Peace

The only word I can rationally use to describe my life for the last four years is "chaos."  I was convinced that the harder I worked the better off I, and my family, would be.  I was assured on many levels that all my hard work would pay off--at the cost of limited time with family, a crumbling house that I was unable to tend to, and a neglected wife.

Obviously, I was wrong.

While waiting to deploy, and after I was relieved from my job as an Operations Officer due to said deployment, I suddenly had lots of time off.  I took a week of leave while waiting to go to CAST (more on that later) and tried to wrap up the multitude of projects I had waiting to be done around the house.  While I was working on the empty swimming pool (in 85 degree weather--much later than I had anticipated) Princess came outside while the kids were at school and SW was off taking care of business.  I was sweaty, frustrated, and really didn't have time to deal with her.  She went and stood under her kiddie-swing and pointed up.  Begrudgingly, I lifted her into the swing and started to push.

At first it truly was an annoyance--a distraction from keeping me from completing the swimming pool project That I knew the kids so desperately wanted completed.  But slowly, without me knowing it, something came over me that I haven't seen in a while.

Peace.

For 45 minutes I stood there pushing that swing.  We didn't talk, she didn't laugh uncontrollably.  But for 45 minutes all I could hear was the wind in the trees and the constant squeak...squeak...squeak of the ropes on the swing.

At some point I forgot about the pool, forgot about the deployment, and forgot about all the pressing issues in my life.  For 45 minutes all was right in the world, and I was reminded about the absolute perfect innocence of being a child.

Back to the Desert

I've always wondered what I would do if I was tasked to go back to the sandbox.  Specifically, what would I do with my blog.  In the days now of Facebook, Twitter, Skype, and Facetime, the need to have this blog is kind of inefficient to serve its originaly purpose: to keep the homefront aware of what I was doing.  It did, however, make for a very theraputic way to pass the time when I was over there.  So, I've always wondered.

Now I get to find out.

Rather than move to San Antonio for what would likely have been the last time, I've been tasked to go to Baghdad.  My intial reaction (like everyone I've told where I'm going) was "I thought we didn't have anyone in Baghdad??"  Well, apparently we do.

There's a few things different than the last time.  First, it's Baghdad.  When I went to Qatar there was very little combat training involved or gear that I had to bring.  This time around there's a significant amount more of both.  It's a six-month deployment, rather than the four-months last time.  I volunteered months ahead of it last time, whereas this time I was tasked with only weeks to go.  And the most significant:  this time around I'm leaving four kids with SW, rather than two.

I am not thrilled--but I'm not complaining either.  This is going to be a very difficult challenge for me and my family, but it is yet another Desert Odyssey.

Reflections

"With this ring, I thee wed."

We never got to say that. Our wedding was rushed, in an attempt to get the military to keep us together while Sarah was born. So much confusion during those times. So much uncertainty.

I love this photo for the unintended consequence of having the reflection of my daughter in the band. So much is contained in this ring that I wear. A history of over a decade of being with one person, through good and bad times. Three children, worlds of joy and worlds of heartache.

Reflections of what is truly important in my life fill me when I see this picture. Reflections of what wearing this ring means, not only to me, but to those contained within its glimmer.

Mother's Day

Went right by it without telling the Mom's in the world to have a good one. I called my Mom, extremely late and in a hurry because our life didn't slow down just because it was Mother's Day. SW was due to leave to go handle some family business in Spain on Tuesday, and we were running around with that. Oh--and it was her birthday, to boot.

Then I read this from Velvet Sin.

I don't know how you guys do it. Being a Dad is awesome--from my list of occupations it's the best job in the world. But there's just something there in being a Mom that never reaches deep enough on the Dad side. It's amazing to witness first-hand, and devastatingly beautiful.

It's true, Mothers make the world go 'round. Dad's have their place, but I could never take SW's job.

Bless all of you, for all that you do.

Sacrament Weekend

If you read “Baby Story” on here last year, you’ll remember that SW and I were married by a 250-pound German woman who served as the equivalent of a Justice of the Peace. The master plan was to have a big ceremony once we got Stateside—but Princess was born, I was in C-130 training, and we were living in a small apartment in Little Rock. The big wedding kept getting pushed back, and then Cowboy showed up, and eventually the ceremony dropped off the radar altogether.

