Ryan got some good Grandpa Tractor time in before struggling to take a nap. He woke up in a bad mood, and didn't stop crying even after bringing him across the compound to see Mommy. Should have been Clue #1.
We sat down for a family photo at the dinner table, with Grandpa's camera taking a nose dive from the unstable tripod on to the cement floor, giving the lens a Rocky Balboa In Round 15 look to it. Then dinner was served, but neither one of our kids were interested in eating anything. Clue #2.
Not wanting to expose Dad to whatever the heck was going on, we decided to keep Ryan with us that night, which turned out to be one of the worst on record as far as getting any sleep. We were up about every hour with one or the both of them, consoling, cooling, taking temperatures, giving tylenol by syringe or cup. Can a child really be that hot and have a cold at the same time? It was a night that we counted the hours until daylight so we could finally at least stop pretending that we were supposed to be asleep.
Dad left Friday morning to go to a dental appointment (fun!), and we just hung out watching birds and shopping on-line for replacement cameras while Erin tried her hand, so to speak, at the daunting open-backed non-dual-banistered wooden staircase. Ryan's fever had broken, but Erin was still a little quasar, only sleeping 17 minutes with me (I insisted Ainsley take a break and get a nap in her dang self), crying for close to 40, then, unable to get her to stay asleep during the transition from gentlehalfnelson to the bed, I just sat in a chair with her and slowly turned the pages in a magazine while she slept in the crooks of my elbows.
I gave her a bath when she woke up, and she seemed to be feeling a bit better. And in the continuing saga of milestoneage, she is successfully signing "more" with a prominent index finger poking a palm with aplomb.
Got back home mid-day Saturday, leaving us the weekend at home to relax and try to stay healthy.
Thus far: Dad 1, Mom 0. Though I feel a little tickle in the throat...

Spinster

2008-11-23T22:08:00.002-05:00

Had a bit of a scare with the Roo last night -- we heard and felt a huge THUMP in our bedroom at 1:45 in the morning, and a light on had Bailey at the foot of the bed, shaking, whining, and wobbly. It looked like she couldn't control her hind legs, and her eyes were huge. Ainsley hugged her close while she thumped a tail and looked around somewhat maniacally and I got dressed to take her to the vet. We thought it might be a seizure or some kind of stroke, and we assumed this was 'it' for her. Something had snapped, she's done.
But she improved at the vet, and she was diagnosed with some sort of inner-ear problem ("ventribular disease"), akin to how some old people experience vertigo. She was up and walking within the hour, able to drop Bailey Nuggets outside, and bloodwork was negative for anything major. Even her heart murmur she was diagnosed with as a pup was nowhere to be...uh...heard. Got her home to a relieved Ainsley by 4 in the morning.
No one knows why this happens in old dogs, but it does, and it may happen again, or it may not. She seems her old self now, rassling with Dover, tearing down the back steps, eating pumpkin pie.

Just Capitol

2008-11-22T21:53:00.001-05:00

Had the opportunity today to check out the brand pre-new Visitor's Center at the U.S. Capitol building, under construction since, oh, 1874. Only 17 cents over budget.
They'd offered the chance to military and retirees to see the center before it opens to the public next month, though it was really just the their opportunity to test-run the admission procedures. Still a bit of a cluster, with some entrances and elevators under construction, confusion over how to handle folks with strollers, etc., but it's a pretty, shiny lobby with tall ceilings and interesting statues.
But that's it. Oh, there's a couple movie theaters, too. Shows some not-very-interesting movie, but we were enjoying the fact that it was Ryan's first. He kept commenting about everything he saw until we told him he should shoosh or whisper.
Erin just nursed and slept.
But then they led us into the Capitol proper, earphones on to hear the guide without her having to shout. Described three rooms and that was it. G'bye. Please check out the restaurant on your way out. I was expecting so much more, more of the history, an expanded area showing how the joint was built, etc. Though we did get to use Nancy Pelosi's personal elevator since the main one wasn't open yet. Spent more time in line outside and in front of the movie theater than we did on the tour. So nothing all that new.

Erin cheered me up that night at dinner: she kept touching a part of her face, then releasing, but not in the usual Tired-So-She-Rubs-Her-Eyes kind of way. Then Ainsley figured it out -- she was playing peekaboo with us! She puts one hand over her right eye and another over her left ear on the "peeka", then we all shout "boo!" when she pulls them off, huge grin. On all four of us.
It's rather contagious.
Erin is also signing "dog" and "duck." I could have sworn she said "up" to me while she was pulling on my jeans and I wasn't paying attention, and Ainsley said she heard her say "Uh-oh."
And so it begins.

