B, G and J Day: High and Tight

B:

I mentioned Bryan's retirement last week. A few of you asked what he'll do after 31 May.

It looks very likely now that he will continue to do the very same work, for the same command, only in civilian attire. He is hoping to move into a GS position when it comes online in a few months, and is right now in negotiations with a defense contracting firm to become a contractor for this command until the GS slot becomes available.

Bryan is very pleased with all of this. He really likes his work and really likes the people he works with and for, so he's happy to stay. We're extremely grateful that it looks like he'll have a smooth transition into the civilian workforce. It's been a wonderful provision from God. And it's nice not to have even more big decisions to make. . .

G:

She was sick all of last week. She had a fever and congestion that moved into her ears, so I actually took her to the doctor. Mostly, she just wanted to lie on the couch, watching PBS kid shows. But partly, she wanted to lie there with me next to her.

I did this often--parked myself on the couch. I was usually reading something as we sat together, but now and then, I'd pay attention to what she was watching. At one point, I tuned in to see a dinosaur character talking to the Wiggles, who are 4 grown men living juvenile lives and singing a few songs about it.

I asked Gemma, "Is that a real dinosaur?" Meaning, of course, "Is that dinosaur a character in the show the way Barney is a character? Or is the character really a person who, for this episode, is wearing a dinosaur costume?"

It is not her fault for not getting my meaning.

She answered, with brow furrowed, "In the show, it's supposed to be a real dinosaur, but I think when we see dinosaurs like that in movies, it's really a person in a costume. I think. I'm not sure. . ."

J:

My hair continues to grow. It has gotten to a length that is as short as short can be while still oddly having a feminine look to it. I really should just show you a photo. . .

But until then, you'll have to trust me. It's still pretty short.

We got Joshua's hair cut this weekend. A high and tight. Adorable. His whole face seems 15 degrees brighter now.

When Bryan dropped him off today at his AWANA room, the teacher said, "You got a hair cut just like Daddy's!"

And Joshua said, "No, like Mommy's."

So. Maybe you don't need a photo to picture it after all. . .

B, G and J Day: Sweet Times

B:

Now has less than 2 weeks of work before beginning "Permissive TDY." These are days off the military affords as retirement approaches, ostensibly to all you to get your affairs in order. Bryan plans to use his to take the kids to Florida a few days after my surgery.

He'll come back from that, work a few more weeks, and then begin "Terminal Leave." These are the vacation days he has accrued on the books beyond the number he is allowed to sell back to the military.

How does he liked the idea of retiring? He murmers every now and then, "I can't believe I'm about to start Permissive TDY. . ."

G and J:

The two go together this time. I told them they could have 10 Jelly Belly's after breakfast. This makes for good counting practice.

But soon, the counting turned into giggles. Gemma came to me with her shirt raised, shouting, "I have a Jelly Button!"--she'd lodged one in her belly button.

Josh got into the action for a little bit, but then decided he'd rather eat his. So, as we've seen other times, his candy was gone first.

Gemma carried the bag back to the counter and somehow dropped it, scattering Jelly Bellys all over our tile floor.

She gasped, "Oh no!!!"

and Josh gasped, "Yummmmm!!!!"

And I gasped, "QUIIIICK!! PICK 'EM UP!!!"

and the 3 of us dove to the floor at once, the girls frantically trying to scoop them away from Joshua, who was grabbing them and shoving them into his mouth in one fluid motion.

I was laughing too hard. Gemma screamed every time he got another one. He was flopping his body onto my arms to pin me and launch himself closer to the candy that I was going for.

The affair ended with a good many back in the bag, and a good many inside his cheeks. And a Gemma, standing hands on hips and shaking her head.

B, G and J Day: Behaving Badly

B:

Bryan has been checking Craig's List every evening and weekend morning for months, looking for bricks. If ever the phrase "Why buy new when used will do?" applies, it applies to bricks that will be used to make garden pathways.

