The Two Little Piggies

 

I have a love-hate relationship with teaching. The hours are horrible. The pay is a pittance. The work never stops – nights, weekends, vacations. There are times where it is as if no one wants to hear a word I am saying, and all I am doing is putting out one behavior fire after another. Not to mention all the times I have had to tell  the Three Monkeys that I can’t do something with them or for them because I have had something to do for the class.

It is EXHAUSTING.

And then there are times when it all is so incredibly breathtakingly amazing.

This is the story of the two little piggies – guinea piggies that is – and how an act of kindness lifted my heart in so many ways.

Way back in August, my students and I decided we wanted to get guinea pigs for our classroom. We had everything we needed. Cage? Check. Food? Check. Hay? Check. Guinea pigs? Ummm…

It’s not that I didn’t want them. I did! But, guinea pigs cost money. And with the pay cut I took in order to work at this little piece of academic heaven, I never had the spare change to go get them.

That damned empty cage sitting in my classroom mocked me every single day.

And then this week something serendipitous happened. I came across a listing for two male guinea pigs (cage included) FREE to a good home. Needless to say, I jumped on it. FINALLY we were going to get our piggies! I went to school the next day and excitedly told my class the news. The squeals of delight filled the room. We couldn’t wait!

Sarge having a snack,

Louie is a bit more shy.

That evening I took Monkey #1 (now 15 1/2, if you can believe it) and The Middle Monkey (almost 14!) to go pick up our new furry friends, Sergeant and Lieutenant – AKA Sarge and Louie. Together, the boys and I loaded the cage into the car and headed home. Upon arriving, we unloaded the cage to the kitchen table where they would wait until the next day when I would move them to their new home – my classroom.

There was just one little hitch in the plan. Something unexpected happened. In the span of about 10 minutes, Monkey #1 fell head=over-heels-hopelessly-in-love with Sarge and Louie. The very guinea pigs that were destined to go to my class the very next day.

All Wednesday evening, Monkey 1, my sweet little Aspie Monkey, was crouched on a kitchen chair, arms wrapped around his knees, gazing through the open cage door at Sarge and Louie.  He was so calm. So peaceful. Nothing, not meds wearing off, not his brother being very 13, was ruffling him. Occasionally he would tentatively extend one finger and stroke one of the piggies.

“But, I love them,”

And then came the words that broke my heart. “I wish I could keep them,” he quietly whispered.

“But, baby, I’ve already told my class about them, and they are very excited about the piggies coming. You know they are meant to go to school.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But, I love them. I know I just met them. I can’t explain it. I love them.”

Oy.

I tried to make light, but I could tell, this was no ordinary love. This was a deep piggy love, and I – the worst mother in the whole wide world – was ripping them away from him. Not that he told me that. But he might as well have, because that is exactly how I felt.

The next morning, I brought the piggies to school. More squeals of delight. I told my school kiddos the story of Monkey 1 and his love of the piggies and how he had wanted to keep them. I don’t know why I told them. Except that maybe I have a case of verbal diarrhea and just talk even when I shouldn’t. But I did.

Today I got a message from one of my parents. Her daughter had told her about Monkey 1 falling in love with the piggies. Then the sweet girl asks her mother if there was a way that we could get other pets for the class and return the piggies to my son. Because obviously God wanted my sweet son and the sweet piggies to be together. The piggies belonged to him. Not the class.

I didn’t know how to respond. I was literally speechless. All that came were tears.

In the hours that followed, that mother asked and searched, and has now located another pair of guinea pigs for my class to have. All so my sweet Aspie Monkey can keep Sarge and Louie.

His response when I told him was to bury his head in my shoulder and repeatedly say, “I get to keep my boys. I get to keep my piggies.”

Yes you do, my sweet boy. Yes you do.

So while it means there will be more living things in my house, every single time I see those little furballs, every time I see that little smile on Monkey #1’s face, I will think of the sweet girl who knew it was meant to be – even when I didn’t.

And I’ll remember the time my student and her family taught me a lesson in kindness and compassion I’ll never forget.

Crossroads

I am standing at a crossroads.

Unsure as to which path to choