The Adventures of Bode and Remy Part Two

Aye matie!

        I am a wild one! Going crazy! Swabbin’ the decks and spyin’ out teh crow’s nest, boy.

What are you doing? Why are you talking like that? We are writing to our boy. Show some respect!

Argh! I’m a pirate now!

No, no. Just no. You are not a pirate. You are a brat. There’s a difference.

Argh! No brats on this ship! I got me skull and bones. Mostly bones. Wiff peanut butter inside.

I didn’t know pirates ate peanut butter.

Aye, that they do. Wiff teh bones.

Ok, this is ridiculous. You are not a pirate. Now let’s tell our boy what’s been going on. Dear boy, you will be happy to know that on watch last night, I cornered a squirrel –

Argh! That fookin’ skwerl! Almost had him, I did.

Yes, I was getting to that. So, I had him cornered. Er, well that is to say, I had him stuck in the tree –

Treenered!

That isn’t even a word, Remy.

No remy! you landlubber! Call me cap’n crunch!

I am not calling you Cap’n Crunch. You aren’t a pirate. Besides, that name has already been taken.

… captain cave man! Captain caaaaaaaaaaaaaave maaaaaaan!!!

        NO.

        Captain jean-luc picard?

        I am impressed you could say that, but no.

        Captain America? Captain fantastic? Captain marvel?

        No, no and no.

        Sir remalot, master of all he surveys and conquerer of all teh sweet lassies in teh green fields over yonder?

        Sir Remalot? I thought you were a pirate? That’s a knight’s name. As for the lassies, you better not be referring to Bella.

        Aye, mate. Tis true. We’re in lurve.

        You are not in love. She could not love you. I have been slowly wooing her for the past three years.

        Aye, if you call whimpering sadly at teh sound of her name with yer tail between yer legs “wooing”, then aye. She’s “wooed.”

        Quiet, you. She’s a work in progress.

        Aye, progressively working her way to me, that is.

        Will you hush? Look at this?! We’re supposed to be writing the boy, encouraging him to greatness. And instead you’ve wasted all the paper with this nonsense. We only have a bit left!

        Argh, me boy! Tis me , sir remalot, master of all he surveys and conquerer of wee bonnie lassies in teh green fields over teh rainbow by me pot o’ gold!

        Did you just go Irish? Sigh. Dear boy, we love you and miss you. Nothing has changed while you’ve been gone. We will be right here when you get back.

                                                    Many licks,

                                                        Bode

                                                  And sir remalot!

p.s. captain morgan! I coulda been captain morgan! Fergot that one.

        

The Adventures of Bode and Remy Part 1

I have so much to update... Where to begin? My son just joined the Navy. We dropped him off on January third. This Friday, he graduates boot camp. This is the first time that he and I have ever been apart more than 24 hours. It's definitely been an experience. He hasn't had a completely easy time there, so I spent hours trying to find ways to cheer him up writing letters and taking pictures, etc. My Chrissy and I were at a loss one day, thinking of funny things to send him. Chris said that he bet Kade really misses the dogs, because they sure miss him. And it struck me: I would write Kade as if the dogs were writing him. My son loved it. And this is how the Adventures of Bode and Remy began. (On a side note, I actually wrote more letters to my son from the dogs than I ended up writing as his mother.) We had joined a Navy Facebook group and I posted one of the letters in there. One of the other Navy fathers said, "This is hilarious. Hey, why don't you create a blog?" I told him I already had a blog... So, here I am posting the letters to my son from Bode and Remy. Without further ado, here is the first:



Hey Boy,



Where the hell are you? I’m bummed. Only person around here to play with is Remy LeBrat. That’s what I call him. He doesn’t like it. I don’t care. He hasn’t learned how to write a letter, and since I’m the smart one, you’re getting one from me.

I don’t know about all this. I’m not getting the quality of scratches that I normally get when you—Is that a raccoon? I think there’s a raccoon in the loft. Yeah, yep I’m pretty sure there is. Hang on, I’m going to need to whine about this for a good 45 minutes.

