What...what happened? How did we get here?

That is how I feel, as the last two weeks have been an absolute blur. Kai's picture sums it up well. A lot has been going on since Jan 17, so I'll try to keep things as organized as possible while I progress through the period of our life I will refer to as "The 'AHHHHHH!!!!1!*' Period (TAP).

Jan 17 - Present

I'll start with the events that have going on for the entirety of TAP as they set a good basis for the "A" in TAP. Hang with me through these less interesting parts, and I promise it will get better.

I am currently in the middle of two academic classes that are consuming the vast majority of my free time. The first class is COML 501: Methods of Organizational Research. It's an online graduate class that's part of Gonzaga's MA in Communication and Leadership. I won't go into much detail apart from the fact that it has required upwards of 300 pages of rather dry reading, a hypothesis formulation and a 12-page intro, literature review and hypothesis introduction.

The next class is really a bunch of classes put together, called Squadron Officer School. It's one of the Air Force's Professional Military Education requirements. There are two ways to complete SOS: in-residence or by correspondence. Completing it "in-residence" looks better on your military resume, but in order to get a slot to attend in-residence, you pretty much have to complete it by correspondence first. Slightly confused as to the logic of that? So am I. Whatever. When you enroll in the correspondence course, you are given one-year to complete it. My goal is 8 weeks. You know what they say: shoot for the moon...

Jan 17 - Jan 31
Now on to a smaller time frame. Despite the busyness of school, this was a pretty fun time as we were getting ready for Aiden's 3rd birthday. We had plans to drive up to Teaneck, NJ to go to the Children's Museum of NJ and to hang out with some good friends that we hadn't seen in a while. This was the first birthday where Aiden actually understood what was going on, so it was both hilarious and heart-breaking when he would tell us on a daily basis, "It's my birthday today. Can I open presents?" I think we ended up letting him open one on a particularly pathetic day, but it barely made a dent in the huge pile he had accumulated from family and friends.

The day prior to our leaving for Teaneck, Kate made Aiden's much anticipated cake. Initially, he had insisted on a sheet cake with a T-rex on top. He changed his mind short-notice to a rather complicated triceratops cake. Of course, Kate is Supermom, so she took on the challenge. The results were pretty amazing.

When all was said and done, the cake was eaten, presents were opened, Aiden had fun at the party, and Kate and I had a great time hanging out with good friends.

Feb 1
But all was not said and done. February 1 may have changed our lives forever.

(Note: Slight exaggeration may occur in the next few paragraphs)

On February 1, 2009, Kate and I decided that we would stop by Ikea on the way home from Teaneck to buy our son a new bed. It was his birthday, we had just received our tax refund, and we were sick of Aiden waking up in the middle of the night because he had whacked his head while rolling over. Seemed like the perfect time. As we entered the store, all felt right in the world. Nothing in particular had happened, that's just the way Ikea makes you feel. :::Siiiiigh:::

As we rode up the elevator to the showroom floor, Kate and I let out a collective squeal as we simultaneously spotted the sign for the "Ikea Children's Playplace" We had seen this wonderland last time we were at Ikea, but were not able to take advantage of it since Aiden wasn't potty-trained. But now, Aiden could pop-a-squat with the best of 'em, and we were about to embark on an Ikea adventure whilst our eldest son frolicked in the supervised gloriousness of twisting slides, tumbling mats and an oceanesque ball-pit.

One height measurement and a kiss later, Kate and I were free to roam the store with only sweet Kai, who is more like a miniature cherub than a human child, while our "spirited" boy dashed off towards Toddler Utopia. As we passed the large plate glass window looking into the playplace, I looked up to see Aiden do a perfect belly flop off a three-foot platform into the ballpit. He emerged with a look that can only be described as rapturous, and immediately made his way back to the platform for another go. Kate and I smiled, Kai gave us a look that said, "Finally, just the three of us. I promise to meet every expectation you have of me for this trip. If I get hungry, tired or deficate in my diaper, I will politely let you know my screwing up my nose and letting out the tiniest, closed-lipped whine" and we rounded the corner into the Ikea Children's Section.

Nothing of note occured in the next 45 minutes. We picked out a bed, mattress, a sweet tent canopy for the new bed, some shelves and a few little odds and ends that Ikea masterfully places around the store. At one point, a lady asked where we had picked up the beautiful angel sculpture. We explained that it was actually our son. She blushed and apologized, we smiled, Kai politely nodded and we went on our way.

When we picked up Aiden, his hair was a mess, his face was red and sweaty, and in a feat that would have confused any other parent, his shirt was on backwards and he was wearing some other kid's pants. Business as usual. As we cheerfully made our way to the downstairs showroom and furniture pick-up, we had no reason to suspect that our wonderful day had already begun to sour.

