"My life's complicated..."
My 8 year old daughter asked me for relationship advice.
And I was concerned.
Not just because she's, you know, 8 years old... but that she has a more complicated love life than I ever did. Not just when I was 8, but ever in my life.
We were out at Afternoon Tea in a fancy hotel in downtown San Diego, just enjoying a weekend with just the two of us as Niles took Owen to a soccer tournament in Los Angeles (it's the soccer season that never ends). Anduin was doing her best to summarize the situation, everything that had started in the first grade while I was on deployment. She's now halfway through her second grade year, but of course, boy drama follows.
Two of her male friends vied for her affections. They both had crushes on her. She couldn't decide which of them she should choose as her boyfriend. So she set three challenges up for them. One of them was a challenge of style (they had to come to school in their nicest clothes). The second challenge was of one strength (just like her Mommy, no wimps please). The third challenge was loosely based on soccer. It turns out that even though she says she hates soccer (probably something to do with the fact she gets dragged to her brother's games a lot), she actually enjoys playing it during recess.
There was a clear winner. But then she told me she had a really hard time telling the boy who had not won. She felt bad. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. So she kissed him. My then 7-year old gave the other boy a pity kiss. On. The. Cheek. The problem is that other kids saw this and now insist (somewhat understandably) that she has a crush on this boy.
But she does not.
When I asked who she danced with at the Valentines Day Dance Party, she listed some of her friends. Then she paused dramatically and added, "But I danced mostly with someone special."
This "someone special" is as you can guess, her crush. It was the other boy in the challenge. Our families are good friends and will spend time hanging out. I discovered over tea (appropriately) that when they meet up, they are just as likely to play games as they are to kiss "in private" and go for moonlit walks.
I immediately crushed the strong desire to never let her go on a sleepover again. "Where was your brother during all this?" "He was busy playing games on the Switch." So maybe I need to talk to her brother about being a better chaperone?
But you know what? There's another part of me that's actually proud of her. She knows what (or who) she wants. She's not afraid to ask. Fear of rejection is hard to overcome, no matter your age. She explained how she worked up to asking the boy whether he wanted her to kiss him. She was respectful of the other kid's boundaries. She also tried to gently let down the other boy (though we may need to talk about her technique later). I hope this means she will not wait for someone else to bring her happiness, but that instead she would seek it herself.
Plus last night while we were watching a musical being performed (something her brother would have absolutely hated), one of the characters asked a rhetorical question about loving and lasting relationships, and my daughter answered, "Just like you and Daddy."
She just wants a relationship like my husband and I have.
So despite the fact that my advice to her at Tea was generic at best ("Sorry, Anduin, boy drama will be in your life for a while. Just keep being honest with them."), maybe I have been doing something right. I've been modeling a healthy relationship for her to emulate.
That doesn't mean I still won't try to eliminate the kisses. After all, they're still just 8.
Sunday, February 16, 2020
Friday, November 25, 2016
The Missile and the Man in the Yellow Pants
Recently my ship completed Bravo Sea Trials. During this trial, the ship tests its weapon and combat systems, including two live missile shoots. As the senior department head on board, I was appointed to stand watch as the Tactical Action Officer. The reasoning being that as the senior person, I was the most experienced and competent watch stander.
This was, of course, somewhat in error as I have barely stood any TAO watches on a ship underway (see previous tour as a Chief Engineer on a ship in drydock...). And I DEFINITELY had not shot any missiles.
But as any SWO, I can run a mean checklist.
This was my first Bravo Sea Trials, and as I learned, it basically means that the ship takes on so many people that the shipbuilder has to install a ton of temporary racks. There's just enough ship's actual crew to actually shoot ordnance (missiles, five inch gun, CIWS, SRBOC), but not enough that the CO warrants actually being able to stay in either of his staterooms. It also means that when you are in the middle of the "big" event, there are nearly twice as many people in CIC as there would normally be. Turns out that I am generally pretty good at ignoring crowds.
Most people, especially on my crew, view me as a pretty friendly officer who rarely curses and even more infrequently raises my voice. I'm seen as a very patient individual who prides themselves on remaining calm and professional.
Turns out that I am way more impatient on watch.
Our first missile shot was textbook perfect with the watch team performing even better than we had practiced. However, during the second missile shot due to events beyond our control, we were on a much more abbreviated timeline. Basically, the aircraft who was supporting the second missile shot would only be able to support us for about 30 minutes. That meant we had to run through our checklists, which were designed to take about an hour, much faster. The watch team continued to prove how awesome they were until I reached the step where we visually clear the missile decks. Using the camera in CIC, I panned around the missile deck to discover three personnel were standing near the aft launcher. They were all civilians.
"Bridge, TAO, request you pass the word 'Expedite clearing the missile decks.'"
We watch as the three men look up as the word passes over the 1MC and then continue standing there, just chatting. They didn't move. I look down at my clock as I watch more seconds tick by. There is no way I am about to lose the chance to shoot this second missile because these three dudes were just going to stand there, ignoring the 1MC. But I'm also stuck in CIC so it's not like I am going to storm the missile decks to personally escort them off.
"1MC!" I shouted in CIC, not even rising from my seat, and just lifting my right hand. I am not even sure who of the forty people standing behind me passes me the 1MC microphone, but someone does. I key the mic, "EXPEDITE CLEARING THE MISSILE DECK... I AM TALKING TO YOU, MAN IN THE YELLOW PANTS!"
As I watch each of the three men in the camera first look up as they listen to the word and then immediately down to their pants, my XO explains over our internal net, "They're fixing the lifelines."
My immediate response over the internal net, "They have to be standing near the lifelines to be fixing them!"
The bridge attempted no further justification.
The three men, including the one in the conspicuously colored yellow pants, now realized they were on a camera so began to search for the camera until they found it. After making several ridiculous faces, they eventually fixed the lifelines and then got off the missile deck. I only debated calling them back on the 1MC four more times during this period that seemed to go on forever.
We got the second missile off in time. The most amazing part though was the fact that no one laughed or said anything in CIC during the entire period, though I did gain the moniker of "Missile Lady" among the yard workers. And the man in the yellow pants has managed to elude me ever since then.
This was, of course, somewhat in error as I have barely stood any TAO watches on a ship underway (see previous tour as a Chief Engineer on a ship in drydock...). And I DEFINITELY had not shot any missiles.
But as any SWO, I can run a mean checklist.
This was my first Bravo Sea Trials, and as I learned, it basically means that the ship takes on so many people that the shipbuilder has to install a ton of temporary racks. There's just enough ship's actual crew to actually shoot ordnance (missiles, five inch gun, CIWS, SRBOC), but not enough that the CO warrants actually being able to stay in either of his staterooms. It also means that when you are in the middle of the "big" event, there are nearly twice as many people in CIC as there would normally be. Turns out that I am generally pretty good at ignoring crowds.
Most people, especially on my crew, view me as a pretty friendly officer who rarely curses and even more infrequently raises my voice. I'm seen as a very patient individual who prides themselves on remaining calm and professional.
Turns out that I am way more impatient on watch.
Our first missile shot was textbook perfect with the watch team performing even better than we had practiced. However, during the second missile shot due to events beyond our control, we were on a much more abbreviated timeline. Basically, the aircraft who was supporting the second missile shot would only be able to support us for about 30 minutes. That meant we had to run through our checklists, which were designed to take about an hour, much faster. The watch team continued to prove how awesome they were until I reached the step where we visually clear the missile decks. Using the camera in CIC, I panned around the missile deck to discover three personnel were standing near the aft launcher. They were all civilians.
"Bridge, TAO, request you pass the word 'Expedite clearing the missile decks.'"
We watch as the three men look up as the word passes over the 1MC and then continue standing there, just chatting. They didn't move. I look down at my clock as I watch more seconds tick by. There is no way I am about to lose the chance to shoot this second missile because these three dudes were just going to stand there, ignoring the 1MC. But I'm also stuck in CIC so it's not like I am going to storm the missile decks to personally escort them off.
