Two worlds and a second mortgage.

Life has worked out pretty well for us, in the years since Seth's days as an ODA commander were brought to an unexpected halt. We've built a life and a family one piece at a time, and we couldn't be happier with it. We've embraced this time that we've both had away from deployments and field training and late night jumps and early morning formations. We haven't gotten complacent, and we're anxious to get back to the Army grind eventually, but the time away has been good to us. I think the big tough guy really enjoys getting to spend time with his daughter and be "daycare Dad"... and I know the grad school schedule doesn't hurt his feelings, with time for golf outings and three hour workouts.

But every once in awhile something happens to remind me that this is really not what my husband wants to be doing. As much as I know he loves the family time, I am acutely aware that there's nothing he'd rather be doing than killing terrorists. His former weapons sergeant and good friend, who got blown up when Seth did in 2012, was shot in this attack last week. He's at Walter Reed in intensive care now, and I know that's hard on Seth. (As well as a reminder that there's still a war going on out there, everybody in the Starbucks line in the Pentagon food court.)

But Finley's teething and damn near walking, and the yardwork still needs done, and Seth had orientation in preparation for "back to school" to deal with and books to buy (seriously, I feel bad for him- what a juxtaposition of worlds to struggle with!) Plus, we had decided it was time for a new bed. So Saturday it was off to the mall.

Finley loved lululemon, incidentally,

 almost as much as she loved the fruit plate at Crave at lunch (this is her eating an orange wedge like a pro!)

And bed testing is her new favorite activity.

We eventually settled on an (absurdly expensive) sleep number that- no joke- lets you separately raise and lower each half's head and feet, and actually has a massage function. We are going to be eating ramen for years (and so much for the housecleaning service budget), but Seth swears it will solve all of his sleep problems and make him feel like a million bucks.

Besides, Finley really liked the massage.

Although she also loves the hammock, so I don't know how reliable a sleep-surface judge she is.

The rest of our weekend went by in a blur, since we spent most of it immersed in fall cleaning. (By which I mean, I took a ton of old clothes to the shelter and Seth hacked our bushes to bits with a hedgetrimmer. The plant carnage this morning was kind of terrifying.) We did discover that Finley likes penang chicken- the spicier the better- and bowling, and thinks that rolling down the stairs is fun (much to our horror.)

My favorite picture of the week is this one: how Seth and Finley shop.

Sleep wars and a roving bruncher.

There's a war going on in our house, and Finley is winning.

If victory is measured in the dark undereye circles sported by one's adversaries, that is.

The war involves sleeping alone- or rather, Finley's recent aversion to doing so- and has cost me many, many hours of sleep. This latest charming phase has her sleeping until about 3:30 am, and then screaming bloody murder and throwing herself against the bars of her crib when she wakes up and realizes that she is alone. She's stubborn, so this goes on for extended periods of time. I refuse to let her out of her room, but I also think it's cruel to let her scream for hours. So the result is that I have to go sit with her in her room until she falls back asleep.

I think Seth thought this was all kind of amusing until I made him take his turn in the wee hours of this morning, when I finally tapped out. And this is what I discovered when I went to check on them an hour later, on my way out the door. (He's going to kill me for sharing this picture, but it is amazing.)

I think we'll call this one a draw.

We had a pretty nice week, otherwise. Seth is getting ready to start school again, which apparently means golfing while he still can. He says it's going to be a busy semester. I continue to do absolutely nothing exciting or interesting at work, but remain grateful for my shortened commute and morning runs along the river.

And Finley enjoyed date night at Clyde's, where she behaved like a psychopath, banging plates on the table and waving silverware around and leering at fellow diners and sticking both hands in the appetizer plate.

We had apparently blocked this from our memories by Saturday, when we took her to brunch with the Alexanders at an adorable place in Fed Hill (Baltimore). There she helped herself to everyone's plates- she particularly enjoyed Seth's salmon and capers- before working off the calories by continually escaping and crawling laps around the café. We kept discovering her under the tables of other diners, apparently begging for scraps. Thankfully, the place was both kid-friendly and incredibly clean.

Sunday I took her to the pool while Seth golfed, where she was overcome with delight at finally being able to stand up in the wading pool but still loved crawling around in the fountains best. 

We hung out with Ana & Ata while they packed (Finley is not much help with moving) and convinced Ana to take a commissary break, during which she sabotaged me and let Finley hold a box of pop tarts. (Rest assured, they were eventually wrenched from her angry fists and returned to the shelf.)

And before we knew it, it was Monday again. Just another week for us, although I'm reeling from the shock that Mom & Dad are actually moving. (Now that I've seen it with my own eyes.)

The photo of the week is obviously the one at top, but this one's a close runner-up.

Oh and also this one, of Finley learning to eat with her own hands. For some reason, she's not satisfied unless she's squeezing the life out of her food with both fists. The scrambled egg carnage was unspeakable.

Finley gets her groove back.

