So, yeah, it's been a week or so. Here's the update. Turns out I've been home now about nine days. I've got another day off from work but I'm not so sure I can handle one more. So, here's the deal. The other day, after we sent the big kids to school, I invited my mom to watch Baby Sammy and Stacey, Olivia, and I would head to the show for a matinae and watch, "Puss in Boots." Well it started out as a good idea. About the time mom got here we were already late for the show. No fault of my mom's, just that the first available show was a short fuze and the next one would have required us to find someone to receive the big kids from the bus. Believe me, you dont want that. When three of those kids get off the bus and touch down it can be downright frightening.
Anyhow, so we got to the show and Olivia and Stacey went to occupy our seats and I arrived late in the pitch black not sure which seats they were in. "Marco......?" So, after spending 15 bucks for a small popcorn, fifty cents worth of nacho chips and 25 cents worth of cheese and a small bottled water we were off and runnin'. Well, Olivia watched about the first seven minutes of the show and then lost all interest. We pretty much spent the rest of the time talking her into her booster seat, keeping her from smashing into the seats and people in front of us, and working on our inside voices. I tell you. It's harder to take Olivia to a movie than it is to get all seven of us to church.
So, then...what else....hmmm I lost my train of thought....oh yeah, swimming. THEN as if I couldnt get any dumber, yesterday I thought it would be a great idea to take Olivia, Isabelle, and Lexi to the Rec Center to swim. I took them all about three weeks ago, and I had Josh along. It wasn't bad because everyone had someone to play with, even me. But odd numbers produce odd results. So, this time, I spent less time trying to keep putty in Olivia's ears and more time trying to talk her into the floatation vest. I tell you what, shoes, coats, pants and life vests are just non-starters for Olivia. You want to talk about a fit??? Wow. Anyhow, after sitting on the edge of the wading pool looking more conspicuous than a catholic priest at a boyscout outing, we finally left.
So I tell the two big girls to take the bag and go into the girls' locker room and do their thing and meet me on the other side. The bag of course, has the keys to the truck as well as my sanity, because immediately upon our parting ways, Olivia through a complete fit and had a melt-down in the locker room. She was NOT about to have me take her swimsuit off and most certainly would NOT wash off. Well at this point I realized also my spare pair of Underoos were in the same bag that the girls had, and I was going to have to go Commando out of their in regular workout shorts and without a shirt. But I did have this swell looking hunting camo style pullover.
So, from thence, I walked out into the waiting area and Olivia again noticed people in the water having fun and began melt-down numero dos. So, I get over to the door of the girl's locker room and for the next 25 minutes yell like an idiot into it that I am serious they need to hurry up and get out here. So, seriously, 48 minutes after we split ways, the girls finally erupted out of the locker room, finally with the bag and our ticket to sanity. By then the snow was going at a 45 degree angle from the East and Olivia refused to put on shoes, or a now wet coat from the swim bag. So, with me, running commando and carrying the now squirming and inconsolable toddler while pushing two girls out the door in a rush to the North 40 of the rec center in the snow I realized I am in point of fact NOT Fred McMurray...and father certainly dont know best.
I gotta go. We're getting Sam's coat on and everyone's getting head-up for the festivities at church. Cover my six while we move. I'm leaving my concealed carry here because I know my Sunbeams will force me to remove my jacket and I'll have no way to explain the bulge in my lower back nor the handle of my 9mm. Plus, the kids dont understand the threat of a good pistol-whipping so I just leave it home now. And I think it's the law, I'm not sure, I have to research that.
Anyhow, hope you laughed a little, Lord knows if you dont laugh you'll cry.
All the best to you and your'en.
Always,
J
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Home again...
OK, you've all been incredibly patient with me of late. For that I thank you and offer sincere appreciation. Mostly I'm thankful for the people that helped Stacey out while I was away these last two weeks. It makes it so much more palatable to know that she has such a wonderful extended family and friend network. I just wanted to take a moment at really acknowledge that fact.
Where were we? Ah yes. Well some of you were interested in knowing exactly what went down upon my triumphant return to Casa de Kenworthy. What with a brand new son and all, I guess you're looking for some sort of cathartic understanding of self. Well, barring that, and just underscoring my incredible ability to overlook the obvious, to say the least, I am...."blessed." In fact I sometimes recognize days, months, even years later how the hand of the Almighty has directed the course of my life. Even when I fought tooth and nail against His direction, He has continued to bless me in ways that I dont fully comprehend until the moment of.