This past weekend Princess had her First Holy Communion. For those non-Catholic or Catholic-but-not-following-the-rules types, if you are “living in sin” (as we were because our marriage had never been blessed by the Church) you are not allowed to take Communion. SW is the stricter Catholic of the two of us, and pointed out many years ago that we were persona-non-grata, and as such stayed in our seats during the big chow-down every week. For over eight years.

The Monsignor at our Church pointed out to us, as I already knew, that if we weren’t married we wouldn’t be able to go to the altar with Princess. So we decided to take the plunge, knowing that if we waited for the right time, when everyone could make it, we would probably never do the deed. So, on the day before Princess’s ceremony, we had our own ceremony in the Church. My Dad was the Best Man, SW’s Mom was the Maid of Honor, and Princess and Cowboy helped with the ceremony. SW’s godmother made it, and my Mom held Odie while the ceremony happened.

When it finally came down to it, most of the people that I wanted there were there, except for maybe my sister, SW’s brother, my grandmother and a friend of mine. The ceremony itself was a lot like our marriage has been for eight years—thrown together, rushed, chaotic—but all beautiful and perfect in the end as we made it happen. I have issues with emotions and barely made it through saying my vows. I honestly can’t describe how SW looked—as words can’t describe it.

Honestly I don’t think I would have had it any other way.

We have a weird relationship, SW and I. I think a lot of people would look at our marriage and relationship strangely, as it is definitely not what I would term “standard.” Our lives have been thrown together, rushed, and chaotic since we first signed that paper in Meisenbach, Germany years ago, but we have made it happen. She is simply the best thing that has ever happened to me, even though I myself fail to see that now and then.

Let Them Be Little

Hygiene Chronicles from The Blogfathers posted an outstanding article about his kid's Christmas Pageant, and his son's lack of enthusiasm about it. It struck a chord with me, particularly since we spend inordinate amounts of time in our family's quest to become Black Belts and a closer family as a result.

For five minutes we bribed this kid with every we could…favors, treats, crackers. (For the record, I ate the goldfish crackers when he didn’t want them.) As the last goldfish went down, I suddenly realized that this pageant wasn’t for him anymore… it had become about me.

OmiGod, I had volidated the cardinal rule of parenting…let your kid find his/her true joy with what he wants to do and then appreciate what they love. I, of all people, was wanting my child to do what I wished for him and was ignoring his own wants.

I sometimes (ok, often) feel like we may be doing this with our kids. Not so much Princess, who is still thoroughly enjoying herself, but with Cowboy. The fact that we are all involved, I think, sometimes guilts him into going. I wonder, if it was just him doing this instead of all of us, if he would still be as motivated.

SW and I getting involved has proven to be a double-edged sword. When we first got into this, it was just them--and we would go every Tuesday and Thursday and watch happily. In the end we ended up joining with them, so we would have a better idea as to what they were doing. What happened, in reality, was that we ourselves got hooked. Slowly, almost imperceptively, SW and I got into what we were doing, and slowly lost a direct involvement in the monkies' enjoyment. Not in their training--since we followed through on our original reasons for starting and assisted them in learning and progressing--but in their enjoyment. We're so involved in talking to other parents, trying to recruit others to join, answering questions and talking with classmates about our own issues that we fail to immerse oursleves fully in what the kids are doing in class. As a result, if they aren't having fun--we may not notice.

And then there's the money. We've spent sooo much money on this, on equipment, classes, tournaments, additional instruction, that we are committed for the long haul. The first thought that enters my mind when Cowboy starts whining about class is not his desires, but my own for him and the shrinking wallet in my pocket.

I fear that we have started down a path that will give the kids great experiences, but give their childhood in exchange. We are so busy with things that they rarely have enough time to enjoy life and the innocence of their youth. Sometimes I just want to skip class, crash on the couch and watch "Star Wars" with Cowboy, or read a book with Princess, or just hold Odie. And that doesn't happen that much anymore.