Ok I’m back. I gotta tell you, man, LeBrat is getting on my last damn nerve. He keeps trying to steal my blanket. I will shut that shit down! Haha, sorry, heard that on a show once. But seriously, this guy, he pooped in my spot yesterday. He follows me like a lost bro. It’s getting ridiculous.

I still have some gas issues, but I just blame it on LeBrat and everyone accepts that. Mom made us popcorn the other night. I very much enjoyed that. Dad washed our blankets. I had to work all night to stink it back again. Hang on – that little shit just stole my Woobie.

Back again, butt-bumped the hell out of him. He doesn’t care. I can’t wait for you to come back. It’s been like ten years already. I’m pretty sure I need a shot, but we need to find a new boy to hold my butt down. Listen, I got things to do, bitches to see, so I’m gonna make this short.

Dad put a picture of me and ole Brat-face in his letter. So enjoy.



Many licks,

Bode      

Mirror

I'm so tired.  I cannot sleep.  I am going to write this to myself with the hopes that one day I can look back as a reminder of how low I truly have sunk.  Hopefully, I will be able to look back with wiser eyes and a stronger heart.

Love can make you do terrible things.  Love can make you forget yourself.  It can turn you so weak, so that your voice becomes a hollow echo of its former self.  It makes you blind.  It makes you foolish.  How could you let it come this far?  How could you hide away, afraid to stick up for yourself?  How could you forget to be true to you?

You.  You who are nothing.  That's what you've become.  A nobody.  A second-class citizen in your own home.  You can't even speak up now without them thinking you are crazy.  Even if you try, you'll get railroaded.  Your thoughts will fly away before you have a chance to breathe life into them.  Your words won't get a moment's time of your lips.  All these little chances you've let slip by throughout the years, all those times you should have said no, but you didn't.  And now you can't.  Those feelings don't go away.  They just stay trapped inside.  No one knows.  And no one cares.  It's just easier that way, isn't it?

It's much better than the alternative.  If you truly say how you feel, those thoughts will be pulverized before your very eyes only to end up in a mushy pulp beneath his feet.  He has to win, you know.  At any cost.  You could just let him win.  You could just keep quiet and let him do what he wants.  It'll make him happy.  Why doesn't that feel right?  Why are you not allowed to be happy, too?  Why is it always your sacrifice?

You can't even imagine a world that isn't like this.  Or maybe you can.  Maybe it's the last thought that runs through your head before you fall asleep.  Or maybe it's the same thought that prevents you from sleeping right now.

What happened to that defiant little girl that eyed the world as if to take it by storm?  Be careful what you wish for.  It takes a warrior to weather the storms tossed your way.  Why fight this?  It's too late now.  Just give in.  Like you always do.  Just give in so everyone else can be happy.  Just shut up and keep breathing.  Keep your head down and live your life on your knees.

Except I don't want to live there anymore.  I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees.  And if I do what I always do, then I'm going to get what I've always gotten.  Take a good hard look, Ari.  If you don't make a change, that little defiant girl will die inside.

Or at least that is what I tell myself before the tears hit the pillow. I am so tired.

It's All Relative

It's been a long time since I started this blog, even longer since it started as a Journal way back in AOL days. I haven't written in so long, that this may be a little rusty for me. Time has a way of -- well, time is relative.

It seems so long ago that I wrote about Kade's first days of school. Now, he's graduated, ready to take his first steps into the Navy. Yet, I still remember changing his diapers and singing him songs.

Kade graduated Magna Cum Laude 

I had the pleasure of having a visit from my high school best friend and it was like the time we spent apart never existed. We were right back where we were, giggling over the fun times we shared. And then I learned that one of our other high school friends had passed. Not even recently... like ten years ago. My heart broke over that news. I can still remember her laugh, her jokes, her infectious smile. Time got away from me with her.