So, I guess, for one, walking in from a snowstorm, into your warm abode and seeing your beautiful wife sitting on the couch feeding your new son, may be just one of those moments. Usually when I walk in the door chaos ensues. The dog starts to bark, a couple of phones ring, somone's at the door, the kids are yelling....etc. But Friday night, it just sort of unfolded like a dream sequence. My dad had picked me up from the airport and we'd made small-talk about this and that on the way down, but my mind really was on getting to know my boy, Samuel. I tell you, I'm simply in awe of Stacey at times. Her ability to juggle the other four children, while arranging her own stay in order to have a child, alone, without the aid of her bumbling (sometimes) baffoon of a husband is amazing to me. She looks fantastic by the way. She told me she's lost over-all 39 lb from the time she started working out last year to today. She looks phenominal and I'm so proud of her efforts. She really is an inspiration to me in all respects. I constantly think of ways to measure up, and since I can't, I focus most of my efforts in picking up my underwear and socks and trying to minimize my footprint throughout the house. I dont wanna brag, but I even washed all my clothes before returning home this time to lessen the load. I know, I'm a giver. I give. What can I say?
Yeah, so...anyhow, Samuel. Man, poor kid looks just like Josh, whom looks just like me, so...whatareyagonna do you know? He's actually a very quiet little guy. You have no idea he's taking a snoozer over in the corner in the basinet right now. Oh, that reminds me, I have to finish a little of the basement soon because I wasn't anticipating having double-occupancy in 3 of 4 bedrooms in the house. Josh really needs his own room, mostly because he's slovenly, but because I cant have him in such close proximity to his sisters. Football is over and he's back to his old schenanigans and the girls pay for it dearly. Isabelle and Olivia are sharing a room right now, and when Sammy is making it through most the night we'll have to put him somewhere. Stacey thinks it's going to be Josh's room, but I'm not entirely convinced. Plus Olivia has to agree to sleep in the bottom bunk under Isabelle so...we're a series of If-Then statements at best right now.
So I have another school coming in December. Starts on the 4th and runs through like the 16th. Over our anniversary, my birthday and back just in time for Stacey's birthday. It's like a whirlwind around here. It's nice though because as soon as that check is in the block, I'm promotable to major and with the requirement to purchase a new(er) Mormon Assault Vehicle (MAV) we could use a little nudge up in the old pay-stub.
So, again, back to Sam, he's really quite small. I think we're going to have to hold off on getting slurpies at the Maverick for a while, but he's as cute as a button. He whimpers before he cries and so if you hear that and anticipate then you can usually have a bottle made, or a diaper at the ready. That's pretty much the only thing he gets upset about. He tolerates the kids pawing at him and being passed around the couch and really has a sweet demeanor thus far into his tenure.
Oh, I forgot to tell you. This is kind of personal. But when I was in South Carolina, last week I went to the PX to get some pizza to take back to the room. Well, as I pulled into the parking lot, it was completely filled with young Soldiers graduating from basic training. They had all their mom's and dad's and grandma's and what-not there. Well I had a vision. No seriously. I get these from time to time about how to prepare for the up and coming. Well I had a vision of Stacey and I in about six years picking up Josh. It's phenominal to me to think about, but I saw it plain as day. It rang true to my heart. I was wearing my dress uniform for his graduation. I was a lieutenant colonel and Stacey and I had checked into a local hotel and Josh was proudly showing us around the post. It was surreal but definately a precursor. Josh is twelve in a couple of months. Six years from now he'll of course be 18. But I remember the personal pride I felt walking around post in my uniform. I distinctly remember the moment I realized that I was a man. Not, like an adult by virtue of turning 18, but a man in the sense that my personal direction and destiny were now in my own control, and...now in hindsight, that of our Father in Heaven.
