I AM A PERFECT MOM!

We grew up hearing the phrase, “Nobody’s perfect.”  I hear mom’s tell their children that all the time.  I, on the other hand, have always told my kids that they are “perfect, just the way [they] are.”  I make no bones about that.  I think they are perfect…even though they don’t always act perfect, or succeed the first time, or do something that’s far from the standard definition of perfect each and every time.  They are perfect.  I never want them to feel that they aren’t good enough or smart enough or pretty enough, blah, blah, blah.  When they start to feel that way is when they start to change who they are to fit into others definition, and not their own. 

                Yet, I never say that is to myself.  I rarely, if ever...actually never, feel that way.  On a daily basis, I feel that I am making mistakes or somehow screwing them up.  I feel less than perfect.  I’m constantly doubting myself as a mother.  Did I say that the wrong way?  Should I have not said that?  Should I do this, or do that?  Every parent doubts themselves and their abilities, right?  

                Recently, I encountered a someone so far from perfect…I wouldn’t even consider her a good mother…as a matter of fact, I would put her so far into the “bad mother” category I don’t know if she could ever find her way out of the hole she has created for herself.  That’s not to say or suggest that she doesn’t love her kids…I’m confident that she does.  Unfortunately, she’s someone who doesn’t realize that selfishness comes in different forms; the kind that doesn’t hurt anyone else and then the kind that does.  It hurts the ones that a mother is supposed to protect and nurture.   Her level of selfishness is clearly hurting her kids…irreversibly damaging them.  

I know, I know…I shouldn’t judge.  It’s hard not to when you witness the suffering and hurt that she is responsible for causing her children to experience; all because she can’t get her crap together.  The children are constantly seeking the attention that she refuses to give to them.  They are rarely ever spoken to, and when they are it’s in a raised and irritated voice, or she’s trying to find some way to occupy them just to get them out of her hair.  You can tell by the way she acts…she is constantly annoyed, by their presence alone.  I am sad for those kids, because they are good, sweet, smart kids.  That's not what this is actually about...it's not about them; this is about me...and how I view myself as a mom. 

 It wasn’t until I met her that I realized just how great of a mother I really am.  I shouldn't waste my time, or my children's time, worrying about whether or not I'm doing everything right...because I am!  I’m not trying to “toot my own horn”; I don’t mean it that way.  I just now see that I am doing everything I can possibly do to raise my children to feel loved and encouraged, protected and nurtured.  I have a passion for my children.  While I have my moments, I listen to them and talk with them, not to them.  While I have my moments, I play with them and watch them play.  While I have my moments, I encourage them into things that interest them and occasionally I join them.  While I have my moments, I show them the best way and watch them make their own way, often better and smarter.  While I have my moments, I teach them what I know and watch them learn on their own.  While I have my moments, I expose them to the things I can and answer their questions as best as I can.  I may not be perfect all of the time, but I am a perfect mom.  Why?  Because I do!  I do the best I can and try harder and harder every day.  I listen.  I watch.  I learn.  I do.  

 I AM A PERFECT MOM! I am achieving PERFECT, every day! 

I’m Not Even Supposed to Be Here Today! by Steve

                So there I sat, as our small group slowly was picked up or continued to wait.  I did tell them that I’d be in like 40 minutes ago, right?  Well, how do I call that number again…slightly less bad connection this time…the voice on the other end of the line produced a string of expletives and rapidly utter comments about losing track of time…half muffled instructions to someone else…and assurances of a rapid pick-up.  Hmmm, wonder how long it’ll take em to drive here, what kind of vehicle am I looking for?  Hope it isn’t one of these folks already sitting in the parking lot and I’ve just missed a link-up by mere feet…oh, no, that’s not the case.  One young female E-5 sergeant comes wandering up from my left past a series of national flags…uh, where’s the ride?  After introductions, I stow my four duffel bags of assorted weighty crap in a rack with chain available for securing (it has always entertained me how we, in the military, lock up cloth duffle bags with bulky master locks to prevent pilfering, which I suppose would be a sound theory if it wasn’t possible to just gut the side of a cloth duffle bag with a knife and take whatever you want)….and away we…walk?

          

      She hands me a temporary badge and in we go directly into ISAF Joint Command HQ (IJC; reference again love of acronyms within acronym fetishes) about 100 yards away.  Now mind you, less than a week ago I had specifically asked my branch manager if I was still going to ISAF as agreed…we agreed on me being and ISAF planner, but my WIAS tasker says USFOR-A.  “Of course,” was the response, “USFOR-A just owns the people.”  What he failed to mention was that he considered IJC part of ISAF, one in the same.  That’s correct, isn’t it?  Well, not exactly…the International Security Assistance Force Headquarters would be the four star headquarters with the entire command of the coalition forces in Afghanistan and that commands relationship with NATO and the rest of the world.  ISAF Joint Command (IJC) is the three star headquarters (primarily filled with a U.S. conventional corps headquarters) that owns the coalition combat forces in Afghanistan focused down and in with the detail of operations in Afghanistan.  “Machts Nichts” you might say, “you’re getting what you want, a joint assignment (fingers crossed), deployed, and NATO/ISAF experience.”  True, but I’ll give you my two cents about why I would have rather been at ISAF.  

