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.

Wet Footprints

For a little while now, I've known it was time to go.  I've spent almost seven years of my career at Laughlin Air Force Base flying with the 85th.  Eight if you include the 6 months at Pilot Instructor Training in San Antonio as part of the deal. Once I realized that my time was coming to an end, I started noticing details about the place that I hadn't before--things that make this place, and the experience of being a primary pilot training instructor, somehow worth it in the end.

When a student in Air Force UPT goes on his first solo flight, it is a pretty big deal.  The vast majority of kids that wash out do so prior to achieving this goal.  Quite a few still falter before finishing the program, but the first time you solo a $5M aircraft, you feel like the king of the world.  For decades, when a student lands after his first solo his classmates carry him to tank of water that each class decorates.  It is normally filled putrid water that's been out in the sun for the duration of the class being pre-solo.  They toss him fully clothed into the pool as part of the baptism of becoming an Air Force pilot.  As part of the tradition, there is an unwritten rule that if you are able to make it from the jet back to your flight room without being dunked--the flight owes you a case of your choice of beverage.

As you would expect, no one escapes their dunk.  Even the very rare individual (we had one recently change from his flight suit into a FedEx uniform, grab a handcart, and try to "deliver" boxes to his flight room--he was caught) that makes it back to the flight room is summarily tackled and carried back to the dunk tank.

One of the little details I've noticed recently surrounds this tradition.  Our hallways are carpeted here.  When a kid comes back into the building to change his soaked clothes, he leaves a long trail of wet footprints down the hall.  To me, it resembles a trail left by a ghost.  Every student that has come through this building in pursuit of the coveted wings has left this trail behind them.  To see the trail warms my heart that once again, my instructors have taken a kid who knew nothing about flying and taught him how to master the skies. 

To leave that trail means that you have just had one of the most significant events in your life--so recent that the water has yet to evaporate from the steps you have taken.

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.

On the Eve of Greatness

 On the Eve of Greatness, how do you feel?

Do you feel empowered, just, and prepared?  Or do you feel weak, lost, and hopeless?

On the Eve of Greatness, how did those who have achieved felt?  Did they feel "I have done enough, it is time to move on" or did they say "My time has not yet come--I am ready for more."

On the Eve of Greatness, what is your state of mind?  Is it one of promise or depair?  Are you willing to accept the challenge or do you sit quietly on the sidelines hoping that destiny finds you?  Do you accept the mantle of responsibility or do you hope that the next day will never find you--waiting in the shadows for your time in the sun?

Moments

My time here in Del Rio is coming to an end. It's funny how fate throws twists your way every now and again.  This time around I was actually, for the first time in my career, not looking forward to leaving an assignment for the next one.  Despite multiple assurances that I was in the overall plan for the base, when the time came such assurances fell through. As a result, we're moving on soon. I just don't know when. 

As I am looking back on what can be described as the best and worst assignment of the last 17 years, I have been debating. What were the moments that defined this tour for me? What am I going to take with me once I depart the location that has been home to my family and I for over six years of my career?  I have some time before there's a farewell party for me--we shouldn't be going until sometime is summer. So I have decided to start writing some of these down. 

I've been looking for an excuse, or inspiration, to get my Odyssey going again. Hopefully this will be the catalyst. 

Monkey Update

The monkies have grown.  The original Monkey is 12 now and in the throes of tweendom.  Cowboy is now 10 and just as sweet as he was when he was 4.  Odie's 5 now, as he'll remind you of every time he talks to you.  And the Princess is 2, and has a temper worse than I've ever seen.  She's very much like Monkey though, and will likely be a diva.  I can't imagine my life without them.

Here's a quick update to show how they're doing.

Re-entry

It's been a while.

For some reason I've been reading my old posts on here recently.  It made me miss it, and to miss reading blogs in general.  So much has changed over the past few years in regards to technology and the internet.  As I said before, this blog was originally designed to keep in touch with friends and family.  Facebook has effectively taken care of that.  Cell phones, texting, all of that eventually made this blog obsolete. But upon re-reading a lot of my older posts, what I found was that I missed the writing, the constant oberservation of the world around me in a search for something to blog about.

I am ten times busier than I was before.  In the last couple of years I worked as the Base Commander's aide, and then moved to be the Operations Officer of my home squadron.  The thought of writing and taking pictures every day sounds daunting--but I'm going to give it a shot.

I need to, if only for my own sanity.

Life

What is the price of life?

I sit here watching my 4 year old son, flailing miserably in his swim class. he doesn't judge himself--no, he is full of smiles from ear to ear. My thoughts are of tasks to accomplish. I have managed to convince my boss to allow me some time off, and my plans are to use that time off to catch up in projects that are in dire need of my attention around the house. As I watch my son, I have checked my watch 4 times in 30 minutes.

6 hours away in Houston a person I know only in passing sits in a hospital room. Her four year old son lay in a bed undergoing his latest round of chemotherapy. For the last year this little boy has fought brain cancer, and it appears to be winning the fight. His cancer has spread--and their hopes lay on trial treatments, hoping to cure the incurable.

The thought crosses my mind as I watch my child try in vain to complete a backstroke--this mundane, simple task I am doing, distracted by a lawn that needs to be mowed, how valuable would this simple time be to my friend?Something so small to me, an inconvenience in my simple mind--of what value us this to one fighting for her child's life?

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Welcome to Earth

Well that happened a bit faster than anticipated.

After going in for a routine appointment, the doc (most likely motivated by the fact that the holidays were two days away) decided to induce SW on the spot. Within a few hours, she was sweating from the levels of magnesium being run through an IV and feeling contractions from the Pitosin.

Things were going just fine until "the rush," a stage in SW's birthing process that, after four kids, I have come to know and hate. It always seems to happen when I leave the room--with monkey #3 it happened when I went home to get the grandmas, with this one it happened when I went out to the parking lot to give my brother-in-law the car seat for aforementioned kid #3. SW goes from calm and stable to "holy shit, push NOW" in a matter of minutes.

That's when things got a little interesting.

Wilford Hall is a teaching hospital. As such, they typically have the "not fully qualified" residents do a lot of the procedures until something goes wrong. Even then, they continue to teach--I kind of equate it to having my students fly the plane with the engine on fire, but thats neither here nor there. As it turns out, the rpobelm was that the baby's heart rate kept dropping a lot. The cause was that she was face-up coming out--something that each of the four studnets missed, but the head dude caught as soon as he started probing.

Once the problem was identified, the forcepts came out, solidifying in my mind my happiness that I am a man and won't ever have to go through what I wathced SW go through in the next 10 minutes. After what appeared to be excrutiating, I watched as monkey #4 was yanked from her womb. Before I could react she was whisked to the heater to get her lungs sucked out, making me even more nervous.

In the end, all was well. SW is having blood pressure issues, but they seem to be more of an inconvenience than life-threatening, and (God willing) we'll be on our way home tomorrow.

Monkey #4

So here we are again.
Lillian Rose Lachance is being convinced to leave her nice warm home of the last nine months. When she does in a couple of hours she will complete our family and bring us to a final tally of 6.