Planes, Bikes and a Whiny Mom

Even though I usually enjoy my daily bike commute, for some reason Mark's suggestion to take a family ride simply felt exhausting this weekend. I whined for about 24 hours before I realized how ridiculous I sounded. So on the following morning, after I needlessly agonized over clothing selections (who looks good in cycling gear anyway?) we hooked up the trailer and took the kids down to Gravelly Point. The park, located 400 feet north of Reagan National Airport was once a landfill and is now a hugely popular stopping point along the Mount Vernon Trail. Trip Advisor ranks it 8th out of 32 Arlington attractions, even if there have been rat-sightings near the rocky shores of the Roaches Run Waterfowl Sanctuary.  But the huge grassy field, people watching, and plane sightings more than make up for it. Planes fly directly overhead onto the runway, sometimes as low as 100 feet and as often as every two minutes. 

Deets' reaction was extraordinary. He howled, cheered, and danced around; He climbed onto the picnic table trying to get just a little bit closer. Margo, though slightly confused chimed in too, affected by his enthusiasm. Before long he was mimicking the scene from Wayne's World, laying down on the table letting the planes come to him. I hadn't seem him that happy in a long time. It put my earlier protestations to shame and I resolved to pull my bike shorts out of the tight crevice I stuffed them into. As good as a hiding spot as I think it is.

Okay, okay- keep looking up!

Flag Day: A Story Involving a Vibrating Phone and a Prostate

Last week the latest A-100 group enjoyed a snow packed Flag Day. I spent some time chatting with spouses about their fantasy posts, dreaded posts, and realistically-this-is-what-we-will-get-posts. They shared their strategies on how they ranked their listed countries, many of which were identical to how Mark and I did it three years ago: preference based on job availability, departure date, and whether there would be required use of wearing leotards, fishnet stockings, and pasties.

It got me thinking about my experience with Mark's Flag Day and it occurred to me I never wrote my story. At the time, I was Nurse Manager running busy urology clinic in DC. While it was a rewarding job, it was very demanding and it left me unable to take time off for the big announcement. Not really a big deal in the whole scheme of things, but as we all know, bidding takes an inordinate amount of obsession and strategizing. Even if it makes a difference or not...

The patient obediently laid on the exam table, clothed only in a giant hospital gown and a pair of socks. In the urology office, they always wore socks; as if to retain any shred of dignity during examinations. I can't really blame them considering what little else we had on offer: a crappy paper pillow, a cold uncomfortable exam table that held the bodies of countless half naked men, and an impending anal probing.  Rolling onto his left side with his knees tucked, the doctor snapped on his latex gloves and lubed up the ultrasound wand. I stood there assisting when I felt my scrub pants buzzing. This was the moment of truth: a prostate exam and biopsy would determine the patient's path and the vibrating cell phone would determine mine. I'd been nervous all day, worried about missing the important phone call and stress sweating through my scrubs while I hustled patients in and out of the clinic. Of course my destiny would have to wait a few more minutes.

The doctor did his thing, checking out the patient's prostate and firing off several rounds of the biopsy gun. In less than 10 minutes he was finished, murmuring something about next week's follow up and was out the door onto the next patient. I stayed with my patient helping him get cleaned up and dressed. Bending over to put his pants on, the man sheepishly asked if this was just another typical day for me, manhandling scared men and their prostates? I jokingly told him absolutely, except that I was more gentle. Only after I bagged up the specimens, saw him off safely and sanitized the room did I dare to look at my phone. At first I thought I'd have a terrible time getting ahold of Mark since he was likely in the throes of celebration and congratulatory backslaps. But then I realized he never called me in the first place. I got a text message. A text message, that would reveal our first two year posting in the Foreign Service. I mean, really?! A text?! Jerk.

And so the anticlimactic realization read: "Bucharest, Nov 2011" and nothing else. This meant ten more months of pee soaked stories and erectile dysfunction teaching moments, ten more months of living in DC, ten more months of language and additional training for Mark. Well okay then. It wasn't a bad thing. My job challenged me everyday, our son enjoyed day care and Mark's career was just beginning. It was simply not what we expected since his "people" hinted at our "very likely overseas move to happen in a month or two" and it was "very likely we'd be heading to Algiers." 

It wasn't the first time we'd hear disappointing news and not the last either. All in all, we knew it would be an incredible adventure. What was your Flag Day story?

Bike Commuting in VA

After two weeks of spousal deliberation, Mark and I decided that I will forgo potential nursing employment for sake of a full time Portuguese language course. It wasn't an easy decision to make considering future car purchases/registration/shipping fees. And preschool. And student loans. And phone bills. And food. Just good ol' life getting in the way of my dream of slathering sunscreen on a meat-and-rum-slinging Brazilian beach boy. It's okay though, I always have enjoyed public transportation and bicycling out here. In fact, I sometimes feel hard core. When other parents get out of their warm toasty cars, wearing fancy pea coats and fur trimmed gloves, I pedal into the school parking lot with my windbreaker pants, butt-frilled neon jacket, and lobster gloves. Oh, and my giant bank robbery balaclava, wool beanie and helmet. I AM fashion. And fashion is danger. People literally turn their heads to see this lithe babe trucking down Arlington Boulevard at 15 MPH:

Wanna tap that? I thought so.