Although everyone at IJC says, “oh, you don’t want to be at ISAF”; I have been assigned/worked in/for three two or three star headquarters, even with the differences at IJC, I feel like I’ve checked this block.  The first task that I was introduced to involved counting troops in Afghanistan down to the individual and into the future, not exactly high-order thinking; and most importantly, IJC comes in as a set package; 3^rd Corps currently to be replaced soon by 18^th Airborne Corps.  I am already an outsider; the personnel assigned to 3^rd Corps come in together and then the SAMS individuals come in after being classmates for 10 months.  18^th ABC will also come in largely already set and then augmented by various individuals and a package of SAMS grads…I anticipate that I will be an relative outsider through the extent of my tour…but when it comes down to it, work is work, and one year is one year.  Both organizations are new to me, so I will learn a lot, get exposure to NATO/Coalition operations, and reset my dwell time with joint qualification as a bonus.  Beggars can’t be choosers, but I guarantee my branch manager realized quickly that I wasn’t 100% pleased, and responded with “I hope you didn’t think this was a bait-and-switch.”  I don’t necessarily blame him, but he probably should have known/kept me informed.  This reinforces my adage about the military in general: “the only person looking out for you and your career is you.”

                So starts in-processing: I meet the man who refers to himself as “The One” and he begins to in-process me.  First friction point:  you’re going to be here at IJC.  Oh well, I did break the number one rule in the military: “don’t volunteer for nuthin’”.   Second friction point:  this says you’re going to a SAMS planner job, but you’re not SAMS…uh, yeah, we all knew that going in.  Third friction point:  you say you’re going to a slot that DA has been delinquent in filling for five months, but there is still a guy in it for the next month.  Well isn’t this interesting.  At least I know my fate, and my final destination; I have come home.  The guy I am replacing is over to pick me up in short order, and we are off to start in-processing (always fun with the military).  Most interesting piece of information is my release date…that’s right, I now have a tangible goal to work toward…I know, I know, my goal should be mission accomplishment, or professional development, or something much more glorious and noble…sorry, in this type of assignment, the day of the 20^th of October 2014 is my immediate personal goal, and it’s now what I will plan towards.

                As we step off smartly to get lodging, linen, badges, and computer systems working, it becomes readily apparent to me that I am in my fourth straight day of travel, having had one shower, two shaves, and taken my boots off one evening when I actually made it into a bed.  My feet are a little throbby from hours of time on planes and waiting and now burn as I walk.  I remind myself that I used to be an infantryman who would operate for a month or more without showering in squalid conditions, but it always seemed better and more appropriate when I was in the woods.  As my first day draws to a close, I get an opportunity to sit down with my new boss, however temporary he may be.  During the conversation I am intimately aware that I’m sporting a 23 o’clock shadow and smell like the last passenger seat I sat in mixed with the smell of old leather shoes.  He welcomes me to the team and we discover that we closely crossed paths in Fort Riley, Kansas.  I also discover that his boss is someone who I’ve run into in the Army, including at Fort Riley, whom I’ve always respected.  Then he drops the next interesting note; “Welcome to Kabul, we’re going to send you to Brunssum in a week.”

                First question in my mind, what’s a Brunssum.  That would become evident fairly quickly, although I did spend half of a day nodding as if I knew what everyone was talking about, but then I discovered that NATO has several Joint Force Commands of their own, one at Brunssum in the Netherlands (JFC-BS)….I was going to Europe for Temporary DutY (TDY) from Afghanistan…well now, hasn’t the world turned on its head.

                The day ends meeting a new roommate in a dorm-like room in a two story barracks with a 7:15 am link-up time the next morning with my officemates for breakfast and work….

Traveling with the Army as a Travel Agent: Part Deux by Steve

I distinctly remember landing at Kuwait International Airport (KIA), the end of a Christmas Day journey in 2001, and thinking to myself, “every time they fly to the Middle East in a movie, like Indiana Jones, they always here the call to prayer, where’s my call to prayer?”  Only to gradually regret that thought as I spent a collective 25 hours over the next four days sitting in the KIA security office.  I heard more than my share of the calls to prayer as we worked through the paperwork to allow our weapons into the country.

