Thursday, July 5, 2007

Leavin' on a Jet Plane

Emily and I are preparing to leave for Pennsylvania this weekend as part of John's COT (consecutive overseas tour) entitlement. Basically, this means that if a servicemember serves back-to-back overseas tours, the government will fly him/her and the family back to the home of record for one trip. Sadly, because of John's Australian TDY, he's not going to be able to go with us, which largely defeats the purpose. However, the grandparents on both sides made it clear that my butt had better be on a plane with their grandbaby come hell or high water.

While part of me is thinking "kill me now", I've traveled alone with Emily before and she's quite a good traveler. As a matter of fact, she had flown across 32 time zones by the time she was 12 months old, which is fairly impressive by any standard. Granted, she wasn't walking during most of that time, which presents a whole new challenge now, but the upside of having a baby who doesn't sleep worth beans is that significant time zone changes aren't really that big of a deal.

The first time Emily flew was after four days in a German hospital when we finally got some answers (and confirmation of Mommy Radar) regarding what was causing her such pain. Getting her the right medication through the military treatment facilities in Germany, however, was going to take a month or so, and I'd had it. I'd watched my baby hurt for five months and I wasn't about to stand by a day longer than necessary. So we got on a Space-A flight to BWI and my awesome father drove 8 hours round trip to get us, bearing the medicine we needed.

Funny thing about that flight is that it was packed with guys returning from downrange (Iraq and Afghanistan), so it was full of men who looked like Daddy but weren't quite Daddy. Emily spent quite a lot of time balancing precariously on my legs, looking around with some confusion and bemusement. While I expected these tired guys to be less than thrilled to have a baby on board, I found that many of them were fathers who had been separated from their kids for way too long and were sweet with both of us and Emily flirted madly with them.

Then there was the PCS from Germany to Hawaii when she was 7 months old. She managed to cut her first tooth on the flight from Frankfurt to DC and her second tooth from DC to San Francisco. Thankfully, breastfeeding saved the day. God sure knew what He was doing when He designed that one.

A trip to Colorado last fall was more interesting since she had begun walking. She must've lapped the terminal 3 times by the time we boarded, which wore her out a bit. She also managed to flirt with countless people and get lots of compliments in the meantime, even from buttoned-up businessmen who weren't accustomed to interacting with little ones in an airport. Then again, it's hard to resist a fuzzy-headed baby who puts her hands on your leg and turns her face up into yours with a bright smile to get your attention.

So, thanks to Uncle Sam, we get a visit with family... and thanks to Uncle Sam, John won't be with us. But we're looking forward to visits with almost my entire family (my brother-in-law will be missing) as well as a week in Chicago on the way back with almost John's entire family (minus the Germany contingent, whom we miss terribly). There are some members of the family who haven't met Emily yet, so we're really excited about this!

And I'm wondering about bringing along some alcohol. Whether for me or for Squeaker is to be determined.

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

In Memory of Daniel B. Haynes

I'm so saddened to hear of the passing of Daniel Haynes, a very close friend of a friend of mine. (Well, Sara is the twin of one of my best friends, Abby, but such is the family of Christ, right?) Sara had sent out several emails over the past several months about Daniel's fight with cancer alongside his brand-new bride, Priscilla. Daniel went home to be with the Lord last night, and I know that, while his loved ones have every assurance that he is in the arms of his Savior right now, their hearts are aching.

I've asked Sara to speak with Priscilla at a more appropriate time for permission to post Sara's emails here, as they were incredibly moving and beautifully written, and a powerful testimony to faith and love. If they give the okay, I'll share what Sara has written in her requests for prayers for this amazing young couple.

Here is part of his obituary as published at http://www.vandermay.com/; would that we all merit this kind of legacy. Prayers for his young wife, his family, and his dear friends are certainly cherished.

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O Canada!

We were a little busy with the Daddy Homecoming for me to write a birthday message to my Canadian friends. I'm a huge Canada-phile even though I managed to get seriously sunburned there during my first trip to Ottawa as an adult. (No, really, I did. My Italian then-boyfriend was absolutely flabbergasted that this was even possible.)

A year later, sans aforementioned boyfriend, I went back up for another trip to Ottawa, as I'd come to love the city. I stayed at an international hostel near Parliament--not the former jail this time, though I'd recommend it--and was surprised to be the only American. Of course, my trip coincided with Canada Day, and I was the perfect scapegoat for a whole lot of good-natured crap from the Canadians. And the Aussies. And the Kiwis, now that I think about it.

