Just a Piece of Paper

Just a piece of paper - that's how I referred to it. The official notification for my March 2010 deployment to Baghdad. It sat on my desk Monday. And Tuesday. Wednesday I was called into an office and asked why I hadn't signed it yet.

Instead of getting around to the pile of administrative formalities, this piece of paper and everything it represented was now singled out and staring me in the face.

Six months without.

Tears rolling down my face I signed.

I wrote my husband. He called me immediately.

Past, Present and Future ...

A couple of days back from Afghanistan and I'm leaving right out again. That's how these things go: "downtime" is spent getting ready to leave. Had a few days to recover from the solid days of work at Bagram. Unpacked, did laundry, repacked. Made some decisions, made some obserations, made time to catch up with an old friend. Also had some wine ...

After much deliberation, consternation, contemplation and acceptification, we've decided the best thing for our family is if I reenlist for another four years in the Air Force. The increasing number of deployments is daunting, but the bottom line is I still enjoy what I do in Air Force Public Affairs and that was always the agreement I made with myself. Only it's not just my self I have to worry about anymore. As part of my reenlistment, I'll be eligible to sign up for the new G.I Bill benefit that allows me to transfer the money for college to a wife or child. Basically it's how we're going to send at least one of the kids to school. I figure it's the best gift we can give them for putting up with the months they spend without us. Although if you ask Zachary or Edward, I'm sure it would be a video game. Most of the time I would agree ...

Had a disagreement with my team, however, on how best to perform our mission. There are still some major differences between the way Combat Camera and Public Affairs operate. But despite some growing pains, I think we're slowly starting to understand each other a little better. More than that though, I've done a little soul searching about deployments in general. Or at least the ones I've been on. I do a lot of grousing and griping while I'm deployed. And I always go home with a lot of memories and stories. However, I really need to cut back on sentences that start "Back when I was here last ..." or "When I was deployed to ..." Ugh. I'm becoming THAT guy ...

So my goal is to try and find some perspective that next year I will more than likely look back at my time here as a fulfilling experience, despite any temporary personality conflicts. Because back when I was here last and when I was deployed to Afghanistan, that's how I ultimately came to consider those experiences. Oops, I did it again ...

While deployed, every emotional response amplifies because of physical distance, time difference, connection issues, etc. Every small misunderstanding becomes something so much worse. Jennifer and I have already worked through our fair share of what would be normal relationship difficulties, but they've been worse and more difficult to find resolution to because of our being separated by so much. It's absolutlely our faith in each other and our family that is getting us through those days. And when it isn't relying on each other, it's relying on our friends. Especially when they buy you a drink ...

I ran into my old pal, Rick Wagner, here yesterday. Rick joined the Air Force a couple years after I did. We used to hang out when we lived in Humboldt County, California. We had a lot of the same hobbies and our dads were both in the Coast Guard, so I've always liked Rick. And now here we are in Southwest Asia. A small world it is. Unless you're Yoda ...

Name Your Pets

Zachary, 8, and Edward, 4, are still alive. This is a miracle considering the outright insubordination I corrected all last week. Luckily we had a great weekend and we got through this week with little hassle. Though, some days, I wish we lived on a farm.


When my sister and I were growing up it was not uncommon for us to do hours of chores each day to help sustain our family's little farm. We did chores regardless of our behavior. This was especially true during summer vacation when we had to help stack at least a dozen cords of wood to dry so in the fall we could throw it in the cellar for the ultimate Tetris game. We'd also have to weed endless rows of every vegetable imaginable sustainable by the New England climate.

Today I shake my head in the produce aisle. When veggies would sprout and start to grow there would be overcrowding and we'd have to 'thin' the rows in order to make room for the plants to mature. These discarded plants that we fed to the cows often looked better than what I sometimes see at the grocery store.

When I get really annoyed with Zachary I say "You know what Grandpa with the Chickens would do when mommy gave him attitude growing up?" Then, I'd proceed to tell him that in addition to being punished, part of being a member of the family meant pitching in and helping out. For my sister and I it meant stacking wood for so long our hands would blister, picking potato bugs off the potato plants with our bare hands, hauling pine brush for entire days leaving leaving our hands sore coated with pitch, and carrying garden snakes down the road and throwing them in the woods away from our property line. (My dad still hates snakes.)