Sunday morning--BING!--a "load" of bricks for $65. How much is a "load"? Four trips with our Explorer, that's how many. Two trips were that Sunday, and he made another both last night and tonight. The owner is moving, and these are bricks she hauled up from Pueblo when she came upon them as left-overs from some guy's new fence.

(If it's made out of bricks, do we still call it a fence?)

There were a few other pavers in the pile, too. Bryan took 'em.

Tonight he arrived home and pronounced the job finished. "Except for this one square paver. It was frozen to the ground. I couldn't pull it up. I couldn't kick it loose. I tried hammering a piece of wood against it with another brick--nothing!"

I kidded him, "And here I thought you were a man of perseverance."

A naughty grin slipped out. "Well," --uh-oh-- "I even tried warm water on it."

Hmm. As in. . .he knocked on this person's door and asked them for a cup of hot water?

He saw that I was puzzled and said, "It wasn't exactly warm water."

Pause.

Amy: "UGH! I'm putting that in the blog!"



G:

This morning at breakfast, Gemma told me how she spent a little time last night looking out her bedroom window, counting the airplane lights that flew by.

How pleasant. I told her that I used to do that when I was a little girl, too.

Then she said, "Yeah. And I use my binoculars to look into people's houses and see what they're watching on television."


J:

When we grocery shopped last week, each child started the circuit with a small bag of gummy worms for them to enjoy. You know that bribe. It works well for us, too.

It's Joshua's modus operandi to eat his treat one after another. Gemma likes to make hers last and last. This is why, when we got to the last aisle, she still had three gummy worms left and he'd been eyeing them since four aisles ago.

I turned back to the cart with a handful of yogurt to find Joshua kind of on top of her in the little bench seat they shared. And she was kind of. . .groaning, but it wasn't loud. It was muffled and annoyed.

"Josh, sit down," I told him.

He did. With a great big smile and a glistening, red gummy worm on his finger. Just when I realized what he'd done--that is, when I realized that he'd dug this worm out of his sister's mouth--he stuck it into his own.

I was laughing to hard to tell him that this was disgusting. As for Gemma, she sat there, a bit stunned, trying to calculate whether this kind of thing is allowed. On the one hand, she'd never heard an express prohibition against stealing food out of another person's mouth.

On the other hand, it was her gummy worm and she had been sucking on it!

On the other hand, her mother was now bent over from the laughter.

On the other hand, it had been in her mouth. . .

And as for A?

What did A's husband get her for Christmas?

Back when Gemma came along, Bryan gave me a charm bracelet, and he's faithfully been adding charms to it. Each one is a well-considered symbol.

Some are obvious: A teddy bear for when Gemma was born.

Some are cute: A bison for when we lived in Kansas.

Some have long stories behind them: A Korean pipe as a symbol for how much fun we have together. (That's not supposed to make sense to you because I haven't told you the long story.)

Some are poetic: A pitcher, because I "pour out my life for Bryan and the kids."

And some are sweet: A Korean palace gate. For, in Seoul, there remain the 4 massive gates of a palace long since gone to ruins, and at each gate, there is a huge market. When I saw the charm, I asked, "Is this a symbol of how much shopping I've done here?"

He said, "No, I gave it to you because you're my queen."

This Christmas, the charm was. . .can you guess?


A hat.

And I thought that was great all by itself. But then came the accompanying explanation:

Because one day, I will wear a hat only when I want to.

B, G and J Day: Christmas Edition

I have been alerted by Sister #2 that my post for Wednesday didn't actually post. I'm mystified. Operator error, no doubt. But what error, exactly?

Annoying, friends. Because it was a really great post that I don't have another copy of. Now I'm left to reconstruct it. But if T. E. Lawrence can re-write his 500 page memoir from scratch after the original was lost a train station, then I can re-write this one post. Because that's the kind of serious blogger I am.


