The YOOP!

I used to cut across the Memorial Bridge to Rock Creek Parkway when traffic was really bad coming home from Belvoir, and I was always absurdly jealous of all the people running across it (and not sitting in traffic).  I’ve spent two years glowering at these people, and wishing I got to run across the Potomac and among the monuments on weekdays.

Well, today I did. I found the path that leads from Pentagon North Parking (where I finally scored a parking space!) and winds through LBJ Memorial Grove before hitting the Mount Vernon Trail and, eventually, the Memorial Bridge. It was just as beautiful as- if significantly more humid than- I had imagined.

As a matter of fact, other than Finley’s current two-front war against sleep and a vicious diaper rash, it’s been a pretty terrific week and change.

I scored my first weekend away sans baby and breastpump, and it was glorious. Jackie had conned me into registering for a trail race that turned out to be in the middle of nowhere, literally (the UP!) In a moment of weakness I had agreed to the crazy weekend/ race/ road trip, and it turned out to be just what the doctor ordered.

It had been a long time since I had driven on empty highways with a girlfriend, a cooler full of beer, and the windows rolled down while singing at the top of my lungs. Not to mention explored somewhere I had never been. And those things are good for the soul.

We worked our way north through Wisconsin, stopping in Green Bay to thumbs-down Lambeau Field (and Brett Favre’s Steakhouse for good measure.) We sampled cherry beer (before returning to our Michigan classic, “[Lebatt] Blue Lights,”) and gorged on cheese curds. We gutted out a slightly hungover half marathon around Grand Island and then jumped in Lake Superior to cool off. (At a chilly 42 degrees in summer, it did the trick.) We got our exercise running from mosquitos the size of Chihuahuas, and refueled with pizza and beer (and, OK, I had to taste the UP delicacy, pasties. Which were pretty tasty.) We caught up on our lives, planned vacations with our future children, lamented the couple extra pounds we were carrying since our racing days.

And Jackie indulged me and let me take a long and terrible booze-free cruise (read: crowded ferry) of the Pictured Rocks. They really are gorgeous.

As much as I hate to agree with Kid Rock, summertime in northern Michigan does not suck. Jackie and I said goodbye over our last pre-detox beer in Chicago, grateful for our girls’ weekend and vowing to plan another one as soon as we recovered. Which usually takes awhile.                               

I had really needed that, I thought to myself.

But I was thrilled to get back to my little beast.

Jayne had generously agreed to fly out to help hold down the fort while I was gone, and Finley loved her grandma time. We hated to say goodbye yesterday and can’t help wishing we lived closer to all Finley’s grandparents (also dubbed “reinforcements,” by Seth and I.)

The photo of the week comes with a hilarious quote, courtesy of Seth: “this is what happens when you leave me in charge, Amy. I buy a new slingshot for me, and 800 pairs of socks for Finley.”

New job, and TWO trips to the Splash Park!

I've been at the Pentagon for almost a week now, and- I never thought I'd say this- I don't hate it. So far. Knock on wood, and all that.

 It may be a triumph of low expectations, as I've spent years hearing horror stories about the awful quality of life for those with the misfortune to work in the "puzzle palace." Turns out that- as Mark Twain would say- those have been greatly exaggerated. The walk from the parking lot takes maybe ten minutes and is nowhere near the "bring a tent" expedition I'd heard described. It is not at all hard to find your way around once you figure out the naming convention, in contravention of the universally-held notion of months spent wandering around the long corridors lost. I've so far been able to find time to squeeze in a workout every day, even though everyone seems outraged by having to pay for gym access and the wait for a locker is a year long. Most of the people here are not that miserable, or that entitled, and are almost never rude.

It IS an exercise in packing efficiency, since the locker situation is abysmal and it's impossible to leave the building during the day, forcing everyone to truck all their wordly belongings around like homeless vagrants.

Everything (including collecting all the required badges and accesses) takes forever. And my new work digs are located in the middle of cubicle city, where windows and office supplies are in very short supply, and putting in work orders for computer issues are a daily exercise.

Not to mention that the work is mind-numbingly boring. My portfolio- which sounds way more important than it is, as everybody has one- includes such amorphous topics as "command authority," "concept plans," and "force management," and we all spend a chunk of our days reviewing general officer TDY and conference requests.

 Still, it’s a small price to pay for the fact that the move cut my commute time by 1.5-2 hours a DAY. On Friday it took me 40 minutes to get home from work. In traffic. Most mornings it's 25 door to door. There aren't words to describe how huge a quality of life difference that makes.