My kids have no idea the labor that goes into their dinner plate - and not just veggies and meat - they don't have any concept how cheese, jams, pickles, applesauce, sausage, or bread are made. I do make them watch Food Network and HGTV with me.

Backing up to the hamsters ... you don't name food. That's a rule. That right is reserved for pets and dairy cows. The hamsters were never named, therefore, they were food. And, for the record, I feel it necessary to say we will never own a rodent (or fellow reptile) larger than Indy, the 5-foot ball python, can eat.

Although snakes didn't bother me growing up, there's a big difference holding a garden snake the width of your finger and a snake the width of your arm. I'm not afraid to admit I was a little bit intimidated when Indy and I were first introduced. JG has had her since she was a baby, back in his early college days.

It was January when we decided to let the boys get hamsters as a reward for taking such good care of their goldfish. We ended up with two male dwarf Chinese hamsters. This breed is especially favored because their teeth are about half the length of 'normal' hamsters. (Remember this detail for later.)

Indy had stopped eating in October to hibernate - fast forward to June and she only ate once in that time frame.

Since May, JG and I had joked about feeding the hamsters to Indy. Why? For one, hamsters are nocturnal, we found out. Snakes are too. This is not coincidence. Every night we'd have to take the hamster cage out of the boys' bedroom and put them in the second bathroom. Invariably, one of the kids would wake up in the middle of the night, pee and forget to close the bathroom door. Squeak, squeak, squeak of the wheel. We were getting sick of the kids ignoring their pets and whining when it was time to clean their cage. If I wasn't reminding them daily to feed and water the hamsters they would have died from starvation and dehydration.

We should have predicted the hamster's short longevity when Edward jumped on the top piece of the hamster cage that was lying on the floor as Zachary was cleaning the cage that first Saturday, cracking it. (Remember this too.) We said if we didn't we wouldn't tell the kids and see how many days it took them to figure out what happened.

A Saturday of me asking Zachary to clean the goes by and turns into an entire week. Then another Saturday and Sunday passes, and a Monday and by Tuesday I was annoyed with the smell and growing increasingly worried about Indy.

I see that we only have enough wood chips to clean the hamster's cage one more time. Then it's a $40 investment for another large bag and four more months of commitment to the hamsters. I put Indy in her feeding box and without hesitation she had lunged for Hamster One within a few seconds. I reach in the cage to get Hamster Two, but I can't find it. I disassemble the cage, running my fingers through the nasty shavings and it is no where to be found.

I'm convinced JG fed Hamster Two to Indy before I thought of doing it for real. As I'm disposing of all the hamster evidence JG reveals to me he didn't feed Indy. So, where is Hamster Two? He escaped we're sure thanks to that crack at the top of the cage.

We don't think anything of it until Zachary wakes up to pee an hour later and we hear "I found my other hamster!" followed by "Where's my cage?!?!"

I tell him we'll talk about it in the morning and not to worry I'll catch the other hamster. Luckily he's too tired to argue or to give me the third degree and stumbles off to bed.

Remember the bathroom renovations? Well, both bathrooms are stripped of floors and one-inch holes are in the wall's sheet rock along the baseboard area about six inches apart. The hamster has decided to play a twisted version of 'Wack-A-Mole' with us that's more like 'Catch-a-rat' and no one catches rats better than Indy. After two hours of JG and I trying, I sit on Edward's step stool in front of the sink with Indy on my lap. I'm waiting. I'm ready.

Hamster Two pops out from behind the water heater and attempts to go through one of those holes just inches away from me. The hamster is determined to fit, Indy is busy sniffing the tub, so I reach down and grab him.

He bites me. Hard.

His teeth are stuck in me and I'm screaming to JG that I have the hamster and his teeth are in me. JG is yelling at me to put the hamster down so it stops biting me. I put Hamster Two in the sink. I put Indy in her box. JG puts Hamster Two in the arena. He loses.

The next morning Zachary asks me if we fed the hamsters to Indy. I say yes. He starts carrying on and crying and telling me how mean that was. I put him on pause after a few minutes and said "Zachary, what were your hamsters' names?" Silence for a good ten seconds before "Well, there was the fast one and there was the slow one."

The only thing Edward had to say about it was "I'm telling Daddy on you." Then he laughed.

I rest my case.