B:

B's wife got him a terrific Christmas present:

A Nerf N-Strike Rapid Fire AS-20 Dart Blaster that Shoots 20 Darts with Automatic Fire

Gemma and Josh already had nerf guns. They were the great enticement for Joshua to commit to using the toilet.

(e.g. "Josh, if you get 10 X's in a row on your poop chart, you get your grand prize!" That 10th poop happened while at church, and as soon as his pants were pulled up, he announced--to anyone he met--"I pooped, so I get a gun!")

Gemma got a gun, too, because our policy is that you cannot shoot at someone who is not armed. But in the weeks between The 10th Poop and Christmas, the war was really between Josh and Bryan, with Bryan saying often, as he loaded up Gemma's 6-shooter, "Joshua, go get your gun!"

This Christmas morning, Bryan was grinning as he loaded up his 20-shooter. "Joshua, go get your gun!"

Well. Gemma got hers, too. And I got mine. Oh yes, Mommy gave Mommy a present this year: my own 6-shooter. We had a family gun battle on Christmas morning.

G:

A Christmas morning that started a lot later than yours, I am guessing. Because, I guess again, you did not spend the wee hours of your Christmas morning in the ER and/or scrubbing blood out of your carpet.

What's this?

Gemma rolled out of bed at 12:30 AM, climbed back in, and then noticed through her stupor that there was blood on her pillow.

She screamed that panic scream, which woke me, and then raced to our room to tell me she had a bloody nose.

As you would have, I leaped out of bed to rush her to the bathroom. Maybe you'd have done it out of parental concern. I did it out of blood-on-the-rug concern and found that it was not a nose bleed. Instead, there was a gash across her chin, below her lip, and it was gushing.

While Bryan got dressed for the trip to the ER, I explained to her why she had to go, and what would happen there. Her eyes were wide, forehead creased--she was all dread. A dread I knew well and I figured that 6 years old was not to young to know: There are somethings we don't want to do, but that we just have to do. Things that aren't like trying a new food we think we will hate and then are surprised by how much we like it. But things we think are going to suck and then, yes, they do indeed suck.

I think her ER experience did suck. Bryan reported that as soon as the nurse said, "We're all done here," Gemma hopped off the bed and started putting on her shoes, wasting no time to high-tail it out.

But I don't think it sucked as much as she'd dreaded it would. They used a numbing agent, so the 6 sutures were tolerable. And they have her a little stuffed bear, her 'Hospital Teddy,' which she took to heart.

From Bryan's point of view, it was a great visit because they got in right away and out soon after.

We examined her bed and still don't understand what she could have hit her chin on. But we've put up a sleeping gate, which she'll probably want to use through high school, perhaps even bring to college with her. . .

At 4 AM that night, everyone was home and back in bed, Gemma in ours. I asked her, "When you fell out of bed, did you think, 'My chin hurts a little'?" It was amazing to me that she had thought it was just a bloody nose.

She said, "No, Mommy. When I fell out and then got back into bed, my chin felt just like every other person's chin that was not wounded and bleeding like mine."

J:

Joshua slept well that night. But he was very concerned to see his sister's bandaged chin, and to hear about a trip to the hospital. He even offered his doggers to her for comfort.

Then, later, he shot her full of nerf darts.

B, G and J Day: GingerDucks!

B:

In general, men have a much harder time than women hearing about and talking about my cancer. Lots of reasons for this. I suspect it would not be so if my cancer were in a body part that they have, too, for instance.

But I also suspect it's because a man personalizes it by wondering, "What if that were my wife?" And the thought scares the crap out him. Not just because of the body part involved, but because he recognizes as we all do that cancer is not an outside invader that can be dispatched with a home defense weapon.

He sees that there's practically nothing he can do to save his wife's life. This kind of helplessness, or even the possibility of it, rattles men.

Here's the good news for these men regarding the body part issue, if we were to gauge from Bryan's experience: When you are told that your wife is going to lose her breasts, the very last thing you care about is whether your wife will have breasts a year into the future. The only thing you care about is that your wife is alive one year, and many years, into the future.