"1MC!" I shouted in CIC, not even rising from my seat, and just lifting my right hand. I am not even sure who of the forty people standing behind me passes me the 1MC microphone, but someone does. I key the mic, "EXPEDITE CLEARING THE MISSILE DECK... I AM TALKING TO YOU, MAN IN THE YELLOW PANTS!"
As I watch each of the three men in the camera first look up as they listen to the word and then immediately down to their pants, my XO explains over our internal net, "They're fixing the lifelines."
My immediate response over the internal net, "They have to be standing near the lifelines to be fixing them!"
The bridge attempted no further justification.
The three men, including the one in the conspicuously colored yellow pants, now realized they were on a camera so began to search for the camera until they found it. After making several ridiculous faces, they eventually fixed the lifelines and then got off the missile deck. I only debated calling them back on the 1MC four more times during this period that seemed to go on forever.
We got the second missile off in time. The most amazing part though was the fact that no one laughed or said anything in CIC during the entire period, though I did gain the moniker of "Missile Lady" among the yard workers. And the man in the yellow pants has managed to elude me ever since then.
Monday, November 21, 2016
The Tiny Ninjas Melt My Heart
There are plenty of moments where you know you have failed as a parent (Hello, four year old daughter who still crawls into my bed in the middle of the night! Or completely losing my sh*t if my children attempt to wake me before 8 on a Saturday morning.) But every once in a while, something happens that reminds me that we not an epic failures as parents.
That was this last Saturday.
Our kids had entered a local Ninja competition at the Maine Warrior Gym. Owen has become obsessed with the show and when we discovered a gym that was a "mere" 40 minute drive away, we have been taking them at every opportunity. It turns out that both of our kids are naturally athletic and strangely perfectionist about obstacles. I've watched both of my kids practice doing the rings for nearly 30 minutes straight until they have proven they can do them flawlessly. Being the somewhat Tiger parents that we are, we had taken them to the gym once a week for nearly six weeks leading up to the competition, on top of the impromptu training sessions at the local playgrounds, doorways, staircases, and whatever climbing opportunity the kids could find. And despite the fact the coaches at the gym loved our kids and thought they were really good, we were naturally worried. What would happen if our kids didn't win something that they had been practicing for months? Or even worse, what would happen if one of them placed but the other didn't? You have to remember that our kids take after us and are naturally tiny. They looked even tinier competing against the other kids, even in their 5-6 year old age bracket. (I swear, there was this one kid who looked like he was 8.) Anduin especially looked tiny since she's actually only 4 and technically, she's not supposed to be on the equipment by herself.
Then it happened. Anduin placed third among the girls. Owen placed fourth and missed the podium by a tiny .4 seconds among the boys. Niles and I braced ourselves for tears from Owen as he watched his sister stand on the podium and receive her bronze medal.
Instead, Owen cheered extremely loudly for his sister and gave her a huge hug.
*heart melting*
And then Anduin removed her medal, put it around Owen's neck, and said, "Owen, I want to share my medal with you since you helped me train."
*heart in a tiny puddle*
Yes! We did something right.
That was this last Saturday.
Our kids had entered a local Ninja competition at the Maine Warrior Gym. Owen has become obsessed with the show and when we discovered a gym that was a "mere" 40 minute drive away, we have been taking them at every opportunity. It turns out that both of our kids are naturally athletic and strangely perfectionist about obstacles. I've watched both of my kids practice doing the rings for nearly 30 minutes straight until they have proven they can do them flawlessly. Being the somewhat Tiger parents that we are, we had taken them to the gym once a week for nearly six weeks leading up to the competition, on top of the impromptu training sessions at the local playgrounds, doorways, staircases, and whatever climbing opportunity the kids could find. And despite the fact the coaches at the gym loved our kids and thought they were really good, we were naturally worried. What would happen if our kids didn't win something that they had been practicing for months? Or even worse, what would happen if one of them placed but the other didn't? You have to remember that our kids take after us and are naturally tiny. They looked even tinier competing against the other kids, even in their 5-6 year old age bracket. (I swear, there was this one kid who looked like he was 8.) Anduin especially looked tiny since she's actually only 4 and technically, she's not supposed to be on the equipment by herself.
Then it happened. Anduin placed third among the girls. Owen placed fourth and missed the podium by a tiny .4 seconds among the boys. Niles and I braced ourselves for tears from Owen as he watched his sister stand on the podium and receive her bronze medal.
Instead, Owen cheered extremely loudly for his sister and gave her a huge hug.
*heart melting*
And then Anduin removed her medal, put it around Owen's neck, and said, "Owen, I want to share my medal with you since you helped me train."
*heart in a tiny puddle*
Yes! We did something right.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
What I Want for Mother's Day
"Alyssa, what do you want for Mother's Day?"
"A long bath in a bunker, undisturbed, while I read a book."
Basically for Mother's Day, I want to forget I am a mother. Or at least, that's how I felt yesterday after Owen dropped rock salt into the ice cream we were trying to make, instead of waiting for me to tell him to put it in the ice mixture. Then again, I felt the same way this morning on Mother's Day as I pretended to sleep while simultaneously listening to Anduin crying for her apron before she could help Niles make breakfast for me in bed... Or listening to Niles let out a long string of profanity after he messed up the waffle recipe, using up the last of the butter. (Wise man finally realized it was way easier to go to a nearby bakery and pick up quiche and pastries - my favorite!)
But then I realized that if I was not a mother, I would miss out on some pretty awesome moments too. Like last week when we had the heat blasting to try to maintain 66 degrees (have I told you that I live in Maine?), I was still cold on the couch. Meanwhile, my kids are running around in their underwear. When they heard I was cold, they brought me a blanket and snuggled on/with me to warm me up as "baby blankets." Plus, I would miss out on such great questions from Anduin, such as this morning's gem, "Mommy, how do you think squirrels know when someone who wants a pet squirrel is sneaking up on them?"
And I remind myself that I have it easy. I have a job that I love. I don't have to worry about where I am getting my next meal or the roof over my head. I have a caring husband who really does 90% of the housework. So when I start daydreaming about an underground bunker outfitted with a deep soaker tub, I remind myself that my Mom managed to raise four adults as a single parent after my father died. And she did so successfully, when you judge by most measures of success (home ownership, happy and stable relationships, advanced degrees, world experiences). The only part she failed was to raise the doctor, lawyer, dentist, and accountant she had wanted to ease her retirement, (though my younger sister is well on her way to becoming a PhD, just not someone you call if you have a scratchy throat.)
And that job I love? I was a mother, in a way, long before I had Owen and Anduin. Just like any protective mother, you didn't mess with my "kids." I may punish them and chew them up, but you could not. I always wanted the best for them, for them to succeed in whatever they wanted to in life. I was happy to listen to their problems and give them advice.
At least I don't have to worry about my sailors getting into an argument about whether one's apple "slime" touched the other, or another singing too loud in the car. Because I know what every mom knows...
That bunker, the one your kids or spouse have no idea exists, would really be an awesome mother's day present.
"A long bath in a bunker, undisturbed, while I read a book."
Basically for Mother's Day, I want to forget I am a mother. Or at least, that's how I felt yesterday after Owen dropped rock salt into the ice cream we were trying to make, instead of waiting for me to tell him to put it in the ice mixture. Then again, I felt the same way this morning on Mother's Day as I pretended to sleep while simultaneously listening to Anduin crying for her apron before she could help Niles make breakfast for me in bed... Or listening to Niles let out a long string of profanity after he messed up the waffle recipe, using up the last of the butter. (Wise man finally realized it was way easier to go to a nearby bakery and pick up quiche and pastries - my favorite!)
But then I realized that if I was not a mother, I would miss out on some pretty awesome moments too. Like last week when we had the heat blasting to try to maintain 66 degrees (have I told you that I live in Maine?), I was still cold on the couch. Meanwhile, my kids are running around in their underwear. When they heard I was cold, they brought me a blanket and snuggled on/with me to warm me up as "baby blankets." Plus, I would miss out on such great questions from Anduin, such as this morning's gem, "Mommy, how do you think squirrels know when someone who wants a pet squirrel is sneaking up on them?"