I'm looking forward to that day. I can't believe it's so close. Josh has talked about joining the Guard between his junior and senior year. He's even talked about the concurrent enrollment programs at the highschool which will allow him to graduate with a high school diploma as well as an associate's degree. Then off to his advanced occupational training after he graduations and hopefully, God willin' and the creek dont rise, a mission. I firmly believe Josh is entirely capable of it. I hope he's listened to his old man and really does it. I know personally I had that same ambition, but got a little lost in the sauce trying to do it my own way for a while. Anyhow, the kid makes me so proud. I'm really looking forward to him being such an example to Samuel. Samuel will be six and seeing his big brother graduate from both high school, college, and the military schools will go a long way.
I'm not worried in the least about Samuel, or any of our children for that reason. I know we've got incredible children. They're phenominal to say the least. I realize they'll do things and learn some things the hard way. But they're all genuinely good kids and I feel very blessed for that. I know they'll learn some of those tough life-lessons that both Stacey and I have. I know that we're doing our best to instill in them values which will help them dust themselves off when they make mistakes and try again.
Anyhow, I gotta get ready for church. It's been a few weeks since I've seen my Sunbeams. Love those little guys.
Anyhow, all the best to you and yours. We'll see you soon.
Always,
J
Where were we? Ah yes. Well some of you were interested in knowing exactly what went down upon my triumphant return to Casa de Kenworthy. What with a brand new son and all, I guess you're looking for some sort of cathartic understanding of self. Well, barring that, and just underscoring my incredible ability to overlook the obvious, to say the least, I am...."blessed." In fact I sometimes recognize days, months, even years later how the hand of the Almighty has directed the course of my life. Even when I fought tooth and nail against His direction, He has continued to bless me in ways that I dont fully comprehend until the moment of.
So, I guess, for one, walking in from a snowstorm, into your warm abode and seeing your beautiful wife sitting on the couch feeding your new son, may be just one of those moments. Usually when I walk in the door chaos ensues. The dog starts to bark, a couple of phones ring, somone's at the door, the kids are yelling....etc. But Friday night, it just sort of unfolded like a dream sequence. My dad had picked me up from the airport and we'd made small-talk about this and that on the way down, but my mind really was on getting to know my boy, Samuel. I tell you, I'm simply in awe of Stacey at times. Her ability to juggle the other four children, while arranging her own stay in order to have a child, alone, without the aid of her bumbling (sometimes) baffoon of a husband is amazing to me. She looks fantastic by the way. She told me she's lost over-all 39 lb from the time she started working out last year to today. She looks phenominal and I'm so proud of her efforts. She really is an inspiration to me in all respects. I constantly think of ways to measure up, and since I can't, I focus most of my efforts in picking up my underwear and socks and trying to minimize my footprint throughout the house. I dont wanna brag, but I even washed all my clothes before returning home this time to lessen the load. I know, I'm a giver. I give. What can I say?
Yeah, so...anyhow, Samuel. Man, poor kid looks just like Josh, whom looks just like me, so...whatareyagonna do you know? He's actually a very quiet little guy. You have no idea he's taking a snoozer over in the corner in the basinet right now. Oh, that reminds me, I have to finish a little of the basement soon because I wasn't anticipating having double-occupancy in 3 of 4 bedrooms in the house. Josh really needs his own room, mostly because he's slovenly, but because I cant have him in such close proximity to his sisters. Football is over and he's back to his old schenanigans and the girls pay for it dearly. Isabelle and Olivia are sharing a room right now, and when Sammy is making it through most the night we'll have to put him somewhere. Stacey thinks it's going to be Josh's room, but I'm not entirely convinced. Plus Olivia has to agree to sleep in the bottom bunk under Isabelle so...we're a series of If-Then statements at best right now.
So I have another school coming in December. Starts on the 4th and runs through like the 16th. Over our anniversary, my birthday and back just in time for Stacey's birthday. It's like a whirlwind around here. It's nice though because as soon as that check is in the block, I'm promotable to major and with the requirement to purchase a new(er) Mormon Assault Vehicle (MAV) we could use a little nudge up in the old pay-stub.
So, again, back to Sam, he's really quite small. I think we're going to have to hold off on getting slurpies at the Maverick for a while, but he's as cute as a button. He whimpers before he cries and so if you hear that and anticipate then you can usually have a bottle made, or a diaper at the ready. That's pretty much the only thing he gets upset about. He tolerates the kids pawing at him and being passed around the couch and really has a sweet demeanor thus far into his tenure.