It's the little things ...

It’s been a bittersweet few days here at Bagram. Had the opportunity to escort a Belgian documentary film crew around the base, had one of my pictures make the Air Force “Week in Photos” (www.af.mil/photos/slideshow.asp?id={0B79E04A-1AFB-4339-B660-F0A349E38BB9) and Jennifer and I have made strides in staying better in synch with one another. I’ve taken almost 2,400 pictures here and have four stories done. Professionally, I haven’t felt this fulfilled in almost a year – what I’ve been doing here has been noticed and appreciated and I know I’m contributing in a place that needs me to be here. But throughout all of this, in the quiet moments of the night when I can’t sleep, things get a little more somber. And it’s not just because of the lousy year the Mets are having …

This much closer to the war, the realities of what happens out here become a little more apparent. I’ve talked to a surgeon and a pararescueman about the emergencies to which they’ve responded. I’ve listened to Marines talk about their combat patrols. I’ve spoken to F-15E Strike Eagle aircrews about what they’ve done to provide air support as they’ve listened to the fight on the ground over their radios. And I’ve even heard the stories from a couple of reporters about the firefight they were in just a couple hours from here. But good storytelling is my job and passion – I love a well-told tale. Besides, it gives me more stuff to tell my son, Zachary, who always wants to hear me spin a yarn. And I really think he’s getting sick of my own war stories …

I’ve mentioned the Pat Tillman Memorial USO at Bagram. It’s a great little lodge-looking building where people can go and relax. Like every USO, the people who volunteer there are happy to support the troops. It’s built on the same ground where the passenger terminal used to be – where I was when that afternoon we found out about Pat while watching CNN. But before there was a building for the USO, there was a small closet that USO volunteers used to pass out drinks, treats, magazines, etc., while people waited for flights to parts unknown. Someone’s grandmother was here running it and I’ll never forget how she took my hand in both hers and just said “thank you” as tears welled in her eyes. She was there, in a war-torn country by choice and she was thanking me?! It was then that I decided I’d start actively supporting the USO whenever I could …

My other favorite charity is AnyAirman.com. Like the USO, I’ve also written about AnyAirman (www.af.mil/news/story.asp?id=123030909). Essentially, I’m a point of contact for them while I’m deployed, so when people want to send cards, letters or care packages to just anyone who’s out here, they send them to me and I get them to an Airman who could use the pick-me-up. So if anyone just wants to support deployed Airmen, the USO and AnyAirman.com are the charities I usually advocate. Although these days I usually find myself supporting the efforts against J-BAMS, but JenniferBreaksAllMyStuff is a force that can’t be stopped. My father-in-law tried to warn me, but she’s a really good cook …

Operation Shoebox (http://www.operationshoebox.com/) is another great organization to support deployed troops. They sent about a thousand boxes out here this week for the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines at Bagram. We got candy, magazines, crossword puzzles (woo-hoo!), comics pages, cards, letters, flags, gum, Q-tips (which I *just* ran out of), tissues, wet wipes and just a whole host of other things. What they sent us truly made a difference this week for all the folks out here. You’d see people sitting and reading the letters or looking for their favorite candies. The notes inside downplayed their efforts to get us the creature comforts, but really, those “small tokens of appreciation” went a long way here. It reminded me that it’s the little things that really count. And that made me think of 1st Lt. Molly Cook …

Molly Cook was stationed at Seymour Johnson while I was there. It was the week of Thanksgiving 2003 and our office was pushing to get the base newspaper done. I decided to do a “Man on the Street” section and asked “For what are you most thankful?” to a bunch of people. But I refused to accept “My family” or “my kids” or “my wife” as an answer. It took some teeth-pulling, but I finally got some great answers (The Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, pumpkin pie) and Lieutenant Molly Cook said, “Chocolate. Doesn’t matter what kind – white, milk, dark – just any kind of chocolate.” When the paper came out, she was embarrassed about her answer in print for all to see. But for the next several days, people kept bringing her chocolates and leaving little treats on her desk. Those little kindnesses from people made her smile the whole week. They told that story at her funeral a few months later …