And I remind myself that I have it easy. I have a job that I love. I don't have to worry about where I am getting my next meal or the roof over my head. I have a caring husband who really does 90% of the housework. So when I start daydreaming about an underground bunker outfitted with a deep soaker tub, I remind myself that my Mom managed to raise four adults as a single parent after my father died. And she did so successfully, when you judge by most measures of success (home ownership, happy and stable relationships, advanced degrees, world experiences). The only part she failed was to raise the doctor, lawyer, dentist, and accountant she had wanted to ease her retirement, (though my younger sister is well on her way to becoming a PhD, just not someone you call if you have a scratchy throat.)
And that job I love? I was a mother, in a way, long before I had Owen and Anduin. Just like any protective mother, you didn't mess with my "kids." I may punish them and chew them up, but you could not. I always wanted the best for them, for them to succeed in whatever they wanted to in life. I was happy to listen to their problems and give them advice.
At least I don't have to worry about my sailors getting into an argument about whether one's apple "slime" touched the other, or another singing too loud in the car. Because I know what every mom knows...
That bunker, the one your kids or spouse have no idea exists, would really be an awesome mother's day present.
Thursday, May 5, 2016
I Suck at Convalescent Leave
So a month ago, I scheduled a semi-elective surgery for myself. Even before I had the surgery scheduled, I kept a mental list of all the tasks I planned to complete while on convalescent leave:
1. Go through all of our clothes.
2. Complete Anduin's art area plus personal gallery.
3. Organize our front porch.
4. Read Wired for War, which in addition to being on the Navy's reading list, my CO talked about enthusiastically.
5. Finally read through the Leader's Guide to Precommissioning.
6. Continue working on some of my own novels that I have not picked up in over a year.
There were a couple major flaws to this plan, mainly being:
1. My mom, who is among my favorite shopping partners, was coming out to help.
2. I decided I wanted to treat this as a chance to see a lot more of Maine that I had yet to see.
3. My kids were on spring break during the first week of my recovery.
4. And oh, yeah, this is convalescent leave.
The surgery was pretty successful. I was in so little pain afterwards that I never took the narcotics prescribed to me and was in fact successfully hunting down a sale in a nearby department store the next day. The hardest part of my first day afterwards was fighting against the still potent effects of the anesthesia as I both wanted to eat (because I was starving! Had not eaten anything in like 20 hours!!!) but could barely keep my eyes open long enough to consume any food. Plus my mouth was super dry, and the scone my husband brought to my recovery room kept sticking to the roof of my mouth.
My discharge instructions included pretty general comments like no running and no heavy lifting, which I interpreted as 1) Now I had a medical reason to not ever take out the garbage or carry the laundry from the basement upstairs, and 2) Now I had a medical reason to avoid playing tag with Owen, who has decided that he wants to play tag every minute of his waking existence. So while my mom was here to help distract the kids, we went and explored Maine. It was great! I knew I had at least two and half weeks of leave before I had to return to work, but I felt awesome. My scars were a bit itchy, making yoga pants my savior. But I was still drawing a paycheck. The folks I left at work were more than competent to cover while I was gone. Really, it's pretty rare for people in the military to get extended leave for periods of time, with the exception of perhaps leave between Permanent Change of Stations (PCS). But leave during PCS is usually occupied with the usual boring, expected tasks like moving, packing up household goods, traveling to the next duty station, trying to locate a safe roof for you and your family, and then unpacking all those household goods. I was set! I didn't need to do any of those.
Plus, on a side note, my mom is a saint and even left my house way cleaner than when she arrived.
Two and a half weeks later, I still missed work because folks who know me know that I am also a bit of a workaholic. I really only have two modes: complete slacker and workaholic. The slacker mode was fun for about the first week and a half. So I eagerly counted down the day I was to return to work. The day before I was scheduled to return, I confirmed with my workplace that I was in fact going to return the next day...
This was all well and good until I started bleeding. Turns out that I'm really quite blase about bleeding. After bleeding rather profusely for most the day, I decided a trip to the ER was probably in order. So twelve hours before I am scheduled to actually show up at work, I had to tell everyone, "Just kidding. Bleeding in the ER. Told it's a slow leak and really inconvenient. Have another follow-up with my surgeon scheduled, going to need at least one more day."
This pesky blood vessel, (completely bad luck, not any error on the surgeon's part), continued to be a problem when I returned to see my surgeon the next day. The doctor who performed the surgery took a look -- and no kidding, this is a man who has been in his field for thirty years -- and immediately started prepping me in case we had to return to the Operating Room within the next couple of hours. Because, you know, he was actually getting really nervous about the fact that I kept bleeding and wouldn't stop no matter how much chemical cauterization agent he applied. He did wait until several hours later to reveal the true extent of his concern. Meanwhile, I kept thinking, "Dude, Wired for War is way too heavy to hold over my head and read while I'm on the exam table." Conscientious doctor he is, he called me several times throughout the day to make sure the bleeding stopped and that I wouldn't actually need to go to the operating room again. It all worked out. But during the last call, we discussed again when I could return to work. I asked him if returning the next day was out of the question. He laughed and sternly told me I was to "sit at home on my couch, read magazines, do no house work, and really be a couch potato this time."
Obviously, my gig was up. So I had another week of convalescent leave added onto my time, which my kids were excited to hear.
But you know, maybe I will finish up that task list because I suck at convalescent leave.
1. Go through all of our clothes.
2. Complete Anduin's art area plus personal gallery.
3. Organize our front porch.
4. Read Wired for War, which in addition to being on the Navy's reading list, my CO talked about enthusiastically.
5. Finally read through the Leader's Guide to Precommissioning.
6. Continue working on some of my own novels that I have not picked up in over a year.
There were a couple major flaws to this plan, mainly being:
1. My mom, who is among my favorite shopping partners, was coming out to help.
2. I decided I wanted to treat this as a chance to see a lot more of Maine that I had yet to see.
3. My kids were on spring break during the first week of my recovery.
4. And oh, yeah, this is convalescent leave.
The surgery was pretty successful. I was in so little pain afterwards that I never took the narcotics prescribed to me and was in fact successfully hunting down a sale in a nearby department store the next day. The hardest part of my first day afterwards was fighting against the still potent effects of the anesthesia as I both wanted to eat (because I was starving! Had not eaten anything in like 20 hours!!!) but could barely keep my eyes open long enough to consume any food. Plus my mouth was super dry, and the scone my husband brought to my recovery room kept sticking to the roof of my mouth.
My discharge instructions included pretty general comments like no running and no heavy lifting, which I interpreted as 1) Now I had a medical reason to not ever take out the garbage or carry the laundry from the basement upstairs, and 2) Now I had a medical reason to avoid playing tag with Owen, who has decided that he wants to play tag every minute of his waking existence. So while my mom was here to help distract the kids, we went and explored Maine. It was great! I knew I had at least two and half weeks of leave before I had to return to work, but I felt awesome. My scars were a bit itchy, making yoga pants my savior. But I was still drawing a paycheck. The folks I left at work were more than competent to cover while I was gone. Really, it's pretty rare for people in the military to get extended leave for periods of time, with the exception of perhaps leave between Permanent Change of Stations (PCS). But leave during PCS is usually occupied with the usual boring, expected tasks like moving, packing up household goods, traveling to the next duty station, trying to locate a safe roof for you and your family, and then unpacking all those household goods. I was set! I didn't need to do any of those.
Plus, on a side note, my mom is a saint and even left my house way cleaner than when she arrived.
Two and a half weeks later, I still missed work because folks who know me know that I am also a bit of a workaholic. I really only have two modes: complete slacker and workaholic. The slacker mode was fun for about the first week and a half. So I eagerly counted down the day I was to return to work. The day before I was scheduled to return, I confirmed with my workplace that I was in fact going to return the next day...