Bald

2008-11-21T23:38:00.000-05:00

Tonight Ainsley And Aye Attended the Air Attache Association's Annual All.
Ball.
Sorry. Going for alliteration.
She arranged for a dear friend of hers to babysit our brood so we could put on a tux and a dress (separately) and dance the night away with 150 of our closest foreign friends. We sat at a table with two couples from Argentina, drank some wine, and danced the night away before missing the bebbies too much by 10:45. Two straight nights without me seeing my kids, though. What is this, the Navy?
It did feel like the deck of a ship, what with the 30 mph winds blowing up my skirt outside. brr.

(Of course, the next morning, what's the first words out of Ryan's mouth? "Where's Kim Waters?")

Lebakstan

2008-11-20T22:26:00.001-05:00

Finger food and Diet 7-up. Do I know how to party or what?
Had two functions to attend tonight -- the Lebanese Ambassador's house reception was nice, but short (which was also nice) as the boss I was escorting wanted to get to the next "do". Kazakhstan had rented a room at the Willard, next to the White House, outside of which they had an 8-piece Kazakh national folk band with funny-shaped lutes and vertical violins, members all dressed in light blue elfin clothing and pointy hats. Ambassador said some words, American Ambassador to said such reciprocated, hummus was had. I also brought the General some caviar on a miniblintz.
Got home around 10 to my wife telling me that my son tried and tried to stay up for me but had just given up and fallen asleep. Big thick bottom lip protruding from Daddy. Went up and kissed him on a snoring cheek, but he didn't stir.

Cold Weather Drill

2008-11-19T21:05:00.002-05:00

I know I’m exothermetrically challenged, but this time of the year gives me the pip and I don't want a pip. We’re in the middle of a slight cold snap, meaning everyone else is freezing and I begrudgingly put on an unzipped jacket in the mornings on the way to work. Inevitably whomever’s car I get into in the slug line has his/her heat blasting, so I suffer through twenty-three minutes of free HOV furnace service, casually putting the back of my hand up against the cold passenger window to try to reregulate my temperature.
Plus the other day I was ten yards out of the office before remembering I even HAD a coat, which was only important, I told my co-workers upon my return, due to the car keys in the pocket.
I’d heard that today was going to get colder in the afternoon, so last night I grabbed my gloves from the hall closet and stuck them in my bag.
Which wasn’t so useful since they were both for the right hand.
Stupid dark gloves in a dark hallway.

Word to your mother goose

2008-11-18T20:21:00.002-05:00

As an unfamous amateur wordsmythe, I can appreciate the occasional creative license inherent in El Doctair calling some subcreature a Sneetch, but I'm really not on board with the claim that the bellies of the star-less clan members of said such sneech had none upon "thars."

I'm trying to teach the boy how to read (Step 1: Don't have him read my blog), so I would like to stick to actual words the Queen of England would use during cribbage matches with the next door neighbors. And don't get me started on the whole Wocket in my Pocket nonsense.

In other news, I was happy to learn that the Collins Dictionary was this year including a term for the sound made out of sheer boredom:

"Meh."

Touchy Feely Greasy Grossy

2008-11-17T21:17:00.001-05:00

You don't know how grubby a kid gets eating until you're sitting next to him in your uniform with the light blue shirt. Suddenly, my son is a walking leper colony. Don't touch!
But it was still nice to see him in the middle of the day, as Ainsley had arranged for some of her friends to meet for a shopping/playdate at Pentagon City Mall, just up the Metro Holler from my place of deployment.
Ryan's latest feat: drinking from a water fountain and, without being prompted, keeping the ol' kissers off the spout.
I'm so proud.