So in those quiet, somber, insomnia-ridden nights, I think of Molly Cook. I try to remember that small efforts like a piece of chocolate were enough to make her smile. I think of the communities in Florida who got together in a high school gym to put together care packages of candies, cards and sundries for thousands of people they’d never met. I think of the grandmothers who volunteered to go to third-world countries just to make sure an Airman had a crossword puzzle while he waited for a flight to Uzbekistan. I think of these things and I remember it’s the little things in life that can make such a big difference …

Penny for your thoughts …

Like a bad penny, Bagram Airfield keeps falling in my path. I was first here in 2004 for about a week and was sitting in the passenger terminal when we found out about Pat Tillman’s death. I came back in 2006 to work for the Army’s 10th Mountain Division. Now I’m here again and much like our home base, it’s odd to see what’s changed and what’s the same. For crying out loud though, they still have the lame wooden shacks for people to live in. In the winter, there’s no drainage, so it floods between the buildings. Then when it freezes, the pools of water ice over. Seriously, you can literally skate from your room to the bathroom when you wake up at two in the morning to go to the bathroom. So it breaks up the monotony of walking at least …

But our team is here to work with the 455th Air Expeditionary Wing Public Affairs office. A good friend and colleague back in D.C., Capt. Dave Faggard, is in charge of the shop, so at least we’re in good company. I went to advanced contingency skills training with him and two of his Airmen before our deployment, so it’s kinda cool to see them again. He and I discuss our career field and its future alot, especially when it comes to the use of social media. He's the guru on it for the Air Force and we see eye to eye on a lot of what needs to be done on both the officer and enlisted side of things. Although the good captain and I have found a way to work out our differences …

Our first story was to cover the military working dogs here. Bagram is unique in that it’s the only base out here where Airmen provide all the perimeter security. Part of that is done by the dog handlers and their canine companions. The folks who work in K-9 units are typically really good folks and are a staple for community relations visits back home. Everyone loves seeing them and their dogs so when we do base tours, we always try to hit up the K-9 folks. They’re also a lot of fun to take pictures with. Except when the handler misses the dog coming out of the tunnel and 80 pounds of German shepherd fury comes barreling at you and your camera, only you don’t see it coming ‘cause you’re just trying to keep the image in focus so it comes as a total shock when the camera slams into your face and you’re on your butt just trying to figure out what the heck just happened. You know, for example …

The other cool story out here is the F-15E Strike Eagles. The squadron out here is one of the squadrons I used to cover back at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base, N.C., so it’s awesome to see those guys again. I actually took pictures of one of the jets during a refueling mission last weekend, so was able to give the squadron a disc of photos, which they loved. They have a sign on their front door that says “The mission is the 18 year old with a rifle. All else is support” and they have a great attitude about providing cover for the guys on the ground. No fighter pilot ego at all; just straight talk about doing what they can to keep troops safe. Because usually, you know how you can tell if a fighter pilot is in a bar? He’ll tell you …

We have a few other missions that we want to cover while we’re at Bagram, so we’ll see how that works out. We’ll be here for a couple more weeks and hopefully cover the Afghan elections, which in a larger sense, is symbolic for why we’re here to begin with. If it works out, we’ll be headed out with the provincial reconstruction team. When I was here last, I did a lot of missions with those guys and it was one of the highlights of my last deployment. We’d go into villages and bring them food, supplies, medicine. I’d bring a bag of candy with me to hand out to kids. It still amazes me that they’d run through snow with no shoes on just to get a Jolly Rancher. Then again, so would my kids. Then again, so would I …

Speaking of the family, Jennifer and I are struggling through communication missteps. The Internet connection here is pretty spotty, so we don’t get to email or instant message each other very much, let alone send photos or anything else. It sometimes takes me ten minutes to open a single email. Other times it can be pretty decent, but it means getting up at 2 in the morning. That’s the one thing that makes deployments easier. We don’t need more bingo games; we need bandwidth …

But when we have been able to talk, we’ve worked out a lot of issues. The time difference (8 ½ hours in Afghanistan) and distance away (a gazillion miles) only compound the usual difficulties that creep up in a relationship. I’m still learning how to be a husband and a dad, and fortunately, everyone has some advice. My “favorite” has been “the first year of marriage is the most difficult,” since Jennifer and I are spending most of ours away from each other …

In the meantime, I’m just trying to stay busy, as it helps the time pass faster. There are lots of good stories about Airmen out here, so I’m just trying to do what I can. And sometimes that means letting the aforementioned 80-pound Doggy of Doom chew on your arm …

Aliens!