At the end of yet another bus ride, we arrived at Camp Arifjan.  Camp Arifjan is actually a new locale for me, I had previously lived in Kuwait for three months when Camp Doha had been the prime hub, so it was a new experience.  Rolling in sometime after midnight, we were briefed and in-processed.  Of course the briefing consisted 80% of “you must wear your reflective belt even though no vehicles can drive here” and 20% “this is what is about to happen to you”.  We were released to find our bags and be back at 5:30 am.  At least they had a 24 hr Starbucks and Hardy’s.  I decided to pass on the 1 am triple bacon cheese burger and went with a cream cheese Danish and coffee instead.  I’ve always loved the “you’re here, we have facilities, but we’re not going to give you the opportunity to use them because we will find a way to make the process of getting a bunk so arduous that you won’t have time to do it all” briefings that every stop seems to give.  Weapons checked into theater, my first shave in days, and it was “sit on duffle bag” time until we got back on the buses.

Next stop, Ali Al Saleem Airbase.  One of my old frequent haunts that just used to be a small speck in the desert.  I remember when one airman in a container office on a 90 day deployment (yeah, that’s how the air farce rolls) used to run all of the movement out of this airbase into Afghanistan. Since the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq increased significantly in scale since ‘02, it has become a mini-metropolis.  Check in; flight at 7 am the next morning and it’s a much needed day in one spot with a bed and blanket…even a dining facility, gym, exchange, and pizza place.  Able to Face Time the family and grab a shower then we were ready to continue.  

This is where the Air Force became my air carrier.  C-17 ride ready to go.  C-17s used to be the key ride into and in theater, as often they are loaded with random cargo in the middle and seats along the outside; when a civilian carrier wouldn’t allow you to turn on your electronic devices, the inside of a mixed load C-17 becomes a free-for-all of soldiers finding floor space to lay out their poncho liner and go to sleep.  Sure it’s a little noisy and cold, but I’ll take the freedom of stretching out on a long flight over the drink cart and a bad meal any day.  Unfortunately this was a pax pure flight which had seat pallets occupying all of that lovely stretch space.

One of the neat features of “Ali Ali Oxen Free” are the French built Kuwaiti “bomb-proof” airplane hangars.  Since ’90-’91 each one of them has one neat penetration in the top courtesy of the USofA, so much for being bomb proof…even funnier is the small cement and sand-bad structure next to each that act as a bunker for ground crews to hide in while under attack…hello, you’re right next to a big-a** bunker with a large hole in it…if it didn’t survive, what makes you think your cute little Lincoln-Log playpen will?

The C-17 made a straight haul into Kandahar Airfield at 6:08 pm…what, wait a second, I need to go north to Bagram.   At least some seats were freed up with the 2 hour stop.  Now, another hop, and it’s finally off to Bagram arriving at 8:10 pm.  

“Well little Bagram, you’ve grown since I’ve seen you last in 2002, I remember when you were just a little toddler airfield…scrapped Soviet fighters still on the perimeter, unexploded ordinance everywhere, people massed into dusty tents that would tear and blow away in your wind, and cans of soda spontaneously exploding in the summer heat…even since I saw you in 2006 when you had buildings and air conditioning and had really started to fill in.  Now you’re full grown, almost bursting with stuff and containers and living quarters; I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Now at Bagram, flight availability was unclear but those of us going to Kabul knew there was a chance at 7:30 am.  What to do, what to do?…some chow, a little time in the USO trying to sleep in a leather chair and waking up feeling even worse while a movie played way to loud right next to my seat…it was only insult to injury when they finally turned the TV down after I had moved.  

7:30 pans out (barely under the allowable weight), and I was headed for my first STOL flight.  As we sat and waited to board, I did manage a phone call to the only point-of-contact (POC) I had in theater, and, through a very broken and static filled conversation, I understood that he would pick me up at the airport…whomever he, who answered the phone actually was.  As we moved to the aircraft, my impression was that this little two engine puddle jumper looked better suited to the Alaskan bush than to a war zone, but it reduced an hour plus drive (with a possibility of death or dismemberment) to a nine minute flight, theoretically, with fewer dangers.  

Up in a few feet and over the mountains.  All good fun until the automated plane voice starts chanting “Pull-up, Pull-up, Pull-up…” as we started our decent into Kabul.  Oh well, if we crash now at least I won’t have to spend a year in this hole.  It lands without incident, but now another leg of fun begins.  As much as I knew deploying here was that I was destined for Kabul, somewhere in ISAF (ISAF HQ, I assumed)…this was effectively the end of my knowledge base for future movement and at the end of common movement for our party that had been reduced to four folks headed for different but equally unknown futures.  It’s always nice to have a goal and companions, now I didn’t have either, but someone was coming to pick me up…right?...