Oh, I forgot to tell you. This is kind of personal. But when I was in South Carolina, last week I went to the PX to get some pizza to take back to the room. Well, as I pulled into the parking lot, it was completely filled with young Soldiers graduating from basic training. They had all their mom's and dad's and grandma's and what-not there. Well I had a vision. No seriously. I get these from time to time about how to prepare for the up and coming. Well I had a vision of Stacey and I in about six years picking up Josh. It's phenominal to me to think about, but I saw it plain as day. It rang true to my heart. I was wearing my dress uniform for his graduation. I was a lieutenant colonel and Stacey and I had checked into a local hotel and Josh was proudly showing us around the post. It was surreal but definately a precursor. Josh is twelve in a couple of months. Six years from now he'll of course be 18. But I remember the personal pride I felt walking around post in my uniform. I distinctly remember the moment I realized that I was a man. Not, like an adult by virtue of turning 18, but a man in the sense that my personal direction and destiny were now in my own control, and...now in hindsight, that of our Father in Heaven.
I'm looking forward to that day. I can't believe it's so close. Josh has talked about joining the Guard between his junior and senior year. He's even talked about the concurrent enrollment programs at the highschool which will allow him to graduate with a high school diploma as well as an associate's degree. Then off to his advanced occupational training after he graduations and hopefully, God willin' and the creek dont rise, a mission. I firmly believe Josh is entirely capable of it. I hope he's listened to his old man and really does it. I know personally I had that same ambition, but got a little lost in the sauce trying to do it my own way for a while. Anyhow, the kid makes me so proud. I'm really looking forward to him being such an example to Samuel. Samuel will be six and seeing his big brother graduate from both high school, college, and the military schools will go a long way.
I'm not worried in the least about Samuel, or any of our children for that reason. I know we've got incredible children. They're phenominal to say the least. I realize they'll do things and learn some things the hard way. But they're all genuinely good kids and I feel very blessed for that. I know they'll learn some of those tough life-lessons that both Stacey and I have. I know that we're doing our best to instill in them values which will help them dust themselves off when they make mistakes and try again.
Anyhow, I gotta get ready for church. It's been a few weeks since I've seen my Sunbeams. Love those little guys.
Anyhow, all the best to you and yours. We'll see you soon.
Always,
J
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Baby Samuel...
Well, hey, what can I say? I've been busy alright? I know, I know, it's been a while. Cut me some slack. I've been in class all week as well as feeling supremely guilty about missing the birth of our son. Numero Cinco, Baby Samuel. Oh yeah, let me quickly give you the run-down on the stats: Samuel Levi Kenworthy, 5# 8oz, 18". Good deal of black hair. Pictures availalbe on Stacey's blog or website shortly I'm sure. Anyhow, this week's been one for the record book, so bear with me.
Where were we? Ah yes, so...back up a little. So, last Sunday, I let out to the airport in Salt Lake at O-Dark-Thirty. Stacey of course drove me, because I like to maximize my inconvenience to the family whenever I go TDY (Temporary Duty). So, I had her drive me to the airport at six AM on a Sunday, because she probably had nothing better to do but rest and prepare for two weeks without me, herding four (now five) children. But I digress. So, anyhow, she drops me off at the airport, after my little tirade the night before about not being able to find this or that and how I'm a tad stressed because of the need to go to a local neighborhood soire' instead of pack. 'Course, I do that to myself all the time right? I dont want to hurt anyone's feel-bads, and I know I'm going to have a good time, but it's really the night before a major undertaking and I just KNOW I'm going to be frantically searching for a GPS unit, or a Kevlar or some other piece of gear/clothing that is SUPPOSED to be in my closet or my Army Gear Trunk (see also: "BAD ASS PREPAREDNESS KIT") in the garage. OH yeah, I forgot to tell you, my Army stuff is not allowed in the house because it's messy and takes up too much space in the closet and would be better out of sight and therefore out of mind....which...is precisely why I can't find the crap I need the night prior to my skulking off into the dead of night to slit someone's administrative-throat.