Once downstairs, we strolled through the meandering aisle that leads towards the checkout and through another few thousand square feet of amazing Ikea merchandise. Aiden was slightly worn out at this point, so I had him in one cart, and Kate was pushing Kai in another. When we arrived at the floor rug section of the showroom, I walked to the right of the aisle to browse the huge area rugs, and Kate veered off to the left to peruse some other treasures. Aiden was visably tired at this point, and it was then that he triggered the total ruin of our day with four little words:

"Daddy, I want Mommy."

"Sure, buddy," I replied, and I lifted him out of his seat and stood him on the floor. As he started off towards Kate, I turned and watched him to ensure he made it there safely. My eyes were not enough. As he approached the aisle, several things happened at once. First, Aiden went from walking to running. Second, I noticed that he was completely invisible to oncoming cart traffic as he was hidden behind a rather large table piled high with rugs. Third, Kate and I noticed that there was significant cart traffic. Fourth, we both yelled at Aiden to stop. Fifth, Aiden did not stop.

As Aiden bolted out into the aisle, he found himself face-to-face with a rather menacing looking Ikea shopping cart driven by a particularly dazed looking customer. (I do not blame the customer for what happens next. Ikea dazes us all.) Time slowed down. Aiden clenched his jaw and half-squatted in preparation for the attack. The shopping cart surged forward, knowing full-well that its sheer size and metal composition gave it a distinct advantage. Aiden, looking like a Spartan warrior in a backwards shirt and too small pants, engaged the enemy. The outcome was swift and definitive. Aiden used his eye to parlay the initial blow, but as he repositioned for a retalitory strike, the cart quickly redirected its attack to Aiden's rather vulnerable forehead. The sound of iron striking skin and bone filled the store and was quickly replaced by the agonized cries of the fallen warrior. Aiden had been defeated. The shopping cart and its driver laughed mercilessly and continued on in search of its next victim. (Not really, but me telling the lady it wasn't her fault and her profusely apologizing doesn't really add to the story.)

Aiden was crying fairly hard, but no harder than any other toddler would be after having their butt handed to them by a large metal object. He was holding his forehead, and I knelt down and gently removed his hand to see how large the bump was. There was no bump. At least, I couldn't see one under the blood that was smeared and streaming down his face. I quickly put my hand back on his forehead, and as calmly as a could said to Kate, "Um, he's bleeding quite a bit. Do you have a rag." Kate fished a cloth out of our diaper bag, and a rather nice older lady handed us a handful of wet wipes from a packet she was carrying around in her purse. As I held the rag on his head, I readied a wet wipe to clean away the blood and survey the real damage.

I must admit that from the amount of blood, I was prepared to see skull, multiple lacerations, or a piece of shopping cart embedded in his head. As a wiped the blood, my heart dropped...then soared. About two inches above and to the left of his left eye, there was a cut about a quarter-inch in length. I'd seen pimples that looked worse. It was still bleeding pretty bad, but I knew that some direct pressure would be enough to stop the flow. My heart then soared even higher. Not because the wound was minor, but because I realized that my son was both brave and a military genius.

When encountered with a more powerful adversary, Aiden's courage had led him to stand his ground and attempt battle. However, in the heat of battle and amidst the fog of war, he realized that his sound judgement had been overshadowed by his enthusiasm for a good fight. He then had the presence of mind to change strategy mid-attack. While his wound wasn't incapacitating, he knew the speed at which it had been afflicted was indication that he was facing a more dominant opponent, and that defeat was inevitable. He then quickly changed to a new stategy: deception. While the tactics of the shopping cart were brutal, Aiden knew that it would still maintain its honor in battle. Based on this, Aiden knew the cart would no doubt cease its attack if it felt it had achieved victory. He was correct. All it took was a flop and a scream, and the cart ended the attack and went on its way.

As I picked my bloodied warrior up off the floor, I said, "I'm so proud of you, buddy. You were so brave." He didn't answer me, but as he looked over my shoulder towards the retreating cart, the look in his eyes reaffirmed my pride. His eyes were calm, confident and held a wisened look that said, "I underestimated you, foe. You may have won this battle, but rest assured my overconfident, metallic friend, you will lose the war."

I can't wait to go back to Ikea to see what Aiden has planned.

Feb 2 - Present
It's been a week since our Ikea adventure, and the results of that trip are still lingering. Remember when I said (about eight paragraphs up) that our day had already begun to sour? Well I guess Aiden picked up something from the ballpit. He has since passed it on to the rest of us. I took him in to the doctor on Wednesday, and he was diagnosed with a sinus infection and possible fluid behind the ear. Whatever virus Aiden got, Kate picked it up first, then Kai started coughing a bit, and finally my throat started to get scratchy.

For our current situation, Kai is still coughing, Kate is upstairs sleeping with a cold that turned into an upper respiratory infection, and Aiden and I have just returned from the doctor because he had an allergic reaction to the antibiotics the doctor gave him for the sinus infection. I alone maintain health, and have been taking Vitamin C like there is no tomorrow.

And now you know how we got here.

*For those of you who don't know, the "1" in a line of exclamation points is an exponential factor roughly equivalent to a bajillion exclamation points.