Word of the week: hotel

I'm not saying that I'm the most patient person in the world. I certainly lose my shit from time to time. I like to think, for the most part, that the kids see me as a patient mother.

The kids and I got home from Polish class last Friday around 9:30. My in-laws were visiting, and Daddy was home from his trip, so when we walked through the mudroom the kids got a new burst of energy. They got hyped-up pretty good, and stayed that way for 10+ minutes.

Bare in mind that Steve got home for a 4-day. I like a break when he gets home. It has been me and the kids for the last 4 straight days...I wanted to come in, put my bag down, and let Daddy take over.

Ah, but Daddy was cranky. He had two legs that day, his pairing was full of early mornings, and by Friday night he was tired. When it was time to get the kids calmed down and get upstairs to get ready for bed I wanted to be hands-off. Mama wanted a break. But, Daddy wasn't being the most patient and his voice/demeanor was elevated. You haven't been with the kids for 4 days? How can your patience be thin already? I guess I wasn't going to get a break that night after all...

And this is where it's tough to balance things as a pilot wife. Steve was obviously tired, and since he wasn't home for the last 4 days he was out of our game. The combination could have gone down-hill fast, so I stepped in since I recognized how it could've gone. Perhaps this exact situation is why I have formed into a controlling person.


I talked about Steve growing out his mustache, right? Well, it was all for our annual Halloween party which we hosted this past weekend. This year's theme was "favorite sitcom character." Steve went as Lt. Dangle, from Reno 911. I went as Peg Bundy.

Steve was fucking hilarious. He was totally playing the part, and it was awesome. 

The reason I bring all this up in my pilot wife blog is because I dig his aviators, yet he never wears them. He only got them for the costume. 

Unlike some other pilots, Steve doesn't wear his job on his sleeve. He isn't quick to tell people that he is a pilot. In fact, when people ask what he does for a living his typical response is "I work for xxx airlines." And then the person may or may not respond with, "are you a pilot?" That's typically how his discloses his occupation.

He believes there is no need to wear aviators, well, because he is one.

Too bad, because I think he looks hot in them. The aviators, that is...not the mustache. Glad that thing is gone now!


Steve had a long overnight in a town about 1 1/2 hours away, which is where his side of the family is, give or take. When we saw his schedule for October, with this long overnight, we thought it would be a nice opportunity to meet a new member of the family and celebrate a birthday. And so, after work on Wednesday the kids and I loaded into the car, and trucked down the highway to meet family for dinner. 

During dinner, as the waitress was right behind us, I asked Steve "so, what hotel are you staying in." It occurred to me, immediately after I said it, how bizarre that question must have been for the waitress to overhear. I mean, we are both wearing wedding bands, kids present, extended family present. Typically, families would come for dinner, and then drive back to their respective homes. But, I was saying that Steve was going back to a hotel. I wonder what she thought.


Not pilot wife related, but a fun fact for the week: redheads produce their own vitamin D. Something about a gene mutation, or would it be adaptation, stemming from people who lived very far north...where there isn't much sunlight. And, right, vitamin D comes from sunlight. It's amazing how the human body can adapt.  

I mentioned before that I'm having this weird head-spacey thing going on. Second doctor in my books...next onto a cardiologist. My blood work came back normal, aside from the fact that I'm low in Vitamin D. My DO told me the Vitamin D fact...I found that very interesting. And now all you know, too. 

Actually, let's twist this a bit into a pilot wife thing...try scheduling a freakin' MD appointment when you are a working mother whose is married to a travelling man. I had to reschedule a dentist appointment this week...they can't see me until January 30th. I had to find that exact sweet-stop-time when I know I won't piss off my work, and I won't have to find help to watch the kids. Just part of the gig.


Think of Steve is weekend. He is running 13.1, which he has been training for all summer. He is super skinny now, which is typical when he trains...if he kept on this track he would weigh less than me! He has been running 7:something splits on some runs, so I think he really wants to PR. I'm sure I'll update via instagram/twitter.

Steve's first marathon. Thank the good Lord he doesn't run full marathons anymore...
that training is just brutal, for the pilot wife, that is.
Of course I have blogged about this topic before: The Marathon Running Pilot 


I can't help but comment on this whole Harvey Weinstein thing. Now, this is super far away from the pilot wife stuff, I feel like I need to write about this for a number of reasons. I have been the recipient of inappropriate behavior from a man, to put it mildly. I have a close friend that was raped. This is not okay. Period. The events, which may form into a faded memory for men, can play over-and-over again in the mind of the victims.

Steve was in new hiring training when I asked him to my homecoming dance my senior year in college. This was basically when we started dating (again), and we haven't stopped since. His entire class worked through lunch, so that Steve would catch the flight back home to be my date. I picked him up at the airport around 7pm, on a cool October Friday night. Me, in my red Ann Taylor silk sheath dress. Him, in a navy blue pinstripe suit. This was before 9-11, and I greeted him at the gate.

We danced the night away, and in the process I got drunk as a skunk. Like, super-duper drunk. And Steve, the responsible man he is, drove us home that night, totally sober. He wrestled my 15-year-old 1985 Chevy Celebrity station wagon, with it's busted choke, like a champ. Of course, because if he can freakin' fly an airplane, he can figure out a Chevy.

And you know what happened that night, sexually? NOTHING. I was drunk. He knew better than to take advantage of me. This, folks, is a good man. This, folks, is the man I married. This, folks, is what I/we are raising our son to be. This, folks, this what I/we are raising our daughter to recognize as necessity. And you know what? This isn't hard. It all falls under respect. Have fucking respect for people. Period. And if you have demons in your head that you want to blame any inappropriate actions on, fuck that. Deal with the demons yourself - you don't need to bring others down with you.

I praise all the women who are coming forward. It takes courage.

That's all I'll say about that...


Have good weekends, y'all!