Truly. It's amazing how unimportant breasts become.

As for the bigger concern, the helpless-in-the-face-of-a-killer concern, it's difficult. The part Bryan hated the most was seeing the styes in my eyes after each round of chemo because they looked so painful. The styes and all the rest of it--all just a crappy physical experience for me that he couldn't spare me from. He really hated it.

Which brings me to my homeschool co-op Christmas party this past Wednesday. I hosted it, taught a poetry lesson, and then we all decorated gingerbread train.

Gingerbread trains? Oh yes. One engine for each family (7 of them), and one open box car for each child (16 of those). Gingerbread pieces that were designed and baked by Bryan himself.

For a whole week, he was a gingerbread fool. He made 12 batches of dough. Rolled and cut and baked and trimmed and bagged and then started rolling again.

The night before, I made the icing and assembled the trains, which was a 4 hour job in all. Nothing compared to the 20 hours he spent on the baking.

Why would we do this? I did it because
a) I love a good party
b) I love decorate gingerbread structures
c) I love to see children decorate gingerbread structures
d) I love the women in my co-op and so enjoy talking with them and
e) I LOVE when our house is filled with people and we actually use all these square feet of shelter.

Normally, the living we do could happen comfortably in half the space we own. But at a gingerbread train decorating party, with 23 people present and a project going full-blast, we use a lot of space.

And he did it because of points a through e.

A terrific time was had by all. And all helped clean up such that my house was in better shape than when the crowd arrived. I did have to take a 2 hour nap after everyone left, but it was a good kind of exhaustion.

We collapsed into bed on Tuesday night, after the last of the baking and assembly, with the party ahead of me, and Bryan, for the first time since June, looked. . . satisfied. Peaceful. Un-Anxious.

"Well, Babe," I said to him, "You couldn't go through my chemotherapy, but you could bake a crapload of gingerbread for me!"

He smiled the smile that says I got it exactly right.

G:

Gemma made something for Bryan's birthday last week, a set of 4 stars, 2 big, 2 small, all glued together by their side points. She drew smiling faces on them. Star people!

"This one's Daddy, this one's you, this one's me and this one's Josh!" she explained to me before wrapping it up.

I said, "But my star doesn't have any hair drawn on top like the others."

Gemma leaned in close and said, as though she were breaking bad news, "That's because you're bald."



Yes. 7 weeks after the last round of chemo went in: still bald. I'll keep you posted on the hairfront.

J:

He's reached that amazing stage of verbal acquisition and explosion. He's now doing more than just communicating the concrete and the basics. For instance:

Last night he said from the stairs, at a time when he should have been in bed, "Mommy, I have to whisper you a question."

I recognized this as a ploy to get downstairs where he'd probably ask for gingerbread or candy and said, "You can ask me from right there. You don't need to whisper it."

"But I want to whisper it."

"No. Just say it out loud. Right there."

"But I want to whisper it!"

"Joshua, either ask me right now or go back to bed."

"Well now I can't find it."

"You 'can't find' your question?"

"No, I lost it. Now I'm looking for it."


Another example:

We needed to leave the house by 8:40 today and though I'd asked Josh to get his shoes on a few times, he was still dawdling.

I finally said, sternly, loudly, though it was not yelling, "Get your shoes on now!"

"Whoah," he said, "That was a huge voice!"

This made me laugh. And he did, finally, get his shoes on.

B, G and J Day: Guns n' Doggers

B:

I asked Bryan the other day if he had any ideas for Joshua's Christmas present this year. I was stumped.

Bryan suggested, "Some kind of projectile?"

I stared at him.

"You know, like a nerf suction cup dart gun or something."

"Would he like that? When did you get interested in those things?"

He stared back at me. Then said, with a hint of wonder, "For as long as I can remember."


G:

Gemma's birthday party is tomorrow, though the actual birthday is later. She made decorations for her party, crafty type that she is.