There is (or was) a popular sketch comedy in Canada called This Hour Has 22 Minutes, and one of the best recurring sketches was "Talking to Americans". Imagine Jay Leno's 'Jaywalking' focused on the ignorance of the average American and you pretty much have the picture. The CBC did an hour-long special based on this particular sketch, which was rebroadcast the evening of Canada Day. I'd already seen it, as a good friend of mine from Canada had sent it to me months prior. Of course, I was hunted down and pulled into the common room to watch it and speak for Americans coast to coast who know nothing about our closest neighbors. Or neighbours, for my maple-leafy friends. There really was no defense; here are some examples:

* went to several Ivy-league colleges and got passionate and well-intentioned statements and signatures from students AND professors on petitions to ban the Great Saskatchewan Seal Hunt and the abandoning of Canadian elderly on ice floes.

* asking Chicagoans what they thought of Canada's plan to change its name to 'Chicago'.

* running a poll on the name for Canada's season of total darkness, favoring "Cana-Dark".

* asking opinions on whether the US should lend its navy to Canada, since, as a land-locked nation, Canada doesn't have one of its own. To their credit, folks were more than happy to let Canada borrow their navy. After all, what are neighbors for?

* congratulating Canada on: switching to the 24-hour clock; joining North America; preserving their national igloo; legalizing insulin; achieving 800 miles of paved road.

* asking how many Canadian states they could name. One woman puzzled over this for a moment before her son, about 8 years old, said with astonishment, "Wait a minute, they have provinces!", resulting in loud cheers from the audience.

It was one of the funniest hours of television I've ever seen. The fact that I was able to withstand the ribbing and join in did much for American-Canadian-whomeverelseian relations, and I was fully welcomed into the Canada Day festivities. Despite the fact that none of the group I hung with that day were Canadian, we celebrated in full spirit along with everyone else in Ottawa. I have to say that they put on a heck of a fireworks display, even though we had to wait until well past 10pm until it was dark enough.

One final thing, though. I have an ongoing and fairly heated dispute with a good (Canadian) friend of mine regarding the whole issue of curling. I'm going to put it in writing once and for all and will not change my mind in this lifetime: Curling is NOT a sport. It was kind of intriguing to watch during the last winter Olympics while we were in Germany, but then, all we had was AFN (American Forces Network) and it was that or endless self-serving promos by an obnoxious and patronizing Air Force general. Curling is, I'm sure, an enjoyable game, but game it is.

Thanks, Canada, for putting up with your well-intentioned but frequently cloddish next door neighbor. You're beautiful in both geography and citizenry, and feel free to come over any time you need a cup of sugar. After all, what are neighbo(u)rs for?


(I need to add this: After writing this, I found an article on "Talking to Americans" on Wikipedia that included a little tidbit I thought I should share. Apparently this special received a bunch of award nominations, but because of the timing of those awards so close to the 9/11 terrorist attacks, Rick Mercer felt it would be in poor taste to air a show poking fun at Americans and asked the organizations to pull the nominations. Talk about having some serious class.)

Fireworks of all kinds

Daddy's home, life is good. Yes, Emily was a bit shy at first, but within an hour or so, when we tried to get her interested in "Signing Time" so we could, um, unpack, she freaked when her daddy went up the stairs without her. She's retaken her rightful place in the jogging stroller during walks with Azzie, and she had her beloved pancakes during Daddy's brunch this morning. (He's been doing this for months since we got here, and the specially-created Emily Pancake has gotten larger along with Emily.) There's been much silliness and giggling on her part, along with immediate "Daahyyy?" responses when she wakes in the morning. The king of her castle has returned.

Smart man. He came back bearing gifts, LOL. Emily is fascinated by the koala bear backpack he presented to her at the airport--which led to chuckles all the way home as she explored his eyes and nose--and I love the Australian opal necklace and earring set he gave me. How convenient that all three of us are October birthdays... nice birthstone. ;)

She's enjoying listening to the ship's guns at Pearl Harbor today, and I wonder what she'll think of the fireworks later tonight at the planesicles. Sorry, they're officially called "The Missing Man Formation" at the large Hickam AFB sign at the end of the jogging trail, but I've called them planesicles since we moved here. Because of the very quick turnaround between John's return from TDY and our leaving this weekend for the mainland, we're not doing anything involved. I'm going to put together a small pound cake, Cool Whip, and berries to resemble a flag, and that's about it this year.

But I'm so thankful my husband is home safe and sound. So many families this Fourth of July are separated and making huge sacrifices for freedom. To all the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who are away from family, know that we're thinking of you and grateful for what you are doing to allow us to sit home together, grill burgers, and watch fireworks in peace. God be with all of you.