I lost my train of thought, where were we? Ah yes. So, then I get to the airport, after a major detour off of Bangerter Highway, through the industrial area, to a picturesque part of 1700-ish South that I've never before visited. Perhaps sometime Stacey and I can go back there for a nice picnic or perhaps to take some family photos, but not today. Anyhow, so I report to the kiosk at the Delta Help Yourself and commence checking in. So I swipe my DELTA GOLD card (I'm...KIND of a BIG DEAL) and of course, it doesnt even register. So, I have to hand-jam in my number, just like the last forty-two times I've used their kiosk and swiped my card. Anyhow, I need the miles, so whatareyagonna do? Ya know? Anyhow, that's how I paid for Stacey's Hawaii ticket a few months ago was with my Sky Miles so...you go to war with the Gold Card you have, not the Gold Card ya want.
Anyhow, I check my bags, and look at Horatio, or..Geraldo, or..whatever his name is and making clear and distinct eye contact say, "So...my bags are checked all the way through to South Carolina right?" To which of course he waves his hand in the Jedi manner and tells me all is taken care of. These aren't the droids I'm looking for. Well, low and behold, I scan my ticket, and resultant from my Bigdealativity, I've been up-graded to first class. Things are looking up.
So, I get on the aircraft, sit down, have my complimentary snacks and what not and enjoy being in seat 1C, wherein every swingin' Richard that enters the plane hits me with their carry-on in the left side of my noggin as they go past as though this is the first time they've every seen over-head compartments or a space shuttle from the inside. Whatever. I'm in first class, and..you know what? By the way, why dont they put First Class at the BACK of the plane? Especially where there are sometimes two doors for exiting? Whatever, I'm not a design engineer nor a airline exec so what do I know right?
Where were you? Oh, you were riveted to my rant...yeah, so...anyhow, that flight goes into Detroit, and from Detroit I transfer (along with the common-folk) into a smaller aircraft with no first class arena and on into Columbia, South Cacalacky.
So, from thence, I skip on down into the baggage claim area, and pick up ONE...I said...ONE of my bags. The smaller of the two, the one with my uniforms, (sans boots and sans t-shirts)(which plays out later in our story). So...while I'm waiting for my second bag, I hop on over to the Hertz line adjacent to the baggage claim, (Insert Mirand Lambert Song) and check out my new, white, convertable Chrystler Seibring. Which, as it turns out, when you're driving around with another dude, makes you look like a total homosapien. (NOT..that there's anything WRONG with that). So, knowing I now have the ultimate antiquing vehicle, I'm just about set. Turns out, at the lost baggage counter, my particular bag (one of two lost on the entire flight) somehow made it's way to Houston, to visit some old college buddies and drink beer late into the evening. However, NOT to worry, this particular hub has two...count them, TWO flights coming in later in the evening, one of which will have my bag. Scout's Honor.
Fast forward to that evening, where I'm calling the 1-800, wondering where in Sam Hill my bag is, along with my boots and a nice tan t-shirt for tomorrow's opening festivities. So, long story longer, turns out my bag wadn't gonna make it. So I get the dubious honor of showing up to class (mind you as the student class leader) without the benefit of an actual uniform, new underwear, a shave....wearing yesterday's travel clothes (cowboy boots) and looking like a complete shlub.
*hold on, I gotta pee, hold that thought*
You were saying? No, I was...ok, sit down, it gets even more boring from here. Grab a Diet Coke for me too will ya? OK, so...I show up to class, with 24 fellow captain-type students from all over the world (U.S. Army only) and two Major's whom we come to find will be our, "Facilitators". Which, is the new term for, "Instructor". (It's a kinder, gentler Army). So, I of course apologize profusely for the second day I'm wearin' these underwear and the double-shot of, "Domain" cologne I had to use to cover this Saturday Wal-Mart wear in order to be ready to learn in style.
So, we introduce ourselves, I get my marching orders and we start into this class. Well, turns out we're supposed to have pictures on that day, and now I, as said Class Leader, am going to be the only one in boots and jeans and 2x the legal limit of Domain. Well, anyhow, after six introductions and welcomes to the school by everyone from the School Assistant Commandant to the janitor we finish out what could have been done at any Guard Armory across the 54 States and Territories in about....two hours. Only it took these pogues all damn day to do it. Oh, and half way into the next day too.
