We're watching this week's episode of CSI. During the episode, Laurence Fishburne's character consults with "Dr. Stewart," AKA Simon the Cylon doctor from Battlestar Galactica.
After yelling "GET OUT, HE'S A FRAKING TOASTER," we started wondering -- in a one-on-one smackdown between Morpheus and a Cylon, who would win?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
My denial closet
After being here five months (feels like so much less) we finally had friends come to town for Presidents' Day weekend. Of course, there's still a few boxes left unpacked, so last week was a flurry of organizing, putting storage totes in closets and moving far too much "I don't need this today, but maybe someday" stuff to the attic. I thought we'd given away or sold a lot before we left Newport, but our attic knows differently.
After putting it off far too long, I finally had to confront the pile of infant gear that ended up stacked in the guest room closet. A car seat, a swing, a bouncer seat and a bathtub. Every time I try to make a decision about storing these items or getting rid of them, I have to think about when we're likely to have another child -- the one we'd hoped to have already.
Even though husbands of military members are getting more visible, this is an issue not often addressed. Pregnant women aren't allowed on sea duty (for good reason); therefore, a conscientious female line officer has very short windows available to have kids while maintaining her career path. In our case, Ruth's convoluted career path gave us our first "window" in our mid 30s ... and we may not have another chance before we're too old to be comfortable having more biological children.
I've all but stopped talking about our pending China adoption. As of the first week of March, our dossier will have been in the pile at CCAA for two years. At the rate adoptions from China are moving right now, before we get a referral Theo will likely be in school every day and Ruth at least two duty stations removed from her current command. Of course, we keep hearing that referrals are likely to speed up. I've filed those rumors under "believe it when i see it." Even if referrals do speed up, it's pretty much impossible for ours to happen this year ... and next year would still be a miracle in my book.
So, we figure we'll pursue another adoption, domestic this time, between now and then. But then the more I look into this option, the more I'm reminded of why we chose China in the first place. I'm not the constantly anxious kid I used to be, but uncertainty can still put me into a stomach-churning panic, and adoption, at least for us, is all about uncertainty.
All of this flies through my mind every time I look at that pile of infant gear with no easy conclusion or resolution. Rationally, I should be selling or giving it all away, right? After all, as I've just proved, there's not going to be anyone in the house who can use it this year, and without mental adjustments on my part and a sudden shift in our fortunes, probably not in 2010 either.
But then I tell myself that's just me giving up. Because despite what we want, part of me is giving up. I'm starting to look at local preschools for Theo and at the same time, I started talking to my old supervisor last week for advice about my next career moves. Keeping the infant gear is my hopeful side's way of trying to spite that part of me that's giving up, holding on to the idea that there will be a baby in this house and not our next who-knows-where house.
So I stared at that pile of gear a while. Then I pulled down the attic stairs and moved it all up. I guess that's me striking a blow for hope. Or, my inner pessimist reminds me, just another way of not making a decision at all. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
It's that much harder because we are so happy. I'm still stupid in love with my wife and we marvel every day that we have the best little boy in the world. But I see the older kids in the neighborhood (right now, having moved to a block where it seems everyone has at least 3-5 kids is just rubbing it in) or see Theo interact with other kids and I know we should have more.
But time will tell. We are happy now, grateful for having so much more than we deserve and we will be happy later, no matter where we find ourselves. Like the rest of life, so much of this is out of our hands.
After putting it off far too long, I finally had to confront the pile of infant gear that ended up stacked in the guest room closet. A car seat, a swing, a bouncer seat and a bathtub. Every time I try to make a decision about storing these items or getting rid of them, I have to think about when we're likely to have another child -- the one we'd hoped to have already.
Even though husbands of military members are getting more visible, this is an issue not often addressed. Pregnant women aren't allowed on sea duty (for good reason); therefore, a conscientious female line officer has very short windows available to have kids while maintaining her career path. In our case, Ruth's convoluted career path gave us our first "window" in our mid 30s ... and we may not have another chance before we're too old to be comfortable having more biological children.
I've all but stopped talking about our pending China adoption. As of the first week of March, our dossier will have been in the pile at CCAA for two years. At the rate adoptions from China are moving right now, before we get a referral Theo will likely be in school every day and Ruth at least two duty stations removed from her current command. Of course, we keep hearing that referrals are likely to speed up. I've filed those rumors under "believe it when i see it." Even if referrals do speed up, it's pretty much impossible for ours to happen this year ... and next year would still be a miracle in my book.
So, we figure we'll pursue another adoption, domestic this time, between now and then. But then the more I look into this option, the more I'm reminded of why we chose China in the first place. I'm not the constantly anxious kid I used to be, but uncertainty can still put me into a stomach-churning panic, and adoption, at least for us, is all about uncertainty.
All of this flies through my mind every time I look at that pile of infant gear with no easy conclusion or resolution. Rationally, I should be selling or giving it all away, right? After all, as I've just proved, there's not going to be anyone in the house who can use it this year, and without mental adjustments on my part and a sudden shift in our fortunes, probably not in 2010 either.
But then I tell myself that's just me giving up. Because despite what we want, part of me is giving up. I'm starting to look at local preschools for Theo and at the same time, I started talking to my old supervisor last week for advice about my next career moves. Keeping the infant gear is my hopeful side's way of trying to spite that part of me that's giving up, holding on to the idea that there will be a baby in this house and not our next who-knows-where house.