I am as graceful as they say...

As if my commuting attire wasn't bad enough, I managed to take embarrassing to a whole new level the other day. Parents watched on as I walked out of school with Margo and Deets by my side. While lecturing Deets to not eat the Magic Wizard Rock Salt off the ground, Margo took this opportunity to gleefully sprint into the parking lot.  Though she was in no immediate danger, I had a childhood flashback of running into traffic at the King Soopers parking lot. It resulted in considerable amounts of well deserved guilt-ridden reprimanding. I grabbed her and turned my attention back to Deets who had picked up a 7 foot PVC pole. He was pretending to fish for octopi (that's right he uses the proper plural) but lost control and smacked the pole into a classroom window, startling everyone inside. I waved an apology and got the heck out of there with a now loudly protesting daughter strapped into the trailer.

One of the many amusing toys at school.
Deets also enjoys gravel clod ice cubes and broken tree branches.

Loudly protesting daughter

The good news about riding bike with a trailer is I generally can listen to the babble of my children, or totally ignore them especially if they are whining about being confined. I almost made it home when the most horrific noise begin to follow me. The kids began to match the noise, screaming at me to make it stop and the faster I pedaled, the louder it got. I thought maybe I was dragging discarded antlers or picked up someone's broken muffler! Looking over my shoulder I realized the flag holder on the back of the trailer wore through and my safety flag was dragging along the road.

"Only 500 feet to our apartment," I yelled to the kids, determined to get us home. An SUV pulled up beside me, rubbernecking something fierce. He slowed down just enough to stack up honking cars behind him before he decided I wasn't worth the time and stepped on the gas sending exhaust into my face. Rounding the corner to turn left into our parking lot, another car made a wide turn around me with the driver shouting over the scraping, screaming and honking: "You broke your flag pole! Your flag stick is dragging! Hey! IT'S THE STICK!"

She even threw her arm out the window pointing to my rear end situation as if I was totally unaware...then she tried to drive around me in the turn lane, the crazy blow bag. What nerve. I had the right of way dagnabit and was already in front of her. I tried to yell this at her, but I doubt she heard me behind my scuba suit. So instead she was forced to hit the brakes and merge back into the proper lane to avoid hitting the curb. Or me and the kids. <insert deep sigh>. But we made it home without incident.

Note to self: buy duck tape to fix safety-flag-pole-holder. And possibly consider getting a bull horn.

Mindful on Metro

Earlier this month, Kate Pickert wrote Time Magazine's feature article "The Mindful Revolution" on  calming our overstressed, overstimulated minds with relaxation exercises that hone in on meditation and  focusing on tasks at hand. She describes her experience with eating a single raisin but not before scrutinizing the texture, weight and color; the whole point being to really be present with her small snack. With our obsession of multitasking, practicing mindfulness can simultaneously be frustrating and useful to help us figure out what's really important. Be present, because you never know what you could miss.

I read the article while listening to Liza Minelli on my headphones and sitting on Metro. The irony didn't escape me but there was no way I could peacefully read that article at home with my children. I decided there was no time like the present to be well, present. Noting my mild motion sickness from reading, I stuffed the article in my bag and turned off my music: a young teen behind me was killing his ear drums listening to lavish death metal; a man in front of me was uncontrollably coughing up lung particles (mouth wide open with his tongue hanging out).  For some reason it reminded me of the time I got stuck between two stops and a woman took her shoes and socks off to clip her toe nails; like the man spreading his airborne disease, I felt trapped, unable to escape. So I closed my eyes to listen to the cars roll over the tracks. Then I missed my stop.

Today's attempt to be mindful on Metro was especially enjoyable because I got to overhear a puzzling conversation between a young woman and her gentleman coworker. Miss Redcoat, (whose name I later learned was Katie) told her buddy that she had zero interest in anything related to the Olympics. Unless, of course it involved ice skating. As a young girl, "like all girls do" she fantasized about wearing a sparkly leotard and winning the gold. But no- she didn't waste her time watching them, and oh by the way- "the Olympics are on now?" Where does she live? Under a rock?

Somehow the conversation steered to Katie's future childbearing years:  "Sure I want kids, but I don't want girls. They are too bitchy and expensive. I will name my boys Asa and Beauregard because having a common name is the worst. I just hated being called Katie B. in class." Yeah, kids can be so cruel Katie BEEEE. Then the conversation petered to an end with her sigh in resignation that she would not be going out tonight since she had her Pilates class. Remember when we were single and had to make those horrible choices too? Damn.

I think being mindful on Metro is going to be a valuable practice.