Remembering.

BostonMaggie put up a stunning Memorial Day post by Major Mike Nachshen. He got it spot on, especially this:

And while Eric and Sarah are surely heroes who died for their country, I'll remember them not as towering figures to be worshipped, but as people who laughed, loved and brought others happiness while trying to make the world a better place. And perhaps most importantly, I'll remember that they had people who loved them, and still miss them and think about them every day.

Too often, people remember the wrong part. Yes, they were heros. Yes, they fought and died for your freedom. But sometimes, that makes it easy to distance what they really meant to the world. Their legacy is so much more. Remember that above all else.

Getting it all done.

Today is D-day. The surgery. And somehow, someway, I got everything managed so that I can blissfully (not!) take my son to have his mouth forcibly opened in a vice-like contraption and have bits of his throat cut out.

First, I convinced the very hung-over mechanic to finish enough of my car so that I can drive it. I won't even go into why it wasn't finished when he said it already was. I'm guessing that the burden of all the memories inspired by Memorial Day drove him to drink. Or starting the weekend earlier than planned. So now I'm driving around town with a crushed grille, but at least I don't have to worry about the car overheating. Small favors, right?

Second, I scared the clerk at the clinic to give me a print-out of Munchkin's lab results. Apparently, you need the doctor to do this thing. Why, I don't know. But guess who was on vacation? The doctor. But luckily, I was happy to be scary enough to make the poor girl behind the counter bend to my will.

Then I got Munchkin to all of his pre-op appointments so I can hear once again the risks of anesthesia. Whee!

And then finally, I got all of my work done for the week so I can concentrate on helping Munchkin recuperate. I am good to go.

And how did I do this, you may ask? I re-prioritized, I freaked out a little and I demanded that people help me get things done. I refused to take shit or be dissuaded. I delegated. I fought the good fight for love. I am a Mommy, hear me roar.

But what I totally did not take into account is that my son wouldn't be able to eat or drink for 6 hours before the surgery. I mean, I read it on the little sheet. The doctor told me. I knew it on some level. But I didn't realize just how cranky a hungry kid can be. Mostly because at any sign of crankiness, I'm all too happy to shove a few animal crackers down my kid's gullet. Without food as a crutch, I find myself a little lost.

So now, between the stress of getting to this point and a really grumpy boy, I am so ready for the doctors to bring the anesthesia on. In fact, I'll be asking for a whiff or two of the stuff myself, you know, for my nerves. Where's the harm?

Now, if only I can figure out how to demand not only a painkiller prescription for the Munchkin but a few Vicodin for myself.

Seeing the sites.

Every day, on the beach, this man was only a few feet away. He owned not only this red thong but also blue, yellow (and almost transparent) and green versions.

Sexy, no?

The raining, pouring thing.

Munchkin's surgery is scheduled for Wednesday morning and the fates are conspiring against me actually being able to take him to it. It's a good thing I don't believe in signs or else I'd be cancelling his appointment and heading over to some fortuneteller to get him a little voodoo charm to bring on the talking in tongues.

My car has been in the shop the past week and so I've had to share with CtLG. It hasn't been too bad as we spent most of the week on vacation not needing a car at all. But even though I arranged with the shop to pick up my car today -- you know, Monday -- and even asked the mechanic if he would be open on Memorial Day -- you know, Monday, the HOLIDAY -- he said, sure, no problem. He'd be open at 9:00am. Just like any other day. He then went on to bore me with a very pat speech about how if he doesn't work, he doesn't get paid. Given that he's bleeding me dry over these car repairs, I'm finding it hard to sympathize.

But I digress.

Can you guess what happened next? He, of course, wasn't open at 9:00am. Because today is a holiday and though you can't get paid when you don't work, you can't really barbecue and drink beer in the oil change bays either (well, at least, not when people are looking). And the voicemail message assures me that they are closed today, Memorial Day, a HOLIDAY, and will be open tomorrow. Which would be fine except that tomorrow, Tuesday, NOT A HOLIDAY, CtLG can't take me to pick up the car as he's scheduled to be in meetings two hours away. So now I'm scrambling to figure out how I can get the car in the morning and still get Munchkin to a few pre-operative appointments. Should be fun for all.

Not to mention, I am supposed to pick up Munchkin's pre-op blood work tomorrow from the clinic. Since I was unable to follow up on it, and you know, it's an Army clinic, I have a feeling that might be missing, too.

Tomorrow may be one of those tequila kind of days.

The boy is mine.

My son favors his father in the looks department. And that's just putting it mildly. He's got none of the light eyed, light skinned, light haired blandness that runs in my family. Instead, he's a veritable Mini-me of my husband, with black eyes that get him noticed everywhere. People can't help but remark on just how much he resembles his Dad. Never mind that I carried him in my belly and thrust him out into this world with blood and lots of pain. The two minutes work that CtlG did to bring him here somehow has a deeper brand. To be honest, I can't fault people for noticing. A few times I've wondered if perhaps I completely hallucinated that whole pregnancy thing and Munchkin just sprang forth from CtlG's rib. They look that similar.