Then she made a sign that I will not let her hang up. It says, "No touch please" and features 2 illustrations: One is a hand drawn right up next to a picture of the pinwheel she made with a circle and slash over it. The other illustration is that same hand and same pinwheel, only with an inch of space between them with a circle around it and no slash.

This is the kind of thing that makes a mother smile.

And she can't hang it at her party because it wouldn't be polite.

J:

Bryan took the kids to an auction last Saturday. He packs up our DVD player, a ton of movies and many snacks and the kids camp out with great contentment. Clearly, he's programming them to become auction-goers, thereby further enabling his own hobby for years to come.

As it gives me the entire day to myself, I do not mind.

This time, he permitted Joshua to bring doggers with him. And doggers got left behind.

Bryan had no opportunity to retrieve him until Wednesday, a full 4 days later. Yes, I could have made the trip downtown to get doggers, but I thought Joshua should have to pay the price of waiting for him. I tell him all the time to leave doggers in his bed each morning so that he will not get lost. But he keeps sneaking that thing out. . .

Wednesday, Daddy got doggers and handed it to Josh, who hugged it and cried out, "Doggers has returned to me!"

For 2 mornings in a row now, Josh has left doggers in bed.

B, G and J Day: Vintage

B:

He has become a Craigslister. This is mostly because of me. Our garage was full, you see, and our basement full and our barn in MO not full, but somewhat filled with stuff.


Too much stuff.

Stuff that Bryan agreed we needed to get rid of. But stuff that was "worth something."

Oh yeah? Fine. I've got a friend, Stephanie, who sells things on Craigslist. I talked with her about selling our stuff for us and I'd share the profit with her.

Then I told Bryan that this friend was on deck to begin the liquidation and he said, "I'll sell it myself!"

Oh yeah? Well, you got through the weekend to get started, pal.

And he did. He began with the 5 ficus trees he bought at an auction 2 months ago, when I asked him to buy me one ficus tree for our master bedroom. But at 2 bucks a piece, how was he going to pass up a whole forest of them?

He sold them for 20 bucks a piece, at which point, he was likin' the Craigs list. . .

Since then, he's sold a lot of stuff at prices a lot better than one would get if yard saled or auctioned. Part of my deal with him is that he can keep his profits in his own "auction fund" to do with as he pleases. I have a dream that his auction-going will become a self-sustaining hobby. . .

So. One of the items he sold was a vintage Coca-Cola cooler. It was metal. Not very thermo-efficient. But classy in that banged-up vintage way.

The buyer first asked Bryan if he'd come down in price, but Bryan said, no, he was pretty sure he could get that much for it.

The buyer still wanted it, and wrote,

"Just to give you a snapshot of this cooler's future life with me: I have a ranch outside Denver and I use my '63 Chevy pick-up to get around. Your cooler will ride in back and have a couple of cold long necks waiting for me at the end of a hot day. Big Red, as I call her, is going to look great with a cooler from her day."

Charming, right?

Bryan read this and didn't want to sell it to him. My husband thinks that such vintage items should be displayed somewhere in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight. This guy was going to use the cooler? As a cooler???? What was his problem?

My only thought, after reading this "future life" spiel, was that the guy was going to show up and try to dicker down the price again. That he was trying to soften us up with his tender vision.

Bryan arranged for the sale. The guy drove down during the day and I was sure to be wig-less when I answered the door. Who's going to try to dicker the price with a cancer patient?

He turned out to be a very nice, very wealthy man. Signs of wealth:

1. He lived with his wife and newborn son on a horse ranch while working as a lobbyist in DC. I didn't ask what he lobbied for because I didn't want him to tell me something horrible. . .

2. He told me about his '72 Mercedes, of which only 600 were made, and how he kept it completely original, right down to the television set in the back seat.

I received these data points with a polite smile and thought, "I'm glad Bryan didn't come down on the price."

The buyer did say something that will stick with me the rest of my life. He explained how he and his wife really enjoy antiques from all over the world, and that he is just passing through history. As such, he's the care-taker of these items that will belong to a different place, time and person after he's gone.