So I stared at that pile of gear a while. Then I pulled down the attic stairs and moved it all up. I guess that's me striking a blow for hope. Or, my inner pessimist reminds me, just another way of not making a decision at all. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
It's that much harder because we are so happy. I'm still stupid in love with my wife and we marvel every day that we have the best little boy in the world. But I see the older kids in the neighborhood (right now, having moved to a block where it seems everyone has at least 3-5 kids is just rubbing it in) or see Theo interact with other kids and I know we should have more.
But time will tell. We are happy now, grateful for having so much more than we deserve and we will be happy later, no matter where we find ourselves. Like the rest of life, so much of this is out of our hands.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
When being "annoying home brewing guy" pays off
The highlight of our weekend with friends near Philly was their (always huge) Super Bowl party. We've been at the party so many years now, we're fixtures along with the hot wings and pigs in blankets. As always, it was a great time, as evidenced by my disinterest in eating a full meal the next day.
This year my friends are in a new house, so I met some of their new neighbors for the first time. I ended up in the kitchen with the folks from next door, watching on the smaller TV -- I end up there a lot, because figure it puts me closer to the food and the "kitchen folks" usually aren't rooting one way or the other and want to talk about topics in addition to the game.
When I mentioned to my friends that I would try to make some beer for next year's party, their next-door neighbors started asking about the process -- so I went into all the details of boiling the wort and hops, adding the yeast and watching the beer ferment and age before finally bottling it. It's always a fine line between satisfying the genuine interest of someone who doesn't know how brewing works ... or being "that home brewing guy" who gets too technical and has nothing to talk about but his home brew.
When I talked about bottling, the neighbors mentioned a bottle of hooch that a friend had brought to their Christmas party. "It's a HUGE bottle, I think it was some sort of ale. It was less than half full, but still plenty for all of us and very good." They tried to indicate the approximate size of the bottle through hand gestures, but really only narrowed down the volume to something between 16 ounces and three gallons. I don't know if it was the amount I'd drank, but I really couldn't visualize what they could be talking about.
"It has a kind of a cork that sits down in the neck. If you think you could use it, we can have our son bring it over. We were thinking of putting flowers in it, but I think we're just going to recycle it."
What do I have to lose, then? I figured it was probably a decorative liqueur or champagne bottle of some sort and that with a little luck, I could get it cleaned and figure out how to cap it appropriately.
So, when their son brought in this bottle, imagine my surprise and shock and UTTER JOY. The smaller bottle is a regular 12 oz beer bottle, for scale:
So what the hell is the mystery bottle? It's a 101 oz (approx. .8 gallons) gate-cap bottle that previously held Tröegs seasonal Mad Elf. (Which sounds yummy enough to hunt some down.)
This bottle is already making me happy three ways -- I can avoid the hassle of capping at least 8 bottles of beer during my next brewing session (conditioning in that bottle will take quite a while, but I'm a patient guy). I've promised that in exchange for the gift, I'll be bringing the bottle back to the neighbors sometime filled with brew -- so we get an excuse for another party! Woo-hoo!
The best news? This happy incident has motivated me to get brewing again, however difficult it's going to be with my current electric stove setup. I cooked some starter wort today and pitched some yeast that will hopefully be happy yeast within the next day or so, which would leave me ready to brew by the weekend.
If my yeasties are dead (sadly, this is the more likely scenario) then I'll be putting in an order with Midwest sooner rather than later...
This year my friends are in a new house, so I met some of their new neighbors for the first time. I ended up in the kitchen with the folks from next door, watching on the smaller TV -- I end up there a lot, because figure it puts me closer to the food and the "kitchen folks" usually aren't rooting one way or the other and want to talk about topics in addition to the game.
When I mentioned to my friends that I would try to make some beer for next year's party, their next-door neighbors started asking about the process -- so I went into all the details of boiling the wort and hops, adding the yeast and watching the beer ferment and age before finally bottling it. It's always a fine line between satisfying the genuine interest of someone who doesn't know how brewing works ... or being "that home brewing guy" who gets too technical and has nothing to talk about but his home brew.
When I talked about bottling, the neighbors mentioned a bottle of hooch that a friend had brought to their Christmas party. "It's a HUGE bottle, I think it was some sort of ale. It was less than half full, but still plenty for all of us and very good." They tried to indicate the approximate size of the bottle through hand gestures, but really only narrowed down the volume to something between 16 ounces and three gallons. I don't know if it was the amount I'd drank, but I really couldn't visualize what they could be talking about.
"It has a kind of a cork that sits down in the neck. If you think you could use it, we can have our son bring it over. We were thinking of putting flowers in it, but I think we're just going to recycle it."
What do I have to lose, then? I figured it was probably a decorative liqueur or champagne bottle of some sort and that with a little luck, I could get it cleaned and figure out how to cap it appropriately.
So, when their son brought in this bottle, imagine my surprise and shock and UTTER JOY. The smaller bottle is a regular 12 oz beer bottle, for scale:
So what the hell is the mystery bottle? It's a 101 oz (approx. .8 gallons) gate-cap bottle that previously held Tröegs seasonal Mad Elf. (Which sounds yummy enough to hunt some down.)
This bottle is already making me happy three ways -- I can avoid the hassle of capping at least 8 bottles of beer during my next brewing session (conditioning in that bottle will take quite a while, but I'm a patient guy). I've promised that in exchange for the gift, I'll be bringing the bottle back to the neighbors sometime filled with brew -- so we get an excuse for another party! Woo-hoo!
The best news? This happy incident has motivated me to get brewing again, however difficult it's going to be with my current electric stove setup. I cooked some starter wort today and pitched some yeast that will hopefully be happy yeast within the next day or so, which would leave me ready to brew by the weekend.
If my yeasties are dead (sadly, this is the more likely scenario) then I'll be putting in an order with Midwest sooner rather than later...
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