There are so many changes coming. I am not good with change at all. I'll be without my best little buddy, while he goes out on his own. I just have to trust that all the guidance my husband and I have given him through the years will act as a sturdy foundation for him to grow as a man. While he is the one starting his life, why do I feel so lost? 

How can seventeen years go by so quickly?

Yearly Check-In

Aw, man. I long for the days I use to have, when I could come here whenever I wanted and just write, write, write. I work too much for that now. When I do get time off, I'm all about my video games.

Even so, I thought I'd do a check-in. It seems I have been coming back once a year, so we'll just go with it for now.

My last post talked about losing Sasha. My sweet girl. Well, about a month after Sasha passed, we lost Angel, too. She wasn't the same after Sasha died. One morning, my husband went to wake her up and she just wouldn't wake up. Strangely enough, the vet confirmed they both died of pyometra. It hit Angel so fast. I had just groomed her the day before and thought she seemed a little lethargic. The next day, she was gone. I believe it was because she was just so tiny that the infection just attacked her quickly.

She was my sweet little baby and I miss her so much. 

Life, however, goes on. I now have two new dogs that crack me up. We decided to go with boys this time, so we will never have to worry about pyometra again. We got Bode shortly after Sasha passed. He loved Angel, but she did not love him. He is a sweetie, but he's nervous of everything. 

Kade is the only person Bode will snuggle with. Yes, that's really Kade.

Here's Bode looking all worried.

He is a pure-bred Shar Pei, even though he doesn't look all wrinkly. We've had him for a little over a year and wouldn't you know it? He got really sick. He looks really skinny in the second picture. That's because he stopped eating. The vet did a surgery on him, because she thought his colon was collapsing in on itself. It wasn't, but he cannot eat certain fats. So, we now have to make him specially made low-fat dinners with protein shakes to keep his weight up. I know, low-fat seems contradictory, but he cannot absorb hi fat content. 

After having Bode for awhile, I missed snuggling. And then along came Remy...

Kade may say otherwise, but this little guy is mine.

Except, he isn't so little anymore.

My lovebug Remy, he'll come when I call. He's constantly resting his head on me. And he's got those sweet droopy eyes. How can anyone not love him? He's not the nervous nelly like Bode. While Bode looks more like the Chinese version of Shar Pei, Remy is the American verison, all wrinkly.  If I had to give them personalities, I would say Bode is the English gentleman, while Remy is my country boy. 

Wow, I come back to do year-in-review and end up talking all about dogs. Well more importantly, there is also Kade, who is now in his senior year of high school. This kid has surpassed me in knowledge and likes to prove it to me, daily. 

This picture is actually a year old, but it's hard to get the kid to stay still for a snapshot. This is before he cut off his pretty curls.

I work for a great company that I am not going to say for my own personal reasons. I am very spoiled at this job. I get to work from home, which is awesome. My work attire includes pajama pants and t-shirts. My husband has also switched gears and now works for elderly people as a home health care aide. All in all, we are happy, healthy and really, what more could you ask for?

Pretty Girl

It pains my heart that I almost forgot how to log into this blog. Almost. My son found this and started reading it. He is now fifteen, soon to be sixteen in a few months. We laughed over a few posts. It's amazing the things I've forgotten over time, so it's great to be able to have a "virtual memory", so to speak. 

This time, I come with a heavy heart. My family is my world and it always has been. I've written about my son and husband. I've written about my mother and brother, as well as my dogs. And the latter is the reason for my return. I just lost my Sasha. In a desperate attempt to find pictures of her, I came here. Sure enough, my posts included pictures we'd lost through the years. I'm so grateful for this blog for that reason. 

I know I've written about Sasha before, but I cannot express into words just how important she became to our lives. I know she's just a dog. I am not trying to make her out to be anything more profound than that. But she was OUR dog. We got her when my son had just turned five. Those two grew up together. She had her own personality that was so darn unique, no other dog will ever be like her. And I put work into her. So much work. I remember the vet telling me when she was just a puppy, that she would grow to be huge. I made it a point to train her, so that I'd be able to control her. 