What a lovely way to think of antiques.

I shared the thought with Bryan, who said, "Yeah, well as caretaker, he probably shouldn't fill the thing with ice!"


G:

The other night, Gemma arranged in the afternoon to have chicken tenders for dinner. It was a pre-emptive request as she realized that I would be preparing big salads for Bryan and myself.

Sure. Chicken tenders. No problem.

As the dinner hour approached, she saw the literature packet regarding my PowerPort--that valve thing implanted in my chest. What was this for? she wanted to know.

I explained. Or tried to. Wasn't sure if I'd done a good job making it clear. I finished the explanation and then asked, "Capice?"

Long pause. She looked at me and then said, "You mean 'chicken tenders.'"



J:

He came into my room one morning, too early. Had his jammies off. His pull-up off. His underpants up around his knees, which is about as far as he can go when dressing his bottom.

"Good morning," I murmured to him as he stood by my bed. "Did you get yourself dressed?"

He nodded and said, "A little bit."

Bonus J story:

We were reading on the couch today, a child on each side of me. He turned towards my ear and said, "What's this?" and started poking his fingers in.

Kids do this when they're 3. They notice that human beings have ears and that ears are full of contours and it's just a major discovery.

So I answered him, "That's my ear."

He glanced at me with a look that kind. . .waived me off. Like of course he knew this was my ear. And he kept fiddling, his brow furrowed.

Then he pulled out the little white cushion that was on my ear bud from the ear phones I wore while working out this morning.

"No, this!" he said.

Oh. That. Yes, that is a real discovery. . .

B, G and J Day: Photos!

What better day to fill a post with photos than Day 5 of a chemo round?

Here we have a mouse from the Ark and the Lion Who Did Not Eat Daniel Because the Angel of the Lord Closed His Mouth. This dressing-up was for Bible Character night at AWANA last weekend.






And here we have some pics from our trip to the Pumpkin Patch last Friday, whence Col. Putko told Bryan not to come into work. (I love that guy!)



Taken while on our tractor ride:

Joshua, preparing to be the next tractor driver:

By the sad and lonely sheep and goats. We had planned to go to Wishing Star Farm, which is the Real Deal, but because of the snowy weather in the Black Forest, the road to that farm was impassible. . . In the middle of October. . . So we opted for a pretend-farm, e.g. the "pumpkin patch"--and next year, if we make it to Wishing Star Farm, the kids will feel as though we've traded up.

Ah, the hay slides! Kids loved them! I think Bryan kind of did, too.

B, G and J Day: Mostly Bathroom Stories

B:



The exercise finished up on Thursday. I asked Bryan, "Did we win?" --it's a war game, after all. He said, "Sure. . ."



Bryan told Colonel Putko that he had a medical appointment for his allergies on Friday morning, first thing, so he'd be in a bit late.



Colonel Putko said, "Wait. What do you have to do tomorrow?"



Some post-exercise clean-up stuff.



"Don't come in," he said. "Spend the day with Amy! Hold her hand."



Bryan kind of looked at him and then said, "Well. . .thank you, sir. . ."



"She's sick," he went on, "you need to spend more time with her."



This is a direct order from a superior officer. What choice does Bryan have? Colonel Putko. I love that guy!





G:





We pursued potty training in earnest with Joshua this week, and Gemma appointed herself the Quality Assurance Officer.

Joshua will come out of the bathroom shouting, "I did it! I whizzed in the toilet!"

("Whizzed." Bryan is responsible for this word.)

And I will say back, "You big boy!! Great job!!"

Gemma will say, "Let's see if he really did it." And then she'll go into the bathroom to inspect.



J:

Part of this training is an addition to Joshua's wardrobe. Underpants. The one item in the world of apparel that is cuter for boys than it is for girls.

Thomas the Tank Engine briefs. Are you kidding me? So stinkin' cute. I wish they made them in men's sizes. . .