So, this whole week we've been giving each other briefings, using the school-house slides without personal knowledge of what the test may be geared toward, taking copious notes. Only, we're not allowed to use our notes during the tests. Which...aren't really tests... they're..."Assessments" which apparently is, "Ajutant General" speak for, "totally subjective review of your abilities". So, we're all a little frustrated to say the least. Mostly because the program of instruction has no syllabus, no clear expectations, and every "ass-es-ment" we've taken to date has been so nebulous that pretty much it tells us they're making this crap up on the fly. OH, I forgot to tell you, we're the, "test case" for the new course of instruction, and this is the very first time they've tried this. Comforting isn't it?
Anyhow, so my bag of course showed up, I climb into the warrior-suit and commence class-leading the hell out of these 24 capable and directed captains. Here's the problem though, in addition to the unclear expectations from the facililitators, we're also being force-fed a diet of training that really appears to be the same trash you'd feed a brand-spankin-new second lieutenant fresh off the turnup truck. Problem is, we've all been commissioned for eight or more years and been down-range and back and have our very own, "This One time, IN Iraq/Afghanistan" stories which all rival the paper-cut stories from our instruct...facilitator's. This one time, in Kuwait, when I was there for six months, NOT getting shot at...." Whatever.
So, meanwhile, while I wasn't pulling these captains off of the ceiling trying to keep a mutiny from taking place, Stacey get's admitted to the hostpital to be induced and Baby Samuel is born. So, now, I'm in this course, as the class leader, of 24 mutinous captains with PTSD, who are cordially invited to write, rewrite and potentially re-re-write their nebulous non-gradable assessments before working on a Saturday with no clear expectation of what the hell we're even trying to accomplish. I tell you what, if you're ever in charge of troops, dont waste their time. They can smell B.S. a mile away and we're about waist-deep in it at this point. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhh I forgot the best part. So, this U.S. Army (Active) Colonel comes in...mind you, to a classroom full of near-mutinous Guard and Reservists. He's the J-1 (Personnel Officer) for U.S. Army European Command. Only, we're not really even sure who invited him or what the hell he's trying to get across. I tell you, he told us more about how great he was and how he's single-handedly saved democracy (from..an....Administrative...standpoint) than McArthur or Eisenhower. THEN this jagazz proceeds to tell us how the Guard and Reserve are a thing of the past, and that we're going back to the old days where we all drank beer on the drill weekends and never deployed. CONTRARY to everything that the 3 star general he works for tries to make policy. So I'm like...*eeeeeeeeerp* Brake sounds...dude, you're done. I'm out. I'm not sure what he said after that, but you can be damned sure it was about how he once saved G.I. Joe's Personnel Records file from a burning building. Whatever.
Anyhow, so the stress has been up a tad, yeah, I get that. But, the flip side is I'm meeting some really cool people. REALLY cool people. We have a great class and everyone here is involved and willing to learn even if we have to teach ourselves.
Starting Monday, we all get the dubious honor of putting on Kevlar Helmets and some web-gear and walking across gravel in a make-shift training FOB (forward operating base) to a warehouse with a cube farm to practice what it's like to be a Battalion S-1 (personnel officer) in the...real world. Pardon me while I towel myself off from anticipatory sheen.
Anyhow, if you read this far I'm actually pretty amazed. I can't wait to get home and see your bright and shiny faces. I miss everyone back in the..."world" and can't wait to see my new son. I'm so excited. Of course I feel incredibly guilty about being away when he was born, but I'm so very very thankful for such an incredible spouse who makes it all look effortless.
So...I guess we're done now, and this is getting awkward and..since this IS my room, you..should...probably leave now.
All the best to you and yours.
Always,
J
Where were we? Ah yes, so...back up a little. So, last Sunday, I let out to the airport in Salt Lake at O-Dark-Thirty. Stacey of course drove me, because I like to maximize my inconvenience to the family whenever I go TDY (Temporary Duty). So, I had her drive me to the airport at six AM on a Sunday, because she probably had nothing better to do but rest and prepare for two weeks without me, herding four (now five) children. But I digress. So, anyhow, she drops me off at the airport, after my little tirade the night before about not being able to find this or that and how I'm a tad stressed because of the need to go to a local neighborhood soire' instead of pack. 'Course, I do that to myself all the time right? I dont want to hurt anyone's feel-bads, and I know I'm going to have a good time, but it's really the night before a major undertaking and I just KNOW I'm going to be frantically searching for a GPS unit, or a Kevlar or some other piece of gear/clothing that is SUPPOSED to be in my closet or my Army Gear Trunk (see also: "BAD ASS PREPAREDNESS KIT") in the garage. OH yeah, I forgot to tell you, my Army stuff is not allowed in the house because it's messy and takes up too much space in the closet and would be better out of sight and therefore out of mind....which...is precisely why I can't find the crap I need the night prior to my skulking off into the dead of night to slit someone's administrative-throat.