This was all well and good until I started bleeding. Turns out that I'm really quite blase about bleeding. After bleeding rather profusely for most the day, I decided a trip to the ER was probably in order. So twelve hours before I am scheduled to actually show up at work, I had to tell everyone, "Just kidding. Bleeding in the ER. Told it's a slow leak and really inconvenient. Have another follow-up with my surgeon scheduled, going to need at least one more day."
This pesky blood vessel, (completely bad luck, not any error on the surgeon's part), continued to be a problem when I returned to see my surgeon the next day. The doctor who performed the surgery took a look -- and no kidding, this is a man who has been in his field for thirty years -- and immediately started prepping me in case we had to return to the Operating Room within the next couple of hours. Because, you know, he was actually getting really nervous about the fact that I kept bleeding and wouldn't stop no matter how much chemical cauterization agent he applied. He did wait until several hours later to reveal the true extent of his concern. Meanwhile, I kept thinking, "Dude, Wired for War is way too heavy to hold over my head and read while I'm on the exam table." Conscientious doctor he is, he called me several times throughout the day to make sure the bleeding stopped and that I wouldn't actually need to go to the operating room again. It all worked out. But during the last call, we discussed again when I could return to work. I asked him if returning the next day was out of the question. He laughed and sternly told me I was to "sit at home on my couch, read magazines, do no house work, and really be a couch potato this time."
Obviously, my gig was up. So I had another week of convalescent leave added onto my time, which my kids were excited to hear.
But you know, maybe I will finish up that task list because I suck at convalescent leave.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
How Torture Starts... Or St. Patrick's Day in the Armstrong Household
"Leprechauns make messes. They hide treasure at the ends of rainbows," Owen explained to me from the backseat of the car on our way to Target.
"We should catch a leprechaun!" Anduin declared. "And make it tell us where its treasure is!"
Owen added, "We can make a trap and use shiny things."
Anduin got even more excited. "We could dig a pit... Then put the shiny things on top of it... And then it will fall into it!"
I asked, trying to keep a straight face, "So you are going to capture and interrogate this leprechaun?"
Anduin was quick to disagree, "No... We are just going to make it talk."
So I had to question, "So what are you going to do if it doesn't talk?"
"Mommy, we will go lock it in the shed out back," Anduin insisted.
This time, I couldn't resist laughing.
Anduin continued, "But, Mommy, that means you cannot go take it out of the shed. You have to keep it locked!"
Obviously, she had sensed my weak, moral heart in this.
So an hour or so later after we have returned from Target, I was only slightly worried when I watched Anduin running around the backyard with the net we had purchased at Target to catch her leprechaun... And Owen running around with their large, green plastic shovel. I'd better keep checking for pits in the backyard.
And the shed.
"We should catch a leprechaun!" Anduin declared. "And make it tell us where its treasure is!"
Owen added, "We can make a trap and use shiny things."
Anduin got even more excited. "We could dig a pit... Then put the shiny things on top of it... And then it will fall into it!"
I asked, trying to keep a straight face, "So you are going to capture and interrogate this leprechaun?"
Anduin was quick to disagree, "No... We are just going to make it talk."
So I had to question, "So what are you going to do if it doesn't talk?"
"Mommy, we will go lock it in the shed out back," Anduin insisted.
This time, I couldn't resist laughing.
Anduin continued, "But, Mommy, that means you cannot go take it out of the shed. You have to keep it locked!"
Obviously, she had sensed my weak, moral heart in this.
So an hour or so later after we have returned from Target, I was only slightly worried when I watched Anduin running around the backyard with the net we had purchased at Target to catch her leprechaun... And Owen running around with their large, green plastic shovel. I'd better keep checking for pits in the backyard.
And the shed.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Anduin's Famous Friendship Treehouse Planet
"Mommy, I am from another planet."
Anduin has consistently claimed this for the past couple of months. Just to continue to highlight the differences between my two kids, Anduin with her much more vivid imagination continues to build her personal "lore." Though the amazing part is how consistent she is. Below is a sample of the conversation we have about her planet, and I didn't embellish anything she tells me.
"Anduin, what's your planet called?"
"Anduin's Famous Friendship Treehouse Planet. My grand-daughter lives there in a treehouse. The treehouse is small, and you can't visit unless you use the matter-sizer to make it big."
"What do you do on your planet?"
"My grand-daughter and I play in our treehouse... We sing, we dance, and we play."
"How did you get here?"
"I came here on my rocket ship. But it broke into a million tiny pieces. I need to put it back together to go back to my planet. I live with you until I can put it back together."
At least Anduin CHOSE to live with me. At least until her next rocket ship ride home.
Anduin has consistently claimed this for the past couple of months. Just to continue to highlight the differences between my two kids, Anduin with her much more vivid imagination continues to build her personal "lore." Though the amazing part is how consistent she is. Below is a sample of the conversation we have about her planet, and I didn't embellish anything she tells me.
"Anduin, what's your planet called?"
"Anduin's Famous Friendship Treehouse Planet. My grand-daughter lives there in a treehouse. The treehouse is small, and you can't visit unless you use the matter-sizer to make it big."
"What do you do on your planet?"
"My grand-daughter and I play in our treehouse... We sing, we dance, and we play."
"How did you get here?"
"I came here on my rocket ship. But it broke into a million tiny pieces. I need to put it back together to go back to my planet. I live with you until I can put it back together."
At least Anduin CHOSE to live with me. At least until her next rocket ship ride home.
Monday, September 28, 2015
Uniform and Unicorn
"Ma'am, I am going to change the CAP station. Unicorn sounds a lot like uniform."
***
Earlier that day, I had met Niles and the kids on my lunch break, so I was still in my khaki uniform. Anduin pointed at my khaki uniform and asked me, "Mommy, why are you wearing your unicorn?"
"My what?"
"Your unicorn."
"My what?"
"Your unicorn!"
"Oh... You mean uniform."
***
So the other student in my class was right. Unicorn does sound a lot like uniform. So once we had put the single letter callsigns for our aircraft up on the CAP (Combat Air Patrol) station, we had to change one of the CAP stations. No longer could we have Magic and Unicorn.
So instead after our very serious one and a half hour session describing various tactical advantages, one of the civilian instructors waited until after the CO left to demand, "All right, who's idea was Magic and Mike?"
***
Earlier that day, I had met Niles and the kids on my lunch break, so I was still in my khaki uniform. Anduin pointed at my khaki uniform and asked me, "Mommy, why are you wearing your unicorn?"
"My what?"
"Your unicorn."
"My what?"
"Your unicorn!"
"Oh... You mean uniform."
***
So the other student in my class was right. Unicorn does sound a lot like uniform. So once we had put the single letter callsigns for our aircraft up on the CAP (Combat Air Patrol) station, we had to change one of the CAP stations. No longer could we have Magic and Unicorn.
So instead after our very serious one and a half hour session describing various tactical advantages, one of the civilian instructors waited until after the CO left to demand, "All right, who's idea was Magic and Mike?"
Monday, September 7, 2015
My Daughter Doesn't Want to be a Princess, She Wants to be a Pirate
Since we accidentally left our Chromecast in San Diego, we have been watching a lot of Disney Junior in our household while living in Virginia. Previously, Anduin had only watched "Jake and the Neverland Pirates" on Netflix on demand. However, since it is a Disney show, she now can watch it several times a day, along with any other show Disney has geared towards her age group. I've noticed that there are several shows geared specifically towards little girls like "Sofia the First" or "Doc McStuffins." And both of these shows are pretty decent in that the protagonist is a little girl trying to learn some valuable lessons and show how much she cares about others. In fact, neither of these shows offends me. What offends me is what happened when I decided to go buy Anduin a t-shirt of "Jake and the Neverland Pirates."
At the Disney Store, I was told they didn't carry any "Jake" merchandise, except for a 20 inch stuffed Izzy, the female character in the show. I personally am creeped out of dolls that large or anything resembling such, so I veoted that one. I was told by the ever helpful clerk (excuse, me "cast member") was that they did have "Miles from Tomorrowland" t-shirts... In the boy's section.