We opened his Spider Man underpants to find that they are not briefs, but boxer briefs. Underpants with legs. And because we have to get a bigger size to fit his girth at the waste, the legs come down almost to his knees.

Joshua put a pair on, checked 'em out and said, "I don't have to wear pants!"

These also have patches of glow-in-the-dark design on them. I held a pair up to the light as I told Josh I had a surprise for him. I had just finished showing him what happens when you take them into a dark closet when Bryan came home from work.

"Daddy!" they both shouted. "Come into the closet!" and they whisked him away, all 3 cramming into the coat closet.

I heard their muffled voices:

"Josh's underpants glow!"

"Wow. That is really cool. . ."

Indeed. What's even cooler is that Josh is pretty much potty trained in the daytime. There has been much rejoicing in the land.

The Name Game: Done, Done, Bo, Bun

What do we do when not only the reality, but also the metaphor representing that reality, becomes a heavy yoke?

Well, with the reality, we persevere, and adopt a healthy sense of denial (e.g. Who me? Cancer? Nope). With the metaphor. . .we resort to abandonment.

So the current standing of the Name Hypothesis is this: There are not "far more" women's names than men's used in pop music, as I had predicted there were.

However, it's interesting that it took us about 33 minutes to come up with 200 women's names, and those were all off the tops of our heads, whereas it took us 9 weeks and some serious milking to eek out the list of 200 men's names.

Furthermore, I really think that if I sat down with a Baby Name book and Google, I could find 600 more women's names.

But I don't want to do that. And if you want to do that, then I think you should also Google Web MD and learn about whatever disorder is afflicting you.

We leave it at this: Friday's are no longer Name Game days. But if you want to keep adding to the list, please post in the comments section of the Girls Names List. Who knows? By the time I'm finished with my very last surgery, we will have reached 800!

What is to replace the Name Game?

A new feature at The Big "C":

B, G and J Day

The inaugural B, G and J Day post. . . ahem:


B:

The Air Force played Navy two weekends ago. Bryan is supposed to care about these games a lot more than he does, which is less than the average person feels for his average Alma mater. But since he started working at joint billets 7 years ago and has been surrounded by Army and/or Air Force personnel, he has cared only about this:

That these guys won't be able to razz him about Navy losing.

And lo! For 7 years straight, Navy has beaten both Army and Air Force! 2 weeks ago, Navy won again.

1 week ago was the Navy's birthday. "The Navy celebrates its birthday?" Yes. Add it to the long list of things the military does that can be greeted with the remark, "Really?"

(BTW: The Navy's birthday is nothing compared to the Marine Corps'. Really??)

Bryan's office has a msc. fund for sending flowers at appropriate times and buying sheet cakes for the different service birthdays.

(BTW: The command sent me flowers when I broke my leg a year ago. But nothing at the occasion of my surgery. I'm guessing this is because there's a regulation that each officer's family gets one arrangement of flowers per tour, if there's an occasion to warrant it. Not that I needed more flowers. But, come on. Breast cancer? I don't get no FTD for breast cancer?)

So Bryan and Fog--this is his call sign, no idea what the guy's real name is--were in charge of ordering the Navy's birthday sheet cake. Bryan wrote out the lettering for it:

Happy Birthday Navy

Go Navy

Beat Air Force (checkmark)

Beat Army

G:

We were at the library today. The kids head into the stacks and pull out the books they want, then stack them up on a table until I say, "That's enough!"

Gemma showed me one and said, "See? It's a Dr. Snooze book we don't have."



J:

Potty training commenced. Some kids make first contact with the toilet and are trained for life.

Joshua is the type who will take some time.

Number 1--fairly successful.

Number 2--well. . . There's something about little boys and poop. . .

What's odd is that without his diaper, he looks so much older to me now. It seems like he's talking and thinking twice as much as just two days ago. But I know the biggest difference must be with me.

By next B, G and J day, I hope to have a very bright progress report to post.