Can't We All Be Dogs?

I am absolutely marveled at the species of the canine. They are unbelievable.

Over the years, a human being compared to a dog was often a negative, not a positive. Men were often given the unfriendly comparison due to their habits and un-human like responses, and not to mention their ability to pee, spit, and scratch their balls in public without any sense of embarrassment whatsoever. Because of this, being compared to a dog became a negative personality trait.

However, the more time I spend with my new dog, Lacey, the more I start to think... can't we all be like dogs? If we were, I think the world would be a much happier place.

No one can love you like a dog. A dog's love is the exact definition of unconditional. My dog, Lacey, just loves me...from the minute we brought her into our house, the love started. She doesn't care about the mistakes I have made in the past, or the ones I continue to make daily. She doesn't care if I raise my voice or get too emotional. Lacey looks into my eyes with so much love--and there are no strings attached at all. Sure, it's not completely one-sided. She does count on me to feed her, shelter her and occasionally walk and play. But she'll love me anyway--even if I don't get a chance to take her on a walk or throw her toy around with her enough one day.

Maybe if humans were all like that--maybe if we all cared more about our relationships with each other and gave out our love freely with no expectation of anything in return--the world would be a happier place. Maybe if we always greeted our loved ones at the door after their long day at work, curled up in their lap even though they just disciplined us for doing something bad, and made eating, sleeping and loving our priorities--the world would be a happier place.

I am marveled by my dog, and feel privileged and so lucky that she loves me unconditionally, no matter what.

Can't we all be dogs?

Bowl Cut Xmas Tree

Mr. Navy and I have the worst luck. Actually, generally he's been lucky his whole life, so maybe it's my bad luck that's rubbing off. Who knows.

We have a tendency to get the short end of the stick. We'll constantly buy something new, bring it all the way home, open the box and find out we're missing key parts to make it work. We'll buy a piece of clothing, put it in the wash and suddenly it shrinks and it cannot be worn again. We'll leave phone chargers behind, pay full price for something the day before it goes on sale, break our computers merely months after the warranty expires and agree to take in a dog right before it decides to attack another dog and get put down. However, this trend has never been so evident than it is right now--as I look at our Christmas tree.

We went out to the lot to purchase our first tree together this past weekend and it was very exciting (I was perhaps more excited than Mr. Navy was, but that's because I magically transform into a 7-year-old every year starting the day after Thanksgiving and then coincidentally turn back to my rightful age right before New Years Eve). We brought it home, put the lights on and decorated it with ornaments old and new. And then as we took our proud photos, we saw it. There's a huge chunk missing from the top. Huge.

There's no getting around it. Even turning it slightly towards the wall only makes it worse. We can't exactly take it back because of a flaw--we picked it out and dressed it up, therefore we must stick with it. But it's hard to take in the beauty when it's just...so...awkward looking...much like a kid with a bowl/mushroom haircut or something. Like Lloyd Christmas.

Mr. Navy and I are hoping this streak ends before we start having children...

Vacuum Bliss

I know I've been talking about being old a lot lately. Maybe 27 isn't really old, but for some reason I can't get off the topic.

Ok, you know you're old when...you're totally elated about a new vacuum.

Yesterday, Mr. Navy and I went out and purchased our first tree together. It was so joyous picking it out, bringing it home, setting it in the stand and beginning to clean up the millions of tiny pine needles that fell on the floor. As I vacuumed, I realized it wasn't picking up the needles, but just spitting them back out all over the carpet.

Mr. Navy, being the frugal fix-it that he is, took it apart to see what was the matter. After screws were un-screwed and screwed back on, filters were cleaned and hoses unclogged, I began the feat again--and yet again, it spit the needles back all over the carpet. As Mr. Navy reached to tear it open yet again, I thought to myself "please, can we just get a new one?" As if he read my mind, we were in the car on the way to the store faster than you could say Jingle Bells. And, we came home with a masterpiece.

Not only did the pine needles get scooped up in a heartbeat, but our new vacuum comes with a duster, two hoses and an upholstery cleaner--and not to mention the carpet and hard floor settings. The modern technology and sophistication combined with the thought of easier household cleaning almost brought a tear to my eye...

And now the new vacuum, with the same respect as Ralphie's Red Ryder BB Gun, sits proudly in the laundry room, just waiting to be called upon for duty.

Am I Just Tired...Or Am I Old?

This week was my first official week back in an office 8 hours a day. I'd been masquerading as a stay-at-home housewife and two-hours-a-week newspaper writer for about seven glorious months until a month ago when I was offered a part time position at a facility on base (which will remain nameless, again to protect the innocent). As daunting of a task as it was to start waking up at 6:45 every morning, at least I came home by 12:30 p.m. so that I could enjoy the quiet of the house, do the grocery shopping at a reasonable hour and watch my Sex and the City re-runs without judgemental looks from Mr. Navy. Things were good.

However, the paper started getting tedious and I wasn't feeling like I was able to rise to my full potential(damn my over achieving conscious). I was tired of being neglected by my editor and writing boring, mundane stories about ribbon cuttings and twin pilots. Something wasn't right. Something was missing. I wasn't feeling important or useful. Most importantly, I wasn't feeling creative. Then, the part time position at the facility on base offered me a full time position.

Long story short, I accepted the position, quit the newspaper and have been waking up before the sun comes up and heading home after it's gone down all week. I feel creative, productive, and...I get to wear cute shoes again. But, I'm also unbearably exhausted.

Am I tired, or just old? Why can't I motivate myself this week to do anything? Cook dinner--No, I'm exhausted. Go to the gym--Ha! I can barely keep my eyes open. Last night I dared to go grocery shopping after an 8 hour day at the office. I thought I was going to die. I still haven't recovered.

Am I just tired...do I just need to get used to not being a housewife any longer? Will my psyche and my body recover from the shock of not being able to stay at home and watch The View and Oprah in my 'jammies'?

Or, am I just old? Is this the life of an old person? Am I going to be tired every day and never be able to participate in after hour activities Monday through Friday? Am I going to start going to bed at 7 p.m. every night like my mother?

Am I just tired...or am I old?

So Long to Lola

I've had some questions come my way recently about what has become of Lola. I talked her up, and promised photos and tidbits about her new life among the cow pastures up here at NAS somewhere.

Lola is no longer with this world. She had an accident before she was able to come home to Mr. Navy and I. The ramifications of her actions resulted in severe injuries to another dog, and unfortunately, her own demise.

Although I never formally met her, I will miss her. I thought of her every moment of the day once I had learned that she'd be coming here to live. I bought her a pink jeweled color and a name tag. I thought about what it would be like to walk her, train her and finally feel like she was a part of the family. I grew excited to start a family with Mr. Navy--Lola was going to be our first addition, our child "try-out."

Another dog will come, eventually. Mr. Navy and I are still a bit saddened by what happened, but will warm up to the idea of another furry friend soon, I'm sure.