So I ventured online to buy Anduin a t-shirt because of course, the internet has everything. Well, it turns out it has everything except "Jake" shirts in girl sizes featuring someone other than Izzy. Izzy is not her favorite character, it's Jake because he's the leader who wields a sword (whereas Izzy gets stuck with pixie dust she can only use in emergencies). And then I got annoyed. Why do we think little girls would only choose to identify/emulate another girl character? Why can't they have heroes who are boys too? Or in Anduin's other case, she wanted a t-shirt with Merck, the silly ostrich from "Miles and Tomorrowland", any other creature than a girl? By limiting our little girls to identifying with other girls, are we setting them up to believe that the only people they can grow up to inspire are other little girls? I suddenly remembered the CMC on the CHUNG-HOON awkwardly telling me that he hoped I could inspire not just the female engineers but um, all engineers too, and maybe um, non-engineers too.
So Anduin, I hope you keep asking me for a slide in a hideaway that goes to your own pirate ship (because come on, I want one too!).
And yes, I bought her two "Jake" shirts online. In blue and yellow. With no sparkles, just a really cool sea serpent.
At the Disney Store, I was told they didn't carry any "Jake" merchandise, except for a 20 inch stuffed Izzy, the female character in the show. I personally am creeped out of dolls that large or anything resembling such, so I veoted that one. I was told by the ever helpful clerk (excuse, me "cast member") was that they did have "Miles from Tomorrowland" t-shirts... In the boy's section.
So I ventured online to buy Anduin a t-shirt because of course, the internet has everything. Well, it turns out it has everything except "Jake" shirts in girl sizes featuring someone other than Izzy. Izzy is not her favorite character, it's Jake because he's the leader who wields a sword (whereas Izzy gets stuck with pixie dust she can only use in emergencies). And then I got annoyed. Why do we think little girls would only choose to identify/emulate another girl character? Why can't they have heroes who are boys too? Or in Anduin's other case, she wanted a t-shirt with Merck, the silly ostrich from "Miles and Tomorrowland", any other creature than a girl? By limiting our little girls to identifying with other girls, are we setting them up to believe that the only people they can grow up to inspire are other little girls? I suddenly remembered the CMC on the CHUNG-HOON awkwardly telling me that he hoped I could inspire not just the female engineers but um, all engineers too, and maybe um, non-engineers too.
So Anduin, I hope you keep asking me for a slide in a hideaway that goes to your own pirate ship (because come on, I want one too!).
And yes, I bought her two "Jake" shirts online. In blue and yellow. With no sparkles, just a really cool sea serpent.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Why Promotions Should Never Happen During Nap Time (Funny Version)
For my promotion to Lieutenant Commander, I completely and utterly mooched off the planning for a Lieutenant Commander being promoted to Commander who was stationed at ATRC, the school house I was attending when my promotion came up. It meant I had to do nothing other than add my invitees to her list, buy my collar devices, and make sure the folks I invited actually showed up on time.
Okay, so 2 out of 3 isn't bad.
Because I had been waiting outside the building for Niles, the kids, and my in-laws to arrive, I had missed the fact that the young children from the other officer being promoted had spent the half-hour or so running generally amok in the auditorium. I mean, if I was a toddler wearing a Batman cape, that's exactly what I would have been doing too. Instead, Niles rolled in with Anduin about 80% asleep, and by the time, we actually got everyone settled to start the ceremony, the other kids were cranky and trying to nap on the floor... Right in the middle of the promotion ceremony.
We managed to persuade Anduin to wake up enough to help pin on my collar devices, but she was so quiet, Niles actually didn't even notice she was helping until they were on the second oak leaf.
And I lucked out. At least my kids participated! The little boy with the Batman cape literally tried to nap in front of his mom as she knelt, pleading with him and his older to sister to put on her new shoulder boards. I felt selfishly appreciative my kids had performed on cue, but then I also realized they were a bit older...
And didn't need naps anymore... And certainly not during the scheduled promotion time.
Okay, so 2 out of 3 isn't bad.
Because I had been waiting outside the building for Niles, the kids, and my in-laws to arrive, I had missed the fact that the young children from the other officer being promoted had spent the half-hour or so running generally amok in the auditorium. I mean, if I was a toddler wearing a Batman cape, that's exactly what I would have been doing too. Instead, Niles rolled in with Anduin about 80% asleep, and by the time, we actually got everyone settled to start the ceremony, the other kids were cranky and trying to nap on the floor... Right in the middle of the promotion ceremony.
We managed to persuade Anduin to wake up enough to help pin on my collar devices, but she was so quiet, Niles actually didn't even notice she was helping until they were on the second oak leaf.
And I lucked out. At least my kids participated! The little boy with the Batman cape literally tried to nap in front of his mom as she knelt, pleading with him and his older to sister to put on her new shoulder boards. I felt selfishly appreciative my kids had performed on cue, but then I also realized they were a bit older...
And didn't need naps anymore... And certainly not during the scheduled promotion time.
LCDR... Finally. (Sappy Version)
I promoted to Lieutenant Commander during a formal ceremony on September 4, 2015.
Finally.
It felt like a forever in coming.
I was selected back in May (or was it June?) of 2014. I then had the pleasure of waiting over a year for the promotion to actually happen. When I was selected, I was not nearly as excited as I thought I should be. Everyone kept talking about how O-4 was the first promotion that you earn, not one that just happens after a prescribed length of time. And that's true... to an extent. Up to the point when I realized that 92% of SWO's were selected my year group. At that point, it didn't feel as much as being selected for what I had done, as much as being selected for what I had not done (no DUI, no PRT failures, no fraternization, no DFC's for me). So to say that I was a bit blase about my promotion was an understatement. I only grew more so when I realized that I would be promoting while I was a student in Dahlgren, VA for training. One of the only redeeming features about Dahlgren is its proximity to other places.
But that was until Niles started getting excited for me. He reminded me this was the first promotion ceremony he would attend. I had basically promoted myself to LTJG while TAD to a carrier in 5th Fleet. I had promoted to Lieutenant on my ship in Norfolk and was so busy, I didn't even think to ask him to take the day off to come. But this time around, he was the one who reminded me to invite folks. I think up until two months before my actual promotion, I had figured I would just do on my actual date of rank... Squeezed into my lunch break so I would not miss class. I'd invite Niles and the kids, but that would be it. It was he who reminded me I could have someone other than the CO of ATRC, who I had met once, to administer my oath. It was he who reminded to invite my in-laws from Maryland to make the drive. It was he who first put the idea of inviting someone from every one of my ships to the ceremony. (Thanks, ATRC, for being AEGIS Mecca so that I could actually do that.) It was he who helped pick out clothes for the kids and helped practice the pinning of the new devices on my collars.
And it was he who I forgot to actually thank in my promotion speech.
Go figure. I managed to thank LCDR Ryan Rogers, who drove down from Annapolis to administer the oath, even dragging his own in-laws with him. I managed to thank my class from Dahlgren who took time off their lunch break, despite my protests, to see me promoted. I managed to thank FCC Holliday, who used to be my CF02 WCS on the PAUL HAMILTON, LT Streich who was the FCO on the CHUNG-HOON with me, and my new FCO and FCC on the RAFAEL PERALTA with me. But ungrateful spouse that I am, and despite my repeated reminders to myself that morning, I forgot to actually thank Niles.
So thanks, Ryan, for the really beautiful and heartfelt words I should have said to my husband on my promotion.
Finally.
It felt like a forever in coming.
I was selected back in May (or was it June?) of 2014. I then had the pleasure of waiting over a year for the promotion to actually happen. When I was selected, I was not nearly as excited as I thought I should be. Everyone kept talking about how O-4 was the first promotion that you earn, not one that just happens after a prescribed length of time. And that's true... to an extent. Up to the point when I realized that 92% of SWO's were selected my year group. At that point, it didn't feel as much as being selected for what I had done, as much as being selected for what I had not done (no DUI, no PRT failures, no fraternization, no DFC's for me). So to say that I was a bit blase about my promotion was an understatement. I only grew more so when I realized that I would be promoting while I was a student in Dahlgren, VA for training. One of the only redeeming features about Dahlgren is its proximity to other places.