I was the one that took her out in the middle of winter to stand by while she pottied, because she was too afraid to go alone. I was the one that collected the stool samples to give to the vet for check ups. I was the one that administered the salve to her ear, when she'd gotten a cut that one summer. And most recently, I was the one to wear the rubber gloves to clean up her butt, which had gotten a little matted. Don't get me wrong, my husband put in just as much work. He definitely was her master. She and I, we had more a quiet bond. Like sort of a "can-you-believe-this-guy" bond that only two females can have. I could read her like a book. I knew what she was thinking. I knew every whimper, every bark, every growl. I knew what they all meant. I even had her trained to where I could ask her "yes" or "no" questions to find out what she needed. She would shake her head correspondingly, depending on what I'd ask. (Although, there were only three main questions: Do you want water? Food? Outside?)

I had her down to a tee. Except for this last month. Apparently, she had a pretty bad internal infection. I had no idea. She never whined. Never let me know she was hurting. She kept her tail high and wagging. She still wrestled with my son. She still annoyed Angel, as only she could do. I just didn't know she was sick, until it was too late. 

I've had lots of dogs in my lifetime. Every single one, I had to give up for some reason or another. My step-dad was allergic, the place we were living was too small, etc. But with Sasha, I got to keep her. She's the first one that has run their course with me. Side by side. All the way to the end. So, I've never had to go through the experience of putting a pet down before. My first instinct was save her, save, save save! But listening to the vet, I realized how much she was suffering. Those last days, the days where I discovered something was not right, those are the hardest days. She wasn't eating. She couldn't move her back legs. She tried, but ended up resembling a walrus, because those legs just would not move right. It is the most sickening feeling to not be able to do anything for her. 

What really gets me is that I never really understood how much I depended on her. I still sit on the back steps and think she'll come up behind me to rest her head on my shoulder. I still walk past her sleeping spot and expect her to reach out her paw and wrap it around my leg for a hug. I can't hear very well, so she was the one that let me know someone was at the door. I can no longer forget to lock the back door, because I don't have her guarding it for me. When my son was home alone, I never worried. Sasha was there. No one could hurt him. She would protect him. All that work I'd put into Sasha... I  never realized how much work she put into me. 

She was truly one of a kind. I will never find another like her.

Things I Don't Understand

Why do women pay money to have their nails done? And why would you pay $20-50 for this service? If you break one nail, boom, money down the toilet. Don't get me wrong, some of these nail jobs are gorgeous. I'm just not about to go waste money like that.

How do large families survive? I know families that are making the same income I am with tons of kids and they seem fine. I, however, have just enough money to make it and I only have one kid to worry about. If an unexpected issue comes up, I'll be doomed. I don't frivolously spend money, either. I just don't get what I am doing wrong. There must be a secret I don't know about. And why can't I win the lottery? It's my turn, already!

Why is it that I can store puzzles neatly and perfectly with no one touching them for years, but when I get them out to put it together, there will ALWAYS be one piece missing? I bet there is another dimension where all missing pieces go, along with missing socks.

Why is it that during the work week, I struggle to fall asleep at night? Come Friday at nine at night, I am struggling to keep my eyes open. Not fair!

Why is it that my husband can be diagnosed with diabetes, get medication for it and end up losing fifty pounds?! Hello, Doc, over here! Sign me up for that medication! Alas, my sugar is far too low. So, I am too healthy to get help.

Why don't people leave sharks alone? I once went to a tourist trap along the eastern coast. In this store, they had jars of baby nurse sharks in formaldehyde for sale. Why?! How could people do that? Why is this legal? What if those were baby dolphins? Would people feel the same? Why is it okay to do that to sharks? Ugh.

Why is it that my husband can cook up any culinary treat for breakfast, including crepes, but when it comes time to make a casserole, he loses all comprehension? Why am I always the one stuck doing casseroles?

Why can't I think of a good closer for this entry? Hmm... the world may never know.