“Where else but Waffle House? And if you promise to play hard afterward, I might even bend Mommy's rules a little and let you put the thick syrup on them with the butter. How's that?”
Lance helps me with instructional commentary as I struggle with his car seat until finally, I get it and him buckled in and we head out. After a good breakfast of a big waffle for him with butter and blueberry syrup and hashbrowns with eggs for me, we go to a state park near Pope Field, because apparently, my son loves to watch airplanes.
“What's that one?” Lance asks as a rumble fills the sky and I look up, smiling.
“That's a C-130, buddy. The Air Force calls them the Hercules, but we don't really worry about the names in the Army.”
“Oh. What is it doing?” Lance asks.
I shrug and give him a smile. “You never know, buddy. It could be a group getting ready to try an airborne drop. It could be some reservists getting their flight hours in.”
“Are you the boss?” Lance asks. “Mommy says officers boss people around a lot.”
“We do,” I say with a laugh. “But I hope that when I give orders, I do it for a reason.”
“Why?”
“Because my job is to do everything I can to take care of my soldiers, to keep them safe and to make sure that if we ever do have to go fight, that they have the best chance to come home safely. At the same time, I have to do the job that my bosses say, to complete the mission so that everyone in other units has the best chance to come home safely. It's . . . it's sometimes difficult to understand.”
“So are you like when Velocicycle forms up with the other Velocifighters to form Hypertron, but they still have to listen to Commander Houston?” Lance asks.
“I have no idea what you just said,” I tell him. “But it sounds right. So, what do you like to do outside, besides watching the planes?”
The rest of the morning is absolutely a blast as Lance and I play in the park. He's working on kicking, and for nearly an hour, I chase him around while he kicks his little soccer ball, scoring between the two 'goals' that we set up using some trees and some stuff from my car.
After lunch at the mall, I take Lance to a movie, some new animated film that is playing in IMAX. It's not what I normally go for. My typical chill out movie involves aliens, explosions, or even better, exploding aliens, but it's still nice. Lance is tired when we finish, and I take him home, putting him down for a nap not too much past his normal time.
I nod off as well, waking up when he wiggles over and puts his head on my thigh. He looks up at me “I’m hungry.”
“You're a growing boy. So how about . . . liver, raw onions, and lima beans?” I tease, but Lance smiles. I don’t know if he somehow knows I’m messing with him, or if it’s just the expression on my face. “Okay, but no burgers. Let's see what's in the kitchen, okay? I'm not taking you out for three meals a day. Your mommy would kill me if I did.”
Dinner ends up being spaghetti, and we watch football for an hour before he yawns and I help him get ready for bed. Tucking him in, I brush his hair out of his eyes, smiling. “Did you have a good day, little man?”
“Yeah,” Lance says, yawning. “It was fun.”
“I had fun too, buddy,” I whisper honestly. I watch him until his breathing deepens and he goes fully to sleep, smiling a little before rolling over. I'm tempted to give him a kiss on the forehead, but instead, I get up, leaving the bedroom and sitting down on the couch. I see that I've got a message on my phone, and I check it. It's Lindsey.
Sorry, duty is running late. Are u 2 ok?
I quickly text back. He's fine. Just went to sleep. I'll watch over him until you can get home. Stay safe.
There's no reply, but that's okay. I turn on the TV again, keeping the volume low, and watch what's probably the world's worst sci-fi movie, but it is at least worth a few laughs as the hours wind away. It's nearly ten thirty when I hear a car pull up outside, and Lindsey comes in, looking exhausted.
“Are you okay?” I ask, getting up and leading Lindsey over to the couch. “Jesus, you look like you went through hell today.”
“It's okay,” Lindsey gasps, her face still dotted with sweat. “Just had a long day. How was Lance?”
“Just like before, an amazing little boy,” I reassure her as she winces, pulling off her ACU top. “What happened?”
“Nothing a good two bucks in that massage chair they've got down at the PX can't fix,” Lindsey groans. “Too bad the line is an hour long on Sundays.”
“Here, lean back on the couch and just chill,” I tell her, getting up. “I've had a few tough days too. Let me get you some herbal tea. I'd offer you a neck rub, but . . .”
“But I understand why you don't,” Lindsey says, smiling until she turns her head and winces. “The tea sounds nice though.”