But that was until Niles started getting excited for me. He reminded me this was the first promotion ceremony he would attend. I had basically promoted myself to LTJG while TAD to a carrier in 5th Fleet. I had promoted to Lieutenant on my ship in Norfolk and was so busy, I didn't even think to ask him to take the day off to come. But this time around, he was the one who reminded me to invite folks. I think up until two months before my actual promotion, I had figured I would just do on my actual date of rank... Squeezed into my lunch break so I would not miss class. I'd invite Niles and the kids, but that would be it. It was he who reminded me I could have someone other than the CO of ATRC, who I had met once, to administer my oath. It was he who reminded to invite my in-laws from Maryland to make the drive. It was he who first put the idea of inviting someone from every one of my ships to the ceremony. (Thanks, ATRC, for being AEGIS Mecca so that I could actually do that.) It was he who helped pick out clothes for the kids and helped practice the pinning of the new devices on my collars.
And it was he who I forgot to actually thank in my promotion speech.
Go figure. I managed to thank LCDR Ryan Rogers, who drove down from Annapolis to administer the oath, even dragging his own in-laws with him. I managed to thank my class from Dahlgren who took time off their lunch break, despite my protests, to see me promoted. I managed to thank FCC Holliday, who used to be my CF02 WCS on the PAUL HAMILTON, LT Streich who was the FCO on the CHUNG-HOON with me, and my new FCO and FCC on the RAFAEL PERALTA with me. But ungrateful spouse that I am, and despite my repeated reminders to myself that morning, I forgot to actually thank Niles.
So thanks, Ryan, for the really beautiful and heartfelt words I should have said to my husband on my promotion.
Saturday, June 6, 2015
3 Going on 16
Anduin is a large amount of sass in a tiny body. In fact, Niles and I both joke how she is 3 going on 16. A couple of recent examples of why...
(Loud, suspicious noise in another room)
Niles and I look at each other while trying to figure out whether someone should go investigate. Anduin comes into our room from the direction of the loud noise.
Niles: What are you doing, Anduin?
Anduin: Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it, Daddy.
*****
While discussing turtles, she corrects me on the difference between a tortoise and turtle, and then adds, "Silly, Mommy, I know soooo much."
*****
During a particularly epic temper tantrum, she rushed to the bedroom door, paused to glare at me angrily and make sure I saw her, and then slammed the door as loud as she could. She then repeated this at least nine more times over the course of the next hour.
But then last night after she woke up in the middle night, she crawled into bed with me, laid on top of me, and whispered, "Mommy, it's your sweet baby Anduin. Hold me" and fell back asleep.
And then I remember, oh wait, she's still only 3.
(Loud, suspicious noise in another room)
Niles and I look at each other while trying to figure out whether someone should go investigate. Anduin comes into our room from the direction of the loud noise.
Niles: What are you doing, Anduin?
Anduin: Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it, Daddy.
*****
While discussing turtles, she corrects me on the difference between a tortoise and turtle, and then adds, "Silly, Mommy, I know soooo much."
*****
During a particularly epic temper tantrum, she rushed to the bedroom door, paused to glare at me angrily and make sure I saw her, and then slammed the door as loud as she could. She then repeated this at least nine more times over the course of the next hour.
But then last night after she woke up in the middle night, she crawled into bed with me, laid on top of me, and whispered, "Mommy, it's your sweet baby Anduin. Hold me" and fell back asleep.
And then I remember, oh wait, she's still only 3.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
"Mommy, do you have a ship yet?"
I'm in process of executing what feels like the slowest orders ever. I am currently TAD in San Diego for over 3 months while I attend various random Navy schools before I will eventually report to a precommissioning ship. For my kids, this is a completely mystifying experience. First off, they are actually awake when I leave for work in the morning. Secondly, they are amused by the fact that Mommy goes to school, not work. But every morning, our conversation usually follows something like this:
Me: All right, babies, I'm off to work. Be good for Daddy.
Owen/Anduin: Do you have a ship yet?
Me: No, I still don't have a ship.
Owen/Anduin: When are you going to have a ship?
Me: Not for a very long time.
Owen/Anduin: Where do you work then?
Me: In a building.
Owen/Anduin: A building??? That's silly.
That's right, sailors, the idea of us working in a building is silly.
Me: All right, babies, I'm off to work. Be good for Daddy.
Owen/Anduin: Do you have a ship yet?
Me: No, I still don't have a ship.
Owen/Anduin: When are you going to have a ship?
Me: Not for a very long time.
Owen/Anduin: Where do you work then?
Me: In a building.
Owen/Anduin: A building??? That's silly.
That's right, sailors, the idea of us working in a building is silly.
ETA - Walking with Babies
Since moving to San Diego, the babies and I have done a lot more walking to get to places. In fact, I usually prefer it. Before we start walking anywhere, I usually Google Map the destination to figure out the distance and estimated time to the destination. I just wish there was a "walking with small children" means of transportation option in addition to the car, public transportation, and walking because let's be honest, the estimated time is way not accurate with small children.
Case in point... I decided to walk from the MIDWAY museum to the New Children's Museum. Google Maps told me it should take 18 minutes to get there. This is what it actually took:
10 minutes to walk three blocks.
10 more minutes to persuade the babies to walk another three blocks and cross two streets.
40 minutes to take a break for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory.
10 minutes to cross another street.
5 minutes to play hide and seek on one block.
5 minutes for me to argue with the younger child about walking until I finally gave in and carried her the last block and a half.
So yeah, come on, Google Maps, it took way longer than 18 minutes.
Next time, I bring the scooters and/or my collapsible wagon.
Case in point... I decided to walk from the MIDWAY museum to the New Children's Museum. Google Maps told me it should take 18 minutes to get there. This is what it actually took:
10 minutes to walk three blocks.
10 more minutes to persuade the babies to walk another three blocks and cross two streets.
40 minutes to take a break for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory.
10 minutes to cross another street.
5 minutes to play hide and seek on one block.
5 minutes for me to argue with the younger child about walking until I finally gave in and carried her the last block and a half.
So yeah, come on, Google Maps, it took way longer than 18 minutes.
Next time, I bring the scooters and/or my collapsible wagon.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Bunny Goes to the Spa
Niles and I have been lying to our children nearly since they were born.
But really, I am pretty sure all parents do.
"Chuck E Cheese is closed again today, kids."
"You cannot get out of the cart because only Mommy has special shoes to protect her from the boiling lava."
"Christmas is December 24" (I had duty that on Christmas Day.)
"There are no more new Thomas the Tank Engine toys."
So while we were in Maui this past weekend and realized that Owen had managed to leave behind his precious Bunny, Niles and I had to think quickly. We had already tried to go back to the store and retrieve Bunny, but he was gone. As Niles and I privately mourned the loss of the much loved stuffed rabbit toy that Owen has had since he was the same size as the toy, we had to come up with an answer as Owen repeatedly requested Bunny from the back seat.
Then Niles came up with the perfect lie.
"Owen, Bunny is at the spa."
"The spa?"
"Yes, a spa like what Mommy and Daddy did yesterday. Bunny is at the spa. So next time you see him, he's going to be really, really clean. He might be so clean you may not recognize him."
So yes, I frantically ordered another Bunny off Amazon. (Oh, Amazon Prime and one-touch ordering, how much I love you!) Then while at work the next day, I may have written Owen a letter from "Bunny" talking about how awesome the spa was and how good the food was... And promptly shoved it into an envelope when I got home to give to Owen. Believe me, Niles and I are not above perpetuating lies to our children.
The lies had to continue when "Bunny" arrived in the mail. Owen gleefully hugged him and then took a longer look at him... and realized there were a couple of small differences... which Niles carefully explained away by Bunny being at the spa. We think Owen's bought into the lies.