I lost my train of thought, where were we? Ah yes. So, then I get to the airport, after a major detour off of Bangerter Highway, through the industrial area, to a picturesque part of 1700-ish South that I've never before visited. Perhaps sometime Stacey and I can go back there for a nice picnic or perhaps to take some family photos, but not today. Anyhow, so I report to the kiosk at the Delta Help Yourself and commence checking in. So I swipe my DELTA GOLD card (I'm...KIND of a BIG DEAL) and of course, it doesnt even register. So, I have to hand-jam in my number, just like the last forty-two times I've used their kiosk and swiped my card. Anyhow, I need the miles, so whatareyagonna do? Ya know? Anyhow, that's how I paid for Stacey's Hawaii ticket a few months ago was with my Sky Miles so...you go to war with the Gold Card you have, not the Gold Card ya want.
Anyhow, I check my bags, and look at Horatio, or..Geraldo, or..whatever his name is and making clear and distinct eye contact say, "So...my bags are checked all the way through to South Carolina right?" To which of course he waves his hand in the Jedi manner and tells me all is taken care of. These aren't the droids I'm looking for. Well, low and behold, I scan my ticket, and resultant from my Bigdealativity, I've been up-graded to first class. Things are looking up.
So, I get on the aircraft, sit down, have my complimentary snacks and what not and enjoy being in seat 1C, wherein every swingin' Richard that enters the plane hits me with their carry-on in the left side of my noggin as they go past as though this is the first time they've every seen over-head compartments or a space shuttle from the inside. Whatever. I'm in first class, and..you know what? By the way, why dont they put First Class at the BACK of the plane? Especially where there are sometimes two doors for exiting? Whatever, I'm not a design engineer nor a airline exec so what do I know right?
Where were you? Oh, you were riveted to my rant...yeah, so...anyhow, that flight goes into Detroit, and from Detroit I transfer (along with the common-folk) into a smaller aircraft with no first class arena and on into Columbia, South Cacalacky.
So, from thence, I skip on down into the baggage claim area, and pick up ONE...I said...ONE of my bags. The smaller of the two, the one with my uniforms, (sans boots and sans t-shirts)(which plays out later in our story). So...while I'm waiting for my second bag, I hop on over to the Hertz line adjacent to the baggage claim, (Insert Mirand Lambert Song) and check out my new, white, convertable Chrystler Seibring. Which, as it turns out, when you're driving around with another dude, makes you look like a total homosapien. (NOT..that there's anything WRONG with that). So, knowing I now have the ultimate antiquing vehicle, I'm just about set. Turns out, at the lost baggage counter, my particular bag (one of two lost on the entire flight) somehow made it's way to Houston, to visit some old college buddies and drink beer late into the evening. However, NOT to worry, this particular hub has two...count them, TWO flights coming in later in the evening, one of which will have my bag. Scout's Honor.
Fast forward to that evening, where I'm calling the 1-800, wondering where in Sam Hill my bag is, along with my boots and a nice tan t-shirt for tomorrow's opening festivities. So, long story longer, turns out my bag wadn't gonna make it. So I get the dubious honor of showing up to class (mind you as the student class leader) without the benefit of an actual uniform, new underwear, a shave....wearing yesterday's travel clothes (cowboy boots) and looking like a complete shlub.
*hold on, I gotta pee, hold that thought*
You were saying? No, I was...ok, sit down, it gets even more boring from here. Grab a Diet Coke for me too will ya? OK, so...I show up to class, with 24 fellow captain-type students from all over the world (U.S. Army only) and two Major's whom we come to find will be our, "Facilitators". Which, is the new term for, "Instructor". (It's a kinder, gentler Army). So, I of course apologize profusely for the second day I'm wearin' these underwear and the double-shot of, "Domain" cologne I had to use to cover this Saturday Wal-Mart wear in order to be ready to learn in style.