I've decided that there's never going to be a 'normal' between now and the time that JG gets home. For one, things keep breaking. And although some of my friends would say that's par for the course, fixing what's broken on my own is not.

With every renovation project or appliance upgrade there's a whole new slue of problems to fix. Why do you think I've taken a break from the bathroom remodel? What if, in the process of replacing the water stoppage valves, I accidentally bust the hose and a plumber needs to come out? Aliens!

And why are Aliens relevant? Well, I always prepare for the worst case scenario complete with backup plans and the need to talk out every possible option for each way things may go array. Usually, by time I get to Plan C, JG will will make the comment "and what if the Aliens come?"

The latest thing to break? The computer chair. It now looks like a lounge chair. I'm typing with perfect posture though.

In addition to things breaking, the kids started school Monday and two weeks before that they started karate. So, that has impacted our weekly routine significantly. In addition to making sure the kids are clean, fed and clothed, I've added getting to karate lessons on time and making sure homework is done each night. Even before these changes, it was, and continues to be, a huge challenge to get out the door on time each morning. On the upside, the kids are busier so they should have less time to dwell on how much they are missing their dad.

I've decided not to ride the metro while JG is deployed. The old routine was to drop the kids off at daycare, drive to the Franconia-Springfield Metro Station, park, catch a train, transfer from the blue to orange line at Rosslyn, take the orange line west to Ballston (heard as Boston to anyone not familiar with the DC Metro), right to my office building. This daily 2.25-hour commute is now only an hour and a half a day thanks to driving. It also gives me a chance to listen to our wedding CD. So, forgoing the metro subsidy I've been paying $95.00 a month for parking at work.

Even the status of my ankle recovery has changed. (For those of you who don't know, I broke both right leg bones down low into the ankle in April 2007 while deployed to Iraq. I've had a total of five surgeries, two of which JG has been with me for within the last year.) My orthopedic surgeon released me from his care last week and my physical therapist said that I've had enough improvement to finally begin the walk-to-run program as I continue physical therapy! For the first time since the original break I've just now been able to put enough pressure on the ball of my foot to gain momentum for the next step. Maybe there's hope for high heels after all?

Lots of little things about my routine has changed. And I'm reminded of this every time JG and I chat online or talk on the phone. There's also a growing amount of frustration on my part which I think can only come from being an active-duty spouse coupled with an unfair double standard. In a general sense, I feel that I'm expected to share every detail about what's going on in my life, with the kids and with the household, however, when I ask 'how was your day' or 'what do you have going on' I get the equivalent of one-word responses. When in reality, if JG said he was covering a particular unit or shadowing a certain subject matter expert or conducting interviews all morning that would be relevant and I would feel like I'm included in knowing about his day-to-day. I don't feel like we are sharing equally with one another. This bothers me.

I find it hard not to get upset when he asks about what's going on at home. Not only do I feel like I'm being deprived of knowing what's going on in his world, he's also making it known how he would do things differently in mine. Am I reading into questions like "how come the car isn't fixed yet?" or "what have you done on the bathroom this week?" and "You're making the kids write every day, right?" or "it looks like you're going out to eat a lot lately. Why?" and "Isn't parking and gas expensive?" Maybe. I try not to let this bother me because I know this makes him feel like he's still involved. My life here is predicable. He knows what my job, for the most part, entails. He knows I work and the boys are in school Monday-Friday. He knows the boys go to karate classes Tuesday nights and again Saturdays. He knows the weekends are spent trying to catch up on chores and getting ready for the next week.

So, no, I'm not content saying to myself like so many civilian spouses that "my husband is deployed so he's really, really busy, but I'll get to hear all about it when he gets home!" We share the exact profession. Knowing what he's doing matters to me. And knowing that he's taking just a few moments to share with me matters even more.

From living both sides of a deployment, being deployed is much easier to deal with. You can be a workaholic without guilt, you only have to worry about your own primal needs and the time passes much, much quicker. Yes, it sucks missing out on your family and I'm not trying to belittle that fact - it comes at a cost. But, while deployed, you're not shouldering the weight of the house and running everything in it while maintaining your own career and doing the home station mission.

So please, if you see the Aliens, tell them to stop breaking our stuff so I can concentrate on more important things.