I Will Never Rake Again

2008-11-16T21:12:00.002-05:00

One of my purchases at Lowe’s yesterday was a new electric leaf blower. My old one was conking out, plus had a weird gas-and-oil combination you had to put in, plus had the horsepower of your run-of-the-mill electric nose hair clippers, whooshing out wind equivalent of ten 3-year-olds blowing out the candles on a cake. Not so good at convincing 34 trees’ worth of dead extremities to hike themselves thirty yards across the yard.
The cool thing is that this contraption not only blows like … uh … the wind, but it sucks and mulches like the wind does not. Stick a nozzle on, it slurps up the dead leaves, grinds them up, and spits them into an attractive shoulder bag at a 10:1 ratio. GONE are the days of scraping a rake across the lawn into big piles for Ryan just to flatten out again and re-raking them all and getting wet knees arm-sweeping them into garbage bags. GONE are the days of sweeping off the patio three times a week. GONE are the days of letting our children haphazardly blow out candles themselves.

It’s a beautiful thing. Even Ryan approves. Watched me for fifteen minutes, shuffling through the big piles I had blown around, shouting “Go, Daddy, Go!” As he does.

The Good Mother

2008-11-15T23:37:00.000-05:00

Ainsley even let ME sleep in today, despite the fact that Erin got up at her usual 5-something. To try and help the house stay quiet during Her Majesty’s morning nap, I took Ryan out to Target (which is getting increasingly difficult to go through with a 3-year-old, what with all the Christmas Stuff and Toys) and Lowe’s (ditto, lawn-mowing tractors). After a Subway lunch starring the new flatbread sandwiches (not recommended) and a nap, it was time to go to Gymboree for another squirt’s birthday-o-rama-fun-a-thon-a-romp-a-roo. ™
Seemed to be twice the kids (and parents) as the last one, so it was a little hectic. Ryan actually found more fun rummaging around by himself (with his Daddy and Sister), but was encouraged to join the fun when there were bubbles to dance in or pizza to eat. However, when they busted out Gymbo the Actual Clown, he was a little funny. Ryan wasn’t the only one put off by the tall skinny girl with the nose that kept falling off, as a few others were crying or running away from the orange curtain-wearing monster. It was like the e-trade commercial starring the baby on the web-cam who just made a killing and bought himself a clown but admitted that he had “underestimated the creepiness”.

We've Got Sprained Knee, How 'Bout You?

2008-11-15T23:31:00.002-05:00

A person my age and in my de-condition really should not be emulating the cheerleaders in the "Mickey" video.

Pseudad

2008-11-15T23:12:00.002-05:00

Thank God for Thursdays.
I got home late Wednesday -- had to go to Bethesda for an MRI in the late afternoon and it took an hour to metro back to my car -- and Thursday I was scheduled to be the guy working late in case some general needed a T crossed.
By the time I get home, dinner's done, but the kids are happily playing with Grandad, throwing balls, running trains, what have you. It halts for a second while I walk in the door -- Ryan tells me I should say hi to everyone in the room and Erin stomps towards me like a miniature rhino, big open smile showing her three teeth -- but resumes while I plop in a chair to take off my boots. Warms my cockles to hear the giggles and screams of my kids while watching their grandfather tiptoe around the kitchen to sneak up on one of them, or find him sitting on the floor up against Ryan's dresser, reading him stories as he leans into his Grandad's armpit.

And he doesn't even charge us.

$1.74

2008-11-15T23:04:00.001-05:00

Stoopit Supply and Demand. There's no WAY I'm going to break even on my Hybrid at these gas prices.
I leave it running in the driveway for about an hour so I can fill up more often.

*tap* *tap* Not just a hat rack, my friend.

Diet and Fountain of Youth Quest Starts Tomorrow

2008-11-13T22:16:00.001-05:00

Guy saw me wearing a USAF shirt the other night in a restaurant.

"Sir?" he asks. "Did you retire from the Air Force?"

The National Elephant Museum

2008-11-11T21:44:00.002-05:00

The bosses were grand enough to give us a day off Monday, so I paid it forward and told Ainsley to go to a spa and get her feet zapped and pores oozed and muscles dipped in chocolate mousse or whatever chicks do.
This gave me a chance to hang out with the kiddos alone for the first time in a long while -- we walked up to the park for a bit, the three of us swinging and sliding and eating dehydrated apple chips like, uh, kids. Then I tandem-stroller-pushed the two of them up Smoketown Road to the Arby's just up the street, where they both devoured their turkey sandwiches and applesauce (no more fruit cups, darnit) plus a french fry or two. Hey, it's Saturday. My Saturday, anyway.

Unfortunately, Erin has had a little trouble adjusting to the end of Daylight Saving Time, so she's been getting up about 5 o'clock every day. Giving us even more Daddy Daughter time while I let Ainsley catch a last hour of sleep before Ryan stirs.