So, we introduce ourselves, I get my marching orders and we start into this class. Well, turns out we're supposed to have pictures on that day, and now I, as said Class Leader, am going to be the only one in boots and jeans and 2x the legal limit of Domain. Well, anyhow, after six introductions and welcomes to the school by everyone from the School Assistant Commandant to the janitor we finish out what could have been done at any Guard Armory across the 54 States and Territories in about....two hours. Only it took these pogues all damn day to do it. Oh, and half way into the next day too.
So, this whole week we've been giving each other briefings, using the school-house slides without personal knowledge of what the test may be geared toward, taking copious notes. Only, we're not allowed to use our notes during the tests. Which...aren't really tests... they're..."Assessments" which apparently is, "Ajutant General" speak for, "totally subjective review of your abilities". So, we're all a little frustrated to say the least. Mostly because the program of instruction has no syllabus, no clear expectations, and every "ass-es-ment" we've taken to date has been so nebulous that pretty much it tells us they're making this crap up on the fly. OH, I forgot to tell you, we're the, "test case" for the new course of instruction, and this is the very first time they've tried this. Comforting isn't it?
Anyhow, so my bag of course showed up, I climb into the warrior-suit and commence class-leading the hell out of these 24 capable and directed captains. Here's the problem though, in addition to the unclear expectations from the facililitators, we're also being force-fed a diet of training that really appears to be the same trash you'd feed a brand-spankin-new second lieutenant fresh off the turnup truck. Problem is, we've all been commissioned for eight or more years and been down-range and back and have our very own, "This One time, IN Iraq/Afghanistan" stories which all rival the paper-cut stories from our instruct...facilitator's. This one time, in Kuwait, when I was there for six months, NOT getting shot at...." Whatever.
So, meanwhile, while I wasn't pulling these captains off of the ceiling trying to keep a mutiny from taking place, Stacey get's admitted to the hostpital to be induced and Baby Samuel is born. So, now, I'm in this course, as the class leader, of 24 mutinous captains with PTSD, who are cordially invited to write, rewrite and potentially re-re-write their nebulous non-gradable assessments before working on a Saturday with no clear expectation of what the hell we're even trying to accomplish. I tell you what, if you're ever in charge of troops, dont waste their time. They can smell B.S. a mile away and we're about waist-deep in it at this point. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhh I forgot the best part. So, this U.S. Army (Active) Colonel comes in...mind you, to a classroom full of near-mutinous Guard and Reservists. He's the J-1 (Personnel Officer) for U.S. Army European Command. Only, we're not really even sure who invited him or what the hell he's trying to get across. I tell you, he told us more about how great he was and how he's single-handedly saved democracy (from..an....Administrative...standpoint) than McArthur or Eisenhower. THEN this jagazz proceeds to tell us how the Guard and Reserve are a thing of the past, and that we're going back to the old days where we all drank beer on the drill weekends and never deployed. CONTRARY to everything that the 3 star general he works for tries to make policy. So I'm like...*eeeeeeeeerp* Brake sounds...dude, you're done. I'm out. I'm not sure what he said after that, but you can be damned sure it was about how he once saved G.I. Joe's Personnel Records file from a burning building. Whatever.
Anyhow, so the stress has been up a tad, yeah, I get that. But, the flip side is I'm meeting some really cool people. REALLY cool people. We have a great class and everyone here is involved and willing to learn even if we have to teach ourselves.
Starting Monday, we all get the dubious honor of putting on Kevlar Helmets and some web-gear and walking across gravel in a make-shift training FOB (forward operating base) to a warehouse with a cube farm to practice what it's like to be a Battalion S-1 (personnel officer) in the...real world. Pardon me while I towel myself off from anticipatory sheen.
Anyhow, if you read this far I'm actually pretty amazed. I can't wait to get home and see your bright and shiny faces. I miss everyone back in the..."world" and can't wait to see my new son. I'm so excited. Of course I feel incredibly guilty about being away when he was born, but I'm so very very thankful for such an incredible spouse who makes it all look effortless.
So...I guess we're done now, and this is getting awkward and..since this IS my room, you..should...probably leave now.
All the best to you and yours.
Always,
J
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)