And yes, he looks that unlike me.

But today, as we were getting ready to go out for dinner, I knew without a doubt that a good chunk of me is in that kid. The TV was on for background noise -- MTV, in the hopes that Munchkin's new favorite song, The Sweet Escape (or, as it's known in our house, "Ooo-hoo, Wee-hoo") would come on. It didn't but he was happy for the background noise as he played with some Matchbox cars. But then, out of nowhere, the video for the Sex Pistols' God Save the Queen came on. My kid stopped, walked up to the television until his face was mere inches away, and watched the whole video as if he were going through some type of religious exultation. And when it was over, and he finally could break the spell and turn back to me, he looked me right in the eye and said, "Again." Then when I tried to explain that I couldn't make it play again because it was MTV, he started to throw a fit that was only fixed when I got out my old Never Mind the Bollocks CD. As I type this, he's spraypainting anarchy signs on the couch and trying to drink enough apple juice so he can go take a piss on our proletariat neighbor's new patio set.

Oh yeah. He's definitely my kid.

Bonuses for Officers.

A few people have emailed to ask what I think of the Army's plan to offer bonuses to junior Officers to entice them to stay green. I've stayed fairly quiet on the matter for a few reasons. First, I'm sure I've said that the Army should do bonuses for a long time -- but it was mainly just as a way to decry the fact that they were offering such huge bonuses to Navy and Air Force Officers to cross over. Second, I don't think monetary compensation is going to work. In fact, I don't even think it's a good first step. Here's why:

1. Good Military Officers don't do it for the money. Most of them do it out of duty, patriotism and a belief that they need to serve.
2. Once they turn CPT, they can leave the service and get a signing bonus through Cameron Brooks or the Lucas Group at twice the amount of what the Army is offering. And oh yeah, an annual salary that puts their Army pay to shame.

Now, I do think that education programs are a good incentive. And it's too bad that the Army didn't have the foresight to think of that before they canceled the advanced civil schooling programs for several year groups. But here's the thing: with the mass Officer exodus, guys are deploying so often and being promoted so fast that there isn't that couple year down time between CPT and MAJ anymore. Most will not be able to take advantage of those degree programs.

It's a conundrum. On one hand, I do applaud the Army for finally deciding that Officers were worth keeping. But on the other, I really wish they'd look at the sample and come up with some kind of incentive plan that actually has the ability to make a difference.

And honestly, I believe all it would take is the Army keeping its day-to-day promises.

On noticing the important details in entertainment.

"Is this Shakira with Beyonce?"

"Yes."

"So, does Shakira ever do any songs by herself?"

"Yes, lots. In fact, she even had several albums before she crossed over where she sang all by herself."

"You sure? She had that hips song with Wyclef and then that other one with Horatio Sanz."

"You mean Alejandro Sanz?"

"Same difference."

"No, Horatio Sanz is the SNL guy who put pancakes down his pants in 'Road Trip.' Alejandro Sanz is a sexy Spanish singer with a gravelly voice."

"Those weren't pancakes. That was French Toast."

"Same difference."

"No, there is a really big difference between pancakes and French Toast, especially down the pants. Think texture."

Jeeeeerry, you have some 'splainin' to do.

The Reverend Jerry Falwell died yesterday. And I really have to wonder if the meeting with his Maker is going as well as he thought it would.

The glow of motherhood.

For Mother's Day, we went out to breakfast with some friends.

My one friend looked at me with some consternation and said,"I didn't know this was a super-dressy affair!"

I looked down at my jeans and blouse and said, "Um, it's not."

"But the girl who never wears make-up is wearing body glitter?"

"What are you talking about? I don't even own body glitter."

But she insisted I was sparkly. So I went to the bathroom to check myself out. I really don't own any body glitter. I didn't think my Mother's Day card had any sparklies on it. And I've certainly worked damn hard to avoid the crafting tables of my peers. So how could I be all a-glow?

When I caught my reflection in the mirror, and the tell-tale smear on my shoulder, it was all too clear what was causing my glittery appearance. My son's snotty nose. During a pseudo-tantrum before we left, he cried all over my shoulder, neck and left side of my face. Yum.

But I have to admit, it was quite fetching. I may never cruise the cosmetics aisle again.

So this explains why Felipe and I broke up.

A random Google search turned up this article:

Spaniards have sex more often than average but in less time.

Of course, with such a headline gracing the Barcelona Reporter, I had to read on. There are many funny statistics from a study that Durex did about sexual frequency and satisfaction.

And despite the fact that I'm happily married to CtLG, I do know what I'll be thinking next time I meet someone from Nigeria.