For Veteran's Day, I wanted to take the kids up to DC and see some monuments and maybe the newly reopened American History Museum, but realized that the rest of the family would probably think it dull and harsh my mellow. So after not walking down to the Washington Monument (a cold wind was hitting our face, and Ryan politely asked to go back and see Mommy in the car), we grabbed a hot chocolate in the Smithsonian Castle and then walked across the mall -- pointing out the U.S. Capitol Building to the little guy just in case it would stick -- to the Natural History Museum and its famous stuffed elephant in the rotunda. Ryan enjoyed seeing the large whale, the giraffes, and other suspended animation fauna (it was sort of like a stationary zoo), but he was a little spooked by the tiger in full-on pounce pose, as well as the phony thunderstorm in the rainforest room. But approximately every thirteen seconds, he asked if he could go back and see the elephant. Go up to the second level? Only if we can look down at the elephant. Grab something to eat? "By the elephant?"
Instead we got him a whale cookie.
We're awesome.
Ryan was adorable at night, saying "Thank you for coming to see me," as if I didn't really live here, and when I started kissing his bed's stuffed animals and saying "Good night, Go Dog Go...Good night Balloo..." he came back with "Don't forget the Ryan!"

Sweet Home Sweet

2008-11-09T20:28:00.000-05:00

Gathered my box o' Hawaiian pineapples (I only wanted one for the wife, but they were boxed in threes) and zipped home just in time for everyone's naps. Except Erin wasn't, natch, and either my wild shirt or riffraff-n-citrus funk prevented her from relaxing enough to put her down myself.
The whole house smells like pineapple. Or "apple melon," as Ryan calls it.
Wonderful hug from Ryan when he woke up, and a lovely evening getting reacquainted with the fam. Erin is climbing up as many stairs as she can find and calling me "dat".
Just exhausted at the end of the day, what with being six hours off and having had only 2 hours' sleep in the previous 38, but don't even TRY to skip a line in the "Mater and McQueen go Tractor Tipping" story to try to get to bed early.
The 3-year-old has them all memorized.

Pearl

2008-11-08T22:15:00.002-05:00

I guess you'd get used to the insanely constant gorgeous weather after a few years. Enjoyed my first papaya at our parting breakfast, in an open-air fan-covered area behind the O'Club, I guess redundant to say "by the water." We shuttled our visitors to the airport and said our hearty Mater-esque guBAHs, mission officially complete. Had a few hours before our flight home, so Chris was nice enough to take me over to the USS Arizona Memorial a short drive around the corner to Pearl Harbor. Very tranquil location, with a shuttle boat that takes people from a visitor's center out to the flotilla straddling the sunken ship, rusty gun bases protruding above the surf. I found it odd how many Japanese tourists there were, especially those snapping pictures of each other doing the Hawaiian 'shaka' hand signal (thumb and pinkie sticking out). I'm sure they meant no harm, but it looked like Germans going to Auschwitz and doing 'bunny ears' with each other.
Last-minute operational requirements prevented our being able to ride the AF C-40 (basically a luxury 737) back to Scott AFB, so we had to scramble to get a seat on commercial with the sort of folk I lovingly call "the riffraff." Basked in the bitter butter the whole 1st leg to Dallas/Ft Worth, since even though I had an aisle seat, it was in the very rear of the plane, next to a toilet and just in front of the flight attendants' work area. So even if I could sleep cramped in a seat the size of a grade school child's desk, hearing constant chatter, ice bag banging, vaccu-flushing, or morons slapping at the accordion-style shitter door (I twice pointed at the sign that said, "PUSH") prohibited any shot at even giving it the ol' college try.
Instead, I watched "WALL-E", which wasn't the best Pixar movie ever, though I submit watching it on the airplane ceiling with occasional cockpit interruptions, people constantly walking past to empty their urethral cavities sixteen inches from my head, and iPod earphones is probably not the way Disney intended.
Landed for our 2-hour layover just as the airport was waking up, but 2 a.m. for us. Fortunately, the flight to DC was sparse enough that I could lie down and sleep, for only the 2nd time on a plane for me. (2000, on the Germany-to-Turkey leg, also lying across three seats.) Stiff neck, face lines and full-body blanket fuzz be damned, MAN is that the way to travel.
When you don't have your own C-40.
Which had a couch.
I'm just saying.