Besides that, I find that the Pentagon has its good points. I like the efficiency and the bustle- everybody is always busy racing off somewhere and working on something. It makes you feel like you're at the center of it all. I like that there are no fat Soldiers, or wrinkled uniforms, or people who look quickly away to avoid saluting. I like that every single day I run into somebody I've worked or deployed with and haven't seen in years. I like the neatly landscaped center courtyard, and the fact that generals and master sergeants sit next to each other in the rows of Adirondack chairs to get a little sunlight and check their phones in the only place that gets reception. I like seeing people at the far end of long, successful careers still doing laps around the indoor track and doing pushups at the gym before early morning reporting times.

I'm glad I'm only here for a year (which probably makes it easier to see the silver linings), but I don't hate it.

So a week in, I'm settling in, figuring out my new schedule, and don't have any complaints so far. Life could definitely be worse.

There are no pictures allowed anywhere near the Pentagon, so this week's photos are all of Finley's summer fun.  

Seth got home late Tuesday night, and he and Finley were thrilled to be reunited.

It was a crazy week of scrambling to get things done as I changed jobs and Seth played catch-up. I couldn't have survived my last day of work at USALSA without Dad, who took over Finley duty on his own because Mom was sick. We had a funny day tag-teaming Finley care, and I took the terrific picture at top when he came to pick her up after she had spent an hour and a half terrorizing my office. I haven't been that thrilled to see anyone in a long, long time.

We were in desperate need of a weekend at home, and we had a great one. Seth threw at a Potomac Valley Track Club meet on Saturday morning, and Finley was a trooper of a spectator- even though she made me walk to McDonald's in a downpour to get hot water for her bottle and then fell asleep before drinking it and slept through most of Seth's throws.

We finally made it to the Splash Park, which I had been meaning to recon before Finley's cousins get here, and she loved it. Much to her delight, Seth forgot his water leg there on Saturday, so we got to go back Sunday to get it.

And of course Seth grilled. It was a summer weekend, after all. Princess Finley actually got surf and turf for dinner (above).

The photo of the week, though, has to be Finley in her Air Jordans. According to Seth, she picked them out online when she was home sick with him, and they made her feel better. So of course she also had to have the matching outfit. ("They were on sale!" was his defense.) They're way too big, but she looks really proud of them.

Hanging in there... just barely.

I was almost to I-495 this morning when I realized that I had left my ID card in Finley's diaper bag, in her new daycare cubby. My stomach sank as I flipped an illegal U-turn and headed back for it. So much for getting In super early to make up for the fact that I would have to leave at 4 to haul back across town to pick her up, on my hectic second-to-last day at USALSA and fifth nutty day of solo Finley duty. I definitely wouldn't miss this commute, at any rate.

I automatically checked my fuel gauge as I drove by the gas station at Walter Reed, and it was a good thing I did. I was running on empty, and the way things were going this week I probably would have run out of gas on the beltway during rush hour. My phone rang from an unfamiliar number as I was grabbing for my credit card. It was the Belvoir welcome center telling me that I had waited so late to start the 10-day outprocessing procedure prior to switching jobs that my orders would be cancelled if I didn't show up within the hour. That wasn't going to happen; I was still more than an hour away. I assured them I would be in by 1, and as I hung up I noticed the unmistakable smell of a dirty diaper from somewhere in the depths of my unusually filthy car. I rummaged for it with one hand while replacing the fuel pump with the other, dripping gasoline all over my clean-ish uniform in the process. I found the dirty diaper while I dabbed frantically at the gasoline stain with a running sock I found on the floorboard. Somehow my elbow caught the edge of the plaque I had been given at my work farewell the week before, sending it tumbling to the ground and shattering the glass.

As I swiped at glass shards on all fours I wanted to climb into my car and burst into tears, but that would have made me even later. Score one for necessity. I raced into work 45 minutes later than I had planned, and within a half hour had spilled coffee all over the ten copies of my orders I needed to outprocess. I managed to finish my final evaluation anyway. Right as I was about to hit "upload," my computer crashed.

That's when the tears came. I slammed my door right before it got really ugly. I'm pretty sure only the cleaning guy was at work early enough to have seen it, so at least there's that.

I've said it before and I'll think it every day for the rest of my life. Single parents are my heroes.

And that's pretty much how the past week plus has been. We went from my being sick to Finley's weeklong stomach bug which cost many, many sleepless nights. In the middle of that, Seth left for six days and I had been in "scramble" mode since Thursday, trying frantically to finish up at work, outprocess, and get to the new job, with plenty of snafus along the way.