So remember, parents, if you ever find yourself frantically ordering a replacement stuffed animal, just tell your kids the toy went to a spa for a while. And maybe this lie will work for you too!
But really, I am pretty sure all parents do.
"Chuck E Cheese is closed again today, kids."
"You cannot get out of the cart because only Mommy has special shoes to protect her from the boiling lava."
"Christmas is December 24" (I had duty that on Christmas Day.)
"There are no more new Thomas the Tank Engine toys."
So while we were in Maui this past weekend and realized that Owen had managed to leave behind his precious Bunny, Niles and I had to think quickly. We had already tried to go back to the store and retrieve Bunny, but he was gone. As Niles and I privately mourned the loss of the much loved stuffed rabbit toy that Owen has had since he was the same size as the toy, we had to come up with an answer as Owen repeatedly requested Bunny from the back seat.
Then Niles came up with the perfect lie.
"Owen, Bunny is at the spa."
"The spa?"
"Yes, a spa like what Mommy and Daddy did yesterday. Bunny is at the spa. So next time you see him, he's going to be really, really clean. He might be so clean you may not recognize him."
So yes, I frantically ordered another Bunny off Amazon. (Oh, Amazon Prime and one-touch ordering, how much I love you!) Then while at work the next day, I may have written Owen a letter from "Bunny" talking about how awesome the spa was and how good the food was... And promptly shoved it into an envelope when I got home to give to Owen. Believe me, Niles and I are not above perpetuating lies to our children.
The lies had to continue when "Bunny" arrived in the mail. Owen gleefully hugged him and then took a longer look at him... and realized there were a couple of small differences... which Niles carefully explained away by Bunny being at the spa. We think Owen's bought into the lies.
So remember, parents, if you ever find yourself frantically ordering a replacement stuffed animal, just tell your kids the toy went to a spa for a while. And maybe this lie will work for you too!
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Size Does Matter...
Size does matter... when you are a Chief Engineer in a drydock. Only the Chief Engineer and MPA can close out tanks, and given the choice between going to a meeting or closing out a tank, I'll choose closing out a tank. (Unless, of course, the meeting is PB4T, and I like my MPA too much to subject him to that.)
So here's my quick guide to closing out a tank:
1. Ask how big the tank is. This will determine how much time you need to put aside. Depending on the size of the tank, it could take a few minutes to a few hours.
2. Figure out where it's located. Now this is very important. You have to add in time to reach the tank, especially if it involves climbing down several decks' worth of ladders. Also very few tanks are easily accessed. Usually because we're trying to do this whole warship thing and preserve space, we put pipes and fittings and other equipment around the access covers. This is where I evaluate whether I can even get into the tank.
3. Outfit appropriately. Tank diving is not the time to wear your favorite pair of coveralls, unless you want to break them in. And for the love of everything, don't even think of doing this in NWU's. A headlamp is super useful because it frees up both hands to pull yourself into and out of tight spaces. I ALWAYS carry a second light on me though after banging my only flashlight and it going out... in the middle of a huge tank.
4. Stretch... It's like yoga or urban spelunking as I like to think of. You are going to use muscles you don't normally use in weird body contortions.
5. Empty your pockets of everything, minus the aforementioned flashlight. The more stuff you have in your pockets, the more stuff you can leave behind in a tank. I always bring my phone with me though so I can document the condition of the tank (and perhaps snap a few selfies along the way). Plus, with me, the less stuff I have in my pockets, the less bruises I end up with.
6. Have fun! Do your best to not freak out how you're in the middle of a huge cavern where maybe one other person can hear you cry if you get stuck... Or how even though we've been ventilating these fuel tanks for weeks, there's still a slightly overwhelming smell of fuel... Or how if you fumble with your headlamp, it's complete darkness waiting for you... Or if you crawl under that obstruction, will you have enough strength to pull yourself out?
7. Be prepared to explain what "tank diving" is to every person you meet on the street later because you will get strange looks when covered from bruises all over your legs and arms. Every male friend I've been out with since then usually gets glares from complete strangers as people assume he's beating me. Because trust me, when it comes to steel v. human being, the steel always wins.
Even the subcontractors have mentioned that I've "evolved" to be a perfect Cheng as I am small, aren't scared of the dark (that they know of), and have fun doing so.
But there has been one tank that even I could not fit in. I am sure I could have fit, but I just could not get over/under pipe hangers/fittings to get into the tank. I tried several different ways/means, watched the contractors who cleaned the tank get in there and tried to copy their routes. But in the end, I was defeated. That doesn't mean that no one else goes in there. It just meant I had to find a stand-in... So I wandered up to the main deck, searching for a super skinny engineer and found a brand new fireman. After greeting me respectfully and properly, I immediately asked, "Are you flexible?" The look on his face was priceless, but this kid was able to get into the tank... head first... and upside down...
So here's my quick guide to closing out a tank:
1. Ask how big the tank is. This will determine how much time you need to put aside. Depending on the size of the tank, it could take a few minutes to a few hours.
2. Figure out where it's located. Now this is very important. You have to add in time to reach the tank, especially if it involves climbing down several decks' worth of ladders. Also very few tanks are easily accessed. Usually because we're trying to do this whole warship thing and preserve space, we put pipes and fittings and other equipment around the access covers. This is where I evaluate whether I can even get into the tank.
3. Outfit appropriately. Tank diving is not the time to wear your favorite pair of coveralls, unless you want to break them in. And for the love of everything, don't even think of doing this in NWU's. A headlamp is super useful because it frees up both hands to pull yourself into and out of tight spaces. I ALWAYS carry a second light on me though after banging my only flashlight and it going out... in the middle of a huge tank.
4. Stretch... It's like yoga or urban spelunking as I like to think of. You are going to use muscles you don't normally use in weird body contortions.
5. Empty your pockets of everything, minus the aforementioned flashlight. The more stuff you have in your pockets, the more stuff you can leave behind in a tank. I always bring my phone with me though so I can document the condition of the tank (and perhaps snap a few selfies along the way). Plus, with me, the less stuff I have in my pockets, the less bruises I end up with.
6. Have fun! Do your best to not freak out how you're in the middle of a huge cavern where maybe one other person can hear you cry if you get stuck... Or how even though we've been ventilating these fuel tanks for weeks, there's still a slightly overwhelming smell of fuel... Or how if you fumble with your headlamp, it's complete darkness waiting for you... Or if you crawl under that obstruction, will you have enough strength to pull yourself out?
7. Be prepared to explain what "tank diving" is to every person you meet on the street later because you will get strange looks when covered from bruises all over your legs and arms. Every male friend I've been out with since then usually gets glares from complete strangers as people assume he's beating me. Because trust me, when it comes to steel v. human being, the steel always wins.
Even the subcontractors have mentioned that I've "evolved" to be a perfect Cheng as I am small, aren't scared of the dark (that they know of), and have fun doing so.
But there has been one tank that even I could not fit in. I am sure I could have fit, but I just could not get over/under pipe hangers/fittings to get into the tank. I tried several different ways/means, watched the contractors who cleaned the tank get in there and tried to copy their routes. But in the end, I was defeated. That doesn't mean that no one else goes in there. It just meant I had to find a stand-in... So I wandered up to the main deck, searching for a super skinny engineer and found a brand new fireman. After greeting me respectfully and properly, I immediately asked, "Are you flexible?" The look on his face was priceless, but this kid was able to get into the tank... head first... and upside down...
