mrtl

I'll give you support, baby!

Tonight is the monthly meeting for our squadron's spouse support group. We're a pretty diverse group, ranging in age, number of kids, types of jobs and religion (if any), and personalities. Because our membership is regularly turning over, we're in a fairly constant state of polite acquaintance.

Usually the group goes out to dinner or eats in at someone's house. That's safe. We talk about the Air Force, our kids, dieting, and San Angelo. That's safe. This month, though, we're stepping a little outside of that safe zone. At the last meeting we joked around about doing a "passion party"... and then decided to seriously do it.

The plan is to have dessert for the first hour: all things chocolate, and the "Tool Instruction and Empowerment Workshop" (as the host, Dar, calls it) the second hour. With one foot still in the safe zone, we've warned everyone who RSVP'd about the plan, so as not to have any embarrassing surprises.

It would have been so much more interesting to not warn people. Why not invite the awkward silence? The righteous indignation? The embarrassment (although I'm sure there will be some of that either way)?

Did I mention the squadron's commander (a Lieutenant Colonel) may be making an appearance? If he can, he's going to stop by for the first few minutes to, in his words, "put a face on the squadron." It's too bad he couldn't stay the whole time; now THAT would have been a hoot! I can only imagine the mortified look on his face when Dar starts passing around the cock rings and vibrating dildoes.

The Heightened Sense of Smell

I suffered through a cycle class today, and not just because cycling makes my "tee-tee" (instructor's term) hurt or because I haven't worked out in a week, but also from a lingering smell of fried food. Who in the HELL would bring fried food into a health club? (And should I really be asking this of a health club that has a CANDY MACHINE sitting next to the front desk?) My nostrils were so perked, trying to gather up every last whiff that I got dizzy from the accumulation of carbon dioxide.

This was almost -- I said ALMOST -- as bad as the day I was in a step class and some poor soul shat her pants. Yes. She did. Farts linger, but fade. This did not. I want to give the offender the benefit of the doubt that she was too mortified to leave the room, lest everyone know that SHE SHAT HER PANTS.

Note to poopy-pants: Please, next time this happens (as I'm sure this kind of thing doesn't just happen once), please be so kind as to fake a tissue emergency. They don't keep tissues in the aerobics room, so wipe your nose and snort a few times. For dramatic effect, feel free to look confusedly around the room for the tissue box that you won't find, then exit the room.

5-Fingered Bowling Ball

This guy Craig was here going to school the same time mister mrtl was in class. He wore Kramer-inspired Oxfords and owned a 5-fingered bowling ball, which had some other guy's name engraved on it. Craig sprained his ankle one weekend playing on a Slip 'n' Slide. These are the things I remember about Craig.

Mister mrtl got an email from him today. He's heading for Baghdad tomorrow.

I know the Navy says, "Fair winds and calm seas," to those heading out. What does the Air Force say?

Orange you glad I shared this?

With all the talk I've heard about people getting fired for writing things in their blogs, I'm going to try really hard not to take that route. It shouldn't be too difficult, considering that I don't work in an office setting and am in contact with very few people at my office. My husband has also requested that I be careful in what I post about my involvement in his military life... But honey!

Without that focus, I'm left with my random thoughts about motherhood, cabin fever, and things like Bug's poop. Unfortunately there's not a whole hell of a lot left after that.

Yes, I'll go there, because today was special. See, Bug is in homecare for 24 hours a week with Mary. She's there in the mornings, which -- fortunately for us -- is when Bug usually takes her daily poop. I don't see the poop too often, not that it's all too exciting when I do, but like I said: today was special.

Bug loves oranges. I rarely feed her oranges, though, because I can't stand the process of peeling the orange meat from skin. Last weekend, I said to hell with it and gave her orange with the skin. I know CPR. I was right there. She ate almost the whole orange, giving me her genie-like nod of approval after each bite. How could I deny her? Later that day when I went to the commissary, I picked up a whole bag. Oranges galore! We've eaten oranges almost every day this week.

Did you know that oranges aren't really digested in 15-month-old kids? I found that out today during the poop-diaper change. Eeek! Let's just say it took some extra attention to clean that one up. It was so much more disturbing than finding whole carrot chunks.

Silver Lining

Today Bug was sick, or teething, so she stayed home with me. She cried because she couldn't sleep because her nose was all stopped up. She cried whenever I tried to wipe the snot from her upper lip. She cried when I wasn't holding her, and whined while I did. She cried when she got cold after she drooled so much she soaked the top half of her onesie. She cried when she was hungry, but refused to eat things she said she wanted. Poor, poor Bug.

She never sleeps on me anymore. That was the best.