Since We're on the Topic

This is Caleb's new camera face:

I don't know what inspired it or how long it will continue, but I was taking pictures of him last night and every time I told him to smile, this is what would happen:

In Other Caleb Related Events...

A couple of nights ago I was folding clothes and watching a chick flick accompanied only by Caleb. Caleb, apparently uninterested in my choice of film, found his way into the kitchen (which is usually a fairly safe place for him) and preoccupied himself in the pantry shelves. I, feeling quite confident listening with my "mom ears" (which are scientifically proven to be far more advanced than normal ears) heard the crumpling of plastic and knew the little rascal had found the stash of individually wrapped caramels. When I got up to rescue the helpless, sweet treats from this dangerous enemy, this is what I found:

Rather than grabbing for the caramels - I grabbed for the camera. This image was too good to keep to myself.

When I came in he had finally gotten the wrapper off of the poor little morsel and he wasted no time in devouring it. It was a violent demise.

I did manage to save most of the late caramel's companions, however.

Little Redhawk's Day

Friday, August 14th was Little Redhawk's day (Also, my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday, Jerusha!). Little Redhawk's day is when Adam's squadron (VT-21 Redhawks) have all the children of students and instructors come in and tour the base.

Side Note: There is also a Lady Redhawk's day which (as I'm sure you've guessed) is for the wives. More on that in a couple weeks.

Little Redhawk's day started at 9:00 in the morning (which was a little earlier than we were used to). I had to wake Caleb up and its not very often that I have to do that. We rushed to get ready and ate breakfast on the way. We met Adam there (he had volunteered to help lead a group and had to arrive a little earlier) and the day began with an introduction from the CO (or Skipper) of the base.

The first place we explored was the flight gear room and hangar. A few of the T-45 trainer jets were parked inside waiting for repairs or inspections.

(Due to an absent camera, I scavenged the Internet for a picture of a T-45 in a hangar. I think this might actually be NAS Kingsville... although its much cleaner in this photo.)

All the children got to climb up a ladder and look in the cockpit of the T-45. We also got to watch Adam try on all of the flight gear. Here's Caleb in Adam's helmet. Caleb feels like he needs to hold very still when we put a hat or glasses on him. He is also sporting some graham cracker crumbs on his bottom lip.

We also got to climb up into the control tour. And what a climb it was. At one point I was thoroughly convinced the stairs had no end.

Following that, Caleb joyfully got to punch away on an inactive computer in the radar room and then it was on to the simulators.

If I had known how amazing the simulators were, I would have harassed Adam to let me visit them long before Little Redhawk's day. The simulator is a giant theatre-esque screen wrapped halfway around an elevated cockpit. Its like the coolest video game ever. Needless to say, I asked for a turn after the children had finished.

In my simulation I flew down to the specified runway and gently touched the asphalt perfectly. Then flipped and crashed in a fiery, red ball. I suggest a computer malfunction.

Next, we explored the base fire station. Caleb was just happy to be able to run around rather than being held. I tried on the fire jacket, Co2 tank (which is absent in this photo) and helmet. Adam got to fire the water hose at full power (I think it was full power). And we both realized that Little Redhawk's day was turning into Mommy and Daddy Redhawk's day.


Nonetheless, Caleb was the one that walked away with a certificate and Little Redhawk's T-shirt.

Pizza and juice boxes (to Adam's delight) followed and then we all broke for nap time.

Eyeglasses and Somoa Bars

For the last couple years or so my vision has been becoming less and less accurate at far distances. I have put off pursuing the issue because, well... I'm cheap and I knew even with insurance, that the frames would cost something. So I have been living life experiencing, most vibrantly, only that within a 6ft radius of the world around me. Where this has usually hindered me the most is in social settings and while driving. For example when attending some military ceremony where all of the men are dressed exactly identical. This could present a problem even if I wasn't half blind and near sighted.

