Early Morning Trouble with Wookie & Co.

Sky and I are at the Army Strong Bonds marriage retreat this weekend. That mean mama gets a couple days off. Wookie & Co. is here today! Why is she so great? Besides having roots in the Oregon town my mom and little brother now call home, she is not afraid to talk about anything...no really- ANYTHING. (Side note-I've edited a couple words that didn't exactly pass my PG blog, replacing them with the a BEEP.) Enjoy!



On Friday morning,  I had never been more tired.  I hit both bottles that morning: the coffee bottle…and the vodka bottle…

It started Thursday night.  It was 12am – and the dog was barking.  Not unusual.  We do have roaming security guards that canvas the neighborhood in what we call “perceived security.”  Would you trust an overweight man with a fake badge in an uptight neighborhood?  Nope.  At least we don’t.  If you can’t PRT Navy-style (we’re partial), then we’ll continue to keep weapons in our home. Shh, don’t let people know our weapons are guns, rolling pins, and a dog that’ll do anything for a treat.

We make a stroll of the house to cool her nerves, then I tuck her back into her bed in the main room (she has a couple different sleeping spots – when Mr. Wookie's is away, she guards the bedroom door).

Come 1:58am.  A deliriously late, yet early, hour….there’s hacking coming from the front room.  We’re either being robbed by emphysema patients from the local nursing home….or [open door] What the living *BEEP* happened here?

There’s vomit everywhere.  Not little, ittie bittie piles o’ cute vomit.  VOMIT!

In total: 6 piles of vomit.  Strewn about the house.  NONE of them on tile.

Are you kidding me?

Murphy’s Law: When Mr. Wookie away even training to defend freedom, the power of Christ compelled my dog to launch vomit, bile, remnants of dinner, and my sanity into a billion shards of disgusting sespool action that I refuse to use any towel until it’s washed 7 times in hot water.

I thought it would take me a couple minutes to clean it up.  Nope.  A full hour.  One full hour of scrapping chunks, gagging, spraying carpet cleaner, gagging some more, cringing when I touch a wet spot, cursing Mr. Wookie for not being here, and finally throwing the used towels into the wash, on hot water, with a billion times more of soap, and 3 extra spin cycles.

And for the record: Nope, no children.  Because I’m debating selling this here dog to a Korean family so they can make BBQ.  Not seriously.  But almost seriously.

So she slept in quarantine Thursday night.  And will most likely be moved back into the tiled area under FuManChu warrior-control so we don’t have another episode of VOMIT.

And I’m still awaiting word from my mass Wives Group email, OMG, does anyone own a carpet cleaner???  Please!

What does this have to do with our relationship?  Oh the things us milbloggers do to keep the fires at home burning.  Although I may fuel the home fire with dog meat if she’s not careful.

This isn’t the first time that home has gone to *BEEP*.  Vomit, yet.  Murphy is ever-entertaining in its quest to keep me on my toes and wondering, “Do I really want/need this lifestyle?”  And like any love-struck milblogger, you know accepting the lifestyle just comes with the territory of the guy.  Unfortunately Murphy also knows I can handle cleaning up vomit.  Poop on the other end (pun INTENDED), severely grosses me out.  But I won’t bore you with the one time I picked a dingleberry off my dog.  Hilarious, yet repulsing.  Oh wait, looks like I went there.

You’re welcome.


-Wookie & Co. for