Finley and I had both survived the weekend, though, and in bonus news on Sunday the switch flipped and Happy (if not Sleepy) Finley was back. (Pathetic Finley-the-papoose is pictured at left, and the rest of this week's blog photos are dedicated to the return of the big grin.) We had definitely missed her! She was an exceptional brunch date on Sunday- a small sriracha incident notwithstanding- and Mom and Dad took her for the afternoon so I could run in to work and get some groceries. Which was a total godsend.

And we got to take her to the park, which was a treat since she's getting big enough to crawl up the slide!

The photos of the week are from Grace's birthday-cake-and-ice-cream on Saturday. Finley got to swim in the dog bowl, play with swords, and sample chocolate frosting. Surprised face. She loved it.

Bummer of a fourth, and Finley's first ER trip

The fourth of July is probably my favorite holiday, and I was pretty excited about Finley's first one. I was also excited to be able to drink beer and stay up late enough to enjoy fireworks- last year I had been pregnant with Finley and had missed having a beer with my apple pie and nearly fallen asleep during the fireworks. We had big plans to take Finley to a parade and a minor league baseball game for fireworks and some Americana, and we couldn't wait for her to taste her first apple pie.

 

But the best laid plans... 

Before our holiday weekend went south, Seth and I did squeeze in a lovely Thursday before the long weekend, overcoming working-parent guilt enough to drop Finley off for a couple hours on a day off and go for a lunch-and-kayaking date.

But that's where our luck ended. I left Seth fishing on the river and went to pick up Finley. He showed up at the door a couple hours later, soaked from head to toe and down a fishing pole, a cell phone, and his entire wallet. (For anyone counting, that makes three of Seth's phones claimed by the Potomac in the past year.)

Then Friday night- after a nice family day running errands and taking Finley to see her Dad at shotput practice- Finley starting projectile vomiting. Which kept up, along with a low grade fever and general malaise and misery, through our poor baby's first Fourth. (We did manage a cute neighborhood parade and some pooltime, but otherwise she spent Independence Day like this.) 

 By Sunday morning we had determined that Finley's stomach issues (which by then had moved south) were not attributable to all the guacamole she had sampled at Whole Foods (one of our favorite, if not cheapest, family outings), and resigned ourselves to spending the remainder of our long weekend in the emergency room. She was listless and dehydrated and- maybe saddest of all- totally uninterested in food.

We eventually survived Finley's first ER trip, including a seriously traumatic IV stick, with the help of Sheriff Callie on the iPad- and dragged our way home, stopping for takeout because we know when we're beat. We felt terrible scarfing burgers without our food-loving Finley.

She's still fussy and feverish and up all night, and I'm slogging through my last week of work before the Pentagon move, while Seth gets ready to head to throwing camp and then West Point for a few days. We're all dragging a$$ this week, and more than a little bummed about our long weekend.

Better luck next year on that beer-and-pie thing.

The silver lining of such a miserable week is the deep, deep appreciation for one's partner that solidifies over a sick baby and a lot of sleepless nights. Seth cancelled his plans to stay home with Finley Monday, for which I was beyond grateful. Sick Finley definitely got the best of him: the first question I asked him when I got in the door that night was "are you doing OK?"

He looked at me tiredly and replied, "no."

What a champ of a Dad.

Ana took one for the team too, and watched her alone yesterday so I could work (and was, no joke, driven to drink by a long day with a needy Finley!) She still took her to the park for her first ride in the swings and  Finley was, of course, a total pro- and cracked a couple of real smiles for the first time in days.

 Even sick and miserable, our sweet beast has her moments. Bathtime the other night was one of them.

Oh, and I got my first-ever PCS award at work, which helped it all sink in: I'm leaving after two years here, and starting a new job next Wednesday! Yikes.

Eating with Finley

My quick check-in yesterday didn't cover what has become the most awesome and hilarious part of our day: dinners with Finley. She l-o-v-e-s food- any food- and has a fit if anyone eats in front of her without sharing. It's a total trip. This is her devouring (clockwise from top left) spicy guacamole, grilled chicken sausage, chicken noodle soup, smoked salmon, and braised cabbage. We're both thrilled: a veggie-loving carnivore! (Even if this means we have to hide in the bathroom to sneak non-baby friendly foods.)

In bonus news, she has learned to drink water, and will only do so out of a shot glass. Parenting fail.