When I throw together a blog post, I usually upload the pictures using the wireless at home and then squeeze in a few minutes on a lunch break to pen my undoubtedly-less-clever-than-I-had-hoped thoughts. Sometimes this process leads to a little perspective-shifting. Today, for example, I had intended to note that it was incredibly hard to get back into a normal routine after a terrific week of Walters Family Chaos. Also that we were experiencing some post-vacation blues, and missing the fam (especially the Bustamantes, who suddenly seem really far away even though they are technically closer than they were in Hawaii.)

Then I looked at the pictures I'd uploaded and realized that at least one of us had had a terrific week.

That would be the tiny and spoiled attention hog, who does not seem all that sad to have Ana & Ata and Mom & Dad all to herself again.

Finley's week included date night at Fat Pete's in Cleveland Park (we're branching out), where she devoured three kinds of meat and thrilled her carnivore Dad (and health nut Mom) by turning down mac & cheese in favor of smoked turkey.

She also graduated to big-girl baths, turning every evening into a drenched-bathroom swimming adventure.

Finley got to spend Friday night with Ana & Ata while Seth and I enjoyed a rare and wonderful Finley-free double date night. Michelle had been in charge of tickets, and gotten us awesome floor seats to see the Avett Brothers and the Zac Brown Band at Nats Park. We laughed and sang and danced and drank beer like people whose evenings didn't generally revolve around diaper rash remedies and keeping baby food off the ceiling. There was a small communications SNAFU that resulted in my retiring for the night to my own bed with a dead phone while Seth wound up at my parents' house- causing an unplanned slumber party at 2am- but it eventually resolved itself and Mom & Dad are still speaking to us. So the evening was a success by most measures.

The late night did not do much for Seth's throwing performance the next day (scheduling fail on my part), but Finley still had fun cheering for her Dad.

And celebrated by helping herself to the coconut shrimp appetizer at lunch after the meet.

Sunday she got to go swimming and to the fair, which was blazing hot but a great time. Although despite the princess' best efforts, we did not purchase a John Deere.

Two favorites this week:

Finley, all worn out from birdwatching. I love that you can see Mom & Dad, with binocs up, in the background.

And checking out the livestock barns at the fair. Finley's still a little small for farm animals, but got a kick out of the pigs snarling at one another. Naturally.

Retirement, goodbyes, and the whole fam in one place... what a week!

The sun streamed in through the big glass door to the back deck when I woke up, and I could see that beer bottles still littered the wrought iron patio furniture. A sock belonging to one of the kids sat on top of the grill, along with a watermelon rind. Seth snored in the la-z-boy chair, and Finley yawned and stretched out on the air mattress next to me in the sun room. I could hear little feet on the stairs and shrieks of what was hopefully laughter, and the smell of cinnamon rolls wafted in from the kitchen. I had a little bit of a headache and was in desperate need of coffee.

Mom and Dad throw a hell of a party.

The whole family had converged on Washington, DC to celebrate Dad's retirement and bid farewell to the Bustamantes and the New Mexico Walters. Dad had retirement without pomp or circumstance the week before, after 32 years of service. Sara and Daniel and Lehua had shoved all their wordly possessions into six very heavy suitcases and departed Hawaii en route to their new life in Peru. And Ben had just graduated the F-16 course and was due to move with his family to Misawa, Japan for who knew how long.

There was an awful lot of change afoot. We couldn't refrain completely from wondering how long it would be before we were all together again, and emotions ran high. Thankfully, the first-ever meeting of the four "legacy children" helped to lighten the mood (biting and pacifier-stealing incidents notwithstanding) and the Walters family always knows how to have a good time.

It was an idyllic week, if- as per usual- exhausting. We made the traditional pilgrimage to the monuments and the Billy Goat Trail. We gorged on Mom's pizza and biscuits and manicotti and strawberry pie. We took the kids to the playground and the zoo and the Splash Park, and enjoyed it as much as they did. Missy and Seth went fishing and managed to keep their phones out of the river. The Walters kids all hiked Old Rag. And we threw a blowout retirement party for Dad complete with tears (thanks to Missy's hard work on an incredibly nostalgic slide show, the presentation of a peace pole, and a whole lot of toasting.)

Then, just like that, it was over. Mom and Dad and I stood in their driveway, waving at the Bustamantes- the last to depart- and trying to pretend it was just a normal Sunday. I went home to do truckloads of laundry. I think they may have taken a nap. We all tried not to think about how quiet it suddenly seemed.

And cheered ourselves with the notion that we would have another whole-family reunion someday. Probably around the time we all recovered from this one. 

In postscript notes, the New Mexico Walters all made it home and are still vacuuming husky fur off of all the surfaces in their house. And the Bustamantes and most of their luggage made it to Lima!

We took a million pictures, and some of them are here and here. The backyard photo shoot was hilarious and crazy, and yielded a keeper or two. (Adorable matching outfits are courtesy of Lisa. Obviously.)

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.