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| Inside a tank with one of the many holes you get to crawl through.. That's my hand for size comparison, and I don't have a big hand. |
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| Tank Selfie |
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| This was a choose your own adventure... Want to go through the top, bottom, left, or right port? In the end, you have to do them all so you have to be careful to not lose track which compartment of the tank you've been in... |
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Disappointed Mom Counseling
"Please, ma'am, if you're going to yell at me, just go ahead and do it. But please don't tell me you're disappointed!" - One of my chiefs before a recent counseling session
For anyone who's met me, you've realized by now that I am not a large, intimidating, or imposing figure. I stand a whopping five feet and half an inch (you know you're short when you count the half-inches), which even in combat boots makes me five foot two. The vast majority of people I work with are taller than me. I also have long learned that when I yell, my voice gets kind of screechy and generally loses the effect. As a result, I've long learned the best way to counsel my sailors has been going the Disappointed Mom route. This is what this means: I usually sit them down, or for more privacy, ask them to take a walk with me. Then I lower my shoulders, slow the pace of my voice, and begin with something along the words of, "I am really disappointed..." The sailor, for his or her part, usually looks like a kicked puppy.
This method is awesome.
And super effective.
It's only effective because of a couple weird scenarios that occur in the Navy. Foremost, by Navy standards, I'm sort of old. I am nowhere near old enough to be people's mom, but I have almost a decade on my junior sailors. Secondly, by being an officer, I automatically have that distinct level of authority/positional respect that most people associate with your parents. Thirdly, where else but the Navy does someone older than you talk to you about safe drinking, safe sex, safe driving, makes sure you get to your appointments on time, and that you have a roof over your head and enough food to eat... other than your parents? Fourth, by being the most senior female officer on my ship, I've acquired that "mom" aura about myself. And lastly, the Disappointed Mom schtick works because I work hard for my sailors, which means they work hard for me, and so they generally want to make me happy. And disappointed does NOT equal happy.
Now if only it worked as well on my actual kids.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Condiment Baby
The kids now have very distinct personalities. What's funny is that they each have bits of my and Niles' personalities. All of Owen's food preferences are more like mine: could eat half a chocolate Haupia pie before getting sick. Meanwhile, Anduin eats like my husband: craves salty snack foods like chips and loves pickles and cottage cheese. That being said, Owen's introvertism is more like Niles as a young child (or so I'm told because I've never known an introverted Niles) while Anduin's bossy, opinionated, talkative self is supposedly me as a young child. I think my mom cackles every time she tells me this.
That being said, the nicknames I have for the kids come from several very distinct habits. I haven't decided which to go with so at any point, so if you hear these below, you'll know who I'm talking about.
Owen: The Little Engineer. Always observing and trying to figure out how things work: door latches, car ignition, knives to properly dice an onion like Daddy.
Anduin: Condiment Baby. To her, toast is just a vehicle for the Nutella, pancakes are just a means to eat butter, and chicken nuggets convey sweet and sour sauce. The minute you turn your head, she will go for the condiments. straight. out of the container. So just be warned if you entertain her, you are going to want to hide your butter.
Owen: Baby GPS. For a now three year old, he has an uncanny sense of direction. He's clear to let you know if you're going the "wrong" way, like home instead of the playground. I am pretty sure he can navigate better than my Mom. (Love you, Mom! But really, Garmin and then Google Maps have been your best friends.)
Anduin: The Dowsing Baby. If there is any bit of water, especially a muddy or dirty puddle, anywhere in the vicinity, Anduin will not only locate it but manage to submerge as much of her body as possible in it. I'm thinking of sending her to drought stricken areas to locate possible sources of water, assuming that someone's fast enough to prevent her from contaminating it.
So if you've got a particular favorite, let me know. Maybe I'll try to get it to stick to them.
That being said, the nicknames I have for the kids come from several very distinct habits. I haven't decided which to go with so at any point, so if you hear these below, you'll know who I'm talking about.
Owen: The Little Engineer. Always observing and trying to figure out how things work: door latches, car ignition, knives to properly dice an onion like Daddy.
Anduin: Condiment Baby. To her, toast is just a vehicle for the Nutella, pancakes are just a means to eat butter, and chicken nuggets convey sweet and sour sauce. The minute you turn your head, she will go for the condiments. straight. out of the container. So just be warned if you entertain her, you are going to want to hide your butter.
Owen: Baby GPS. For a now three year old, he has an uncanny sense of direction. He's clear to let you know if you're going the "wrong" way, like home instead of the playground. I am pretty sure he can navigate better than my Mom. (Love you, Mom! But really, Garmin and then Google Maps have been your best friends.)
Anduin: The Dowsing Baby. If there is any bit of water, especially a muddy or dirty puddle, anywhere in the vicinity, Anduin will not only locate it but manage to submerge as much of her body as possible in it. I'm thinking of sending her to drought stricken areas to locate possible sources of water, assuming that someone's fast enough to prevent her from contaminating it.
So if you've got a particular favorite, let me know. Maybe I'll try to get it to stick to them.
Friday, December 6, 2013
We Are Not Unicorns - Part Two
"Afternoon, sir, I'm LT Alyssa Armstrong, the Chief Engineer ---"
"Ohhhh.... You're the Chief Engineer?"
As sorely tempted as I was to blurt out, "Hey, 1 Star Admiral, there are female Chief Engineers out there!", I resisted. I figured I was better mannered than that.
This was a 1 Star Admiral who actually said this to me during a meet and greet. I mean, I knew he was old school. After all, he rocked the CNT Khaki uniform they stopped making when I was commissioned. And like only the ridiculously old school guys, he wore it without an undershirt so that it appeared there were a pair of gray squirrels trying to escape from his chest.
Crazy Admirals, we are not unicorns... We do exist.
"Ohhhh.... You're the Chief Engineer?"
As sorely tempted as I was to blurt out, "Hey, 1 Star Admiral, there are female Chief Engineers out there!", I resisted. I figured I was better mannered than that.
This was a 1 Star Admiral who actually said this to me during a meet and greet. I mean, I knew he was old school. After all, he rocked the CNT Khaki uniform they stopped making when I was commissioned. And like only the ridiculously old school guys, he wore it without an undershirt so that it appeared there were a pair of gray squirrels trying to escape from his chest.
Crazy Admirals, we are not unicorns... We do exist.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
"Mom, er, I mean, Ma'am"
"Mom!"
"Did you just call me 'Mom'?"
"Er, I meant, 'Ma'am."
It finally happened to me. One of my sailors actually called me "Mom!"
The Navy is one of the few occupations where you are considered old at nearly thirty and near the grave when you get past forty. As the senior female in my department, I sort of take on the "Mom" persona. I mean, seriously what other person other than your parent talks to you about safe driving, safe sex, gives you pats on the back for a job well done, and then scolds you when you disappoint them? Because my voice tends to get sort of screetchy (technical term) when I yell, I've learned that my most effective tactic has been to sit a sailor down and tell him that I'm disappointed in him.
It usually works.
But it usually means that I'm their Mom, or at least their shipboard Mom. And don't get me wrong, I refer to the people in my department (and divisions even when I was a baby ensign) as my "kids." They are young after all. I do feel sort of proud when they get promoted or when they receive awards. I do sort of get all "Mother Bear" on people when my "kids" are threatened, insulted, or picked on by other people outside of my department.
But still... Keep in your head. No need to actually say it out loud... though it did earn a smile. Maybe even a gold sticker.
"Did you just call me 'Mom'?"
"Er, I meant, 'Ma'am."
It finally happened to me. One of my sailors actually called me "Mom!"
The Navy is one of the few occupations where you are considered old at nearly thirty and near the grave when you get past forty. As the senior female in my department, I sort of take on the "Mom" persona. I mean, seriously what other person other than your parent talks to you about safe driving, safe sex, gives you pats on the back for a job well done, and then scolds you when you disappoint them? Because my voice tends to get sort of screetchy (technical term) when I yell, I've learned that my most effective tactic has been to sit a sailor down and tell him that I'm disappointed in him.
It usually works.
But it usually means that I'm their Mom, or at least their shipboard Mom. And don't get me wrong, I refer to the people in my department (and divisions even when I was a baby ensign) as my "kids." They are young after all. I do feel sort of proud when they get promoted or when they receive awards. I do sort of get all "Mother Bear" on people when my "kids" are threatened, insulted, or picked on by other people outside of my department.
But still... Keep in your head. No need to actually say it out loud... though it did earn a smile. Maybe even a gold sticker.
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