What was I really thinking? OR I should know by now to lower my expectations! BUT BEING A PARENT IS AWESOME!!!

So, this weekend I was due at Fort Hood in Killeen, Texas for the annual Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors. This is such an amazing organization! They offer support and services for survivors of someone that has served in the armed forces and died. Active duty, vets, suicide, cancer, vehicular accidents, training accidents, whatever – TAPS is there. For the past several years, I have helped guide the adult siblings sharing group. This is the groups of “older” (hate that term) siblings, aged 18 or older, who had a sibling pass.

For those of you that don’t know me well, my brother, SPC Frank Stokes served in the Army from  1998 until 2002. He was a Sapper who endured KFOR in Kosovo, endured Level-Four cancer, surgery, got married to a trollop, suffered from survivor guilt from those lost in the KFOR tour and wasn’t able to be deployed to Iraq because you have to be cancer-free for at least five year before deployment. He had PTSD and TBI from an incident in Kosovo. Ultimately, he suicided on active duty in a total shithole civilian hospital because, at the time, the armed forces didn’t get it. Well, isn’t that a warm and fuzzy introduction. Now let’s send Debbie Downer out of the room and get down to sarcasm.

During the week prior, the two littles did Gamma Camp. The plan was for them to come back Wednesday afternoon so Simon could go to tutoring and a doc’s appointment Thursday morning. Well, unbeknownst to any of us, sister-in-law and her two kiddos decide to join the fun and somehow, my 13 year old nephew winds up staying at our house Wednesday night – it’s all good. Everyone, but me (who is washing clothes and packing), goes back to the Little House in Bear Creek. This is where it takes a turn – make sure your safety bars are ALL the way down…

First, my crew doesn’t get home until after 9:00 p.m. Christopher and Shelby haven’t packed and the littles need to eat, bathe, and get in bed. Of course, as we can all predict, the next morning is a disaster of epic proportions. No one wants to get up. Everyone takes their own sweet time. I am about to either pull out my hair, beat the bejeezers out of all of them, and/or start drinking. Since I am facilitating a sibling share session at 2:30 p.m., I refrain from all three. Stupid me.

As we walk in the door to Gamma Camp to drop everyone off, they receive a call that Shelby’s step-dad’s mother, who recently broke a hip, has taken a turn for the worse and needed to be put on ventilation. Gamma said that the kids could stay, but even I couldn’t be that heartless. So off we all went for a three hour tour, a three hour tour.

So the last time we were at The Great Place, as Fort Hood is lovingly called, dear hubby learned that you can bring guns and shoot at the range. While I was in hari-kari mode that morning, I saw him packing some guns but didn’t really pay attention – until I asked him what he brought when we were about halfway there. By saying he brought a few is an understatement. He brought five – two handguns and three rifles – two of which are high-power, semi-automatic. A little skeptical, after all, it is the base where my friend’s brother died in that massive shootout a few years back, I thought it to be prudent to check the website. G-d bless the internet. Apparently you don’t just drive up to a military installment, guns ablaze, and receive a welcome with open arms. There are forms and serial numbers and enough paperwork to make my income tax return look like a Survey Monkey questionnaire on what toilet paper we prefer. And with each ticking of the clock, my cortisol level inches closer to volcanic proportions. And to make matters worse, dear hubby looks at me and says, “I told you I brought some guns.” Really!?!? You didn’t tell me you had an arsenal that rivaled the Branch Davidians until we were almost there?!?!?

So not only do we have to stop at the visitor’s center to spend 45 minutes declaring the guns, we have to pull over at the main gate for an inspection. This entails something like being pulled over in the dark by a police officer – turn on the dome light, announcing every move, and make sloth-like movements all while holding your hands in the air. Not only did hubby have to take apart every single gun to show that they weren’t loaded and that it was made clear the ammo could NOT be anywhere near the weapon (seriously, we took Shelby’s car – there is no place that it is NOT close. Whatever). Might I also add that since they were packed first, obviously, they are on the bottom so everything has to be unloaded to get to them. It looks like a massive search session so that anyone who drove by instantly got on their smart phone to look and see if we were on America’s Most Wanted. So we eventually pass muster and Christopher and I get dropped off at the seminar at 2:25 p.m. for my 2:30 p.m. session. The other three head to the hotel to check-in and go swimming.

Somehow, we made it through the journey, post entry, first day of the seminar, and check-in to the hotel. Oh, and I also located my dad among the over 200 attendees and unknown number of military mentors for the kids. I have to confess that I was concerned. My dad can be somewhat of an introvert if he doesn’t have the by-in for what is going on. Well, not knowing anyone and us being late didn’t help my apprehension for his “enjoyment.” So, I guess, I got into hyperdrive. I posted the plea to help find my dad and help him feel welcomed. I SO should have known better. On Saturday morning, he collared me. Apparently, my mother saw my post and sent out the gendarmes and it got back to my father.  Duly noted. No more public service announcements! J

Anyway, this is a multipart story that can’t be done in the usual length. You still need to hear about the children’s shenanigans, the interesting people we found, and, of course, the gun range. That last item should give you some insight into what is coming next. So until then, I think this what I signed up for but I’ll let you know what I decide soon! ;)