So, here I am in the middle of some massive banquet hall, teetering on heels and trying to act comfortable when I realize, my husband is no longer by my side. My eyes dart around the room but only see a blur of Blue, White and buzzed hair. Any one of these vague forms could be my husband. I begin the tedious mission of non-chalantly mingling with complete strangers in an effort to determine if one if them is the man I have promised to love, in sickness and in health. The whole time imagining what I'd give for a simple pair of glasses. However, such trials are so easily forgotten. For as soon as Adam comes up behind me as I'm straining to scrutinize a dark haired Marine across the room, I sigh in relief, cling to his arm and dismiss the idea of eyeglasses all together.

That is until I am behind the wheel of a car. Perhaps cruising down the interstate at 75mph. I realize the highway is splitting in two different directions and I have to decide quickly which direction I want to go. If only I could make out the letters and numbers on those big green signs! As they pass over my windshield I define the lettering and swerve to stay in the correct lane. That was close. I nearly went to Pittsburgh... again.

Well, no longer do I fear separating more than six feet from my husband in a social setting! No longer do I have to get Adam to read the subtitles of the latest Action Flick involving a mercenary who only speaks Russian! No longer do I have to pay $8 for a toll road fee that, if I had not wound up in Pittsburgh, should have only cost me $3.50! No longer do I have to pay the $4.50 in toll road fees to get me back to where I should have turned off! No longer must I suffer from near sighted-ness! And it only cost me $69! (The shop was having a sale and some of there frames where only ninety-nine cents after the purchase of lenses.) I of course did not venture further than the ninety-nine cent rack.


In other news: Samoa Bars...

I found this recipe online, and fell in love immediately. I, like just about every other person on the planet, love girl scout cookies and Samoas are one of my favorites. As there was barbecue get together Sunday night, I decided to make them that day to bring for the guests.

I started three hours ahead before the barbecue, just to make sure there was plenty of time. This recipe promised easy success and delicious results. Needless to say, my Samoa bars did not look like their Samoa bars.

Everything was going quite well, though it was one of the more time consuming recipes I have attempted recently. But the shortcake cookie layer was baked to perfection and cooling on the side. My coconut was toasted (which was a first for me) and also cooling and I was in the process of melting caramel squares, butter and milk.

Things continued to look promising as I mixed the toasted coconut and melted caramel and pressed its gooey perfection atop the cooled cookie layer, smiling with satisfaction. Next came the chocolate base and finishing drizzle across the top. Over two and a half hours into the process and I could feel my anxiety rising as time was running out. But I also felt with relief that the end was near. How hard could it be to dunk 30 bars in melted chocolate and drizzle the rest on top?

I began cutting the bars with my sharpest knife only to find the caramel/coconut layer did not create a very adhesive bond with the cookie layer and that the cookie layer was extremely crumbly. Undeterred (too much) I persevered.

It was 6pm now and the barbecue had already begun.

I melted the chocolate and dunked the first bar into its dark, satiny smoothness. Immediately the cookie base crumbled off into the chocolate, leaving very little cookie and even less chocolate where it was supposed to be. I tried again, carefully scooping the bar into the chocolate. It looked a mess but it was good enough. On to the next!

Thirty bars later, my heart was in my throat, more cookie was in the chocolate than chocolate and the bars looked like they had been in a mud slinging fight and lost. Crumbled, sad, misshapen fragments of what was intended, my bars sat lopsided on wax paper, crudely slapped with chocolate where it was willing to stick.

I stared at them, depressed and wondering if I should even take them to the barbecue we were now late for. The chocolate was not hardening and I definitely couldn't take them still dripping and gooey. Deflated, I finally scooped them up on to a clean sheet of wax paper I had placed on a tray and readied to go.

How disappointing it was as they sat on my lap during the short car ride. Not that the time and effort put into my poor, disheveled bars wasn't bad enough, Adam continued to glance over from the driver's seat, smile and confess that the lumps of chocolate on top resembled his childhood pet raccoon's trails of poop. What made it worse was that I knew he was right. I had been thinking something similar since I had finished.

I swore to never make them again. From now on I'm leaving Samoas to the Girl Scouts.

The Examination of All Things Texas

For the few that do not know, I have always wanted to live in Texas.

Reason: My dad was born in Texas and their slogan is "Don't mess with Texas." You can't beat that.

I also was almost born in Texas. I believe I missed it by a matter of weeks. I have never forgiven myself. I use to say I was a Texan at heart. I was a Texan who had never been home.

Well, like a prodigal child, I have come home and was greeted graciously with indescribable wind, raging heat, $500 power bills and... cockroaches.

Sometimes things should be left to the imagination.

In my vivid mind's eye I had always seen tall, muscular cowboys in typical garb riding horses through the dirt or pebble stone streets of town after a long day of herding cattle. They would humbly say, "howdy ma'am" as they passed me and the other lady's as we swayed delicately in long ruffled and laced dresses and bonnets.

As I have come to realize, these images are not current. It was in Wal-Mart that I finally saw an authentically dressed cowboy. He was in his forties to early fifties, cowboy boots and hat, a worn, padded jean vest about an inch thick over a long sleeve shirt and all leather accessories. By his side was his wife in blue jeans and a white, sleeveless, button-up shirt, no make-up and sun-baked skin. Two boys roamed close by respectfully and not at all rowdy like the other children. All looked like they had just crawled out from under a barn, covered from head to toe in dust. Their clothes were well abused and dirty from the obvious long hours of laborious work.

I couldn't help but smile to myself. It had been months since we had moved to Texas and nothing so far had resembled even slightly what I had imagined it as.

After filling my shopping cart to its full capacity, I checked out and headed for the parking lot. I walked through the 100 degree, late evening heat. Fought the violent wind as I loaded bags of groceries into the truck. Drove home to kill a rogue cockroach feasting on counter crumbs; and did all with a skip in my step.

For I finally felt like I was really in Texas.

Every Blog Must Have a Beginning - And This One is No Exception

Like most people with families and a life, I hesitated to begin this. This being a blog. Something else created to torment those not participating and, for those participating, a torment to continue participating.

So often I have read a friend’s blog or that of some faceless username with a keyboard and a cure for society and thought to myself, “I should write a blog!” I think this not because of a belief that I could write one better but because it often inspires me to want to start writing again. But then I begin to think of…

1. The multiple diaries I’ve bought (mostly for the ornate design on the cover) and the 2-10 pages that have experienced the warm touch of ink before interest is lost.

2. The multiple other hobbies and interests in general that haunt me relentlessly as I continue to ignore the pursuit of them.

3. The feeling that I’m cheating on my other interests when I pursue a different interest. I know. That ones a little weird. Don’t judge.

So, I promptly float on back down to earth or wherever I am at the time, and continue on with the normalities of life and all that that involves. Perhaps I feel a bit sad but at the same time elated that I will not be bombarded with the guilt of a stagnant blog floating somewhere in a dark and unvisited corner of the internet.

Well, much like those intricate and specifically targeted designs calling sweetly to me from the shelves of the “Diaries / Journals” section of Barnes and Noble, I have blinked and found myself knee deep in endless, blank, digitally created pages meant for my filling.

In looking around I realize from this point I can only move forward. And forward I move realizing also this could be my first and last blog. But if this is my last blog or I don’t revisit it for several months to update it, just know that as much as it may be annoying you, it’s haunting me. And if that doesn’t help then start your own blog or a second blog or a life. Okay, that last one was a little mean. I hope it didn’t offend you (you know who you are). Okay, that was mean too. Let’s move on…

Until the unpredictable end of these random pennings (or in this case, typings) my desire for this blog is to create a view into random aspects of my life and thoughts (no loitering please), to articulate my personal perspective on everything political and social (not for the faint of heart), and to be a home for the many other useless things I manage to conjure up in my seemingly vast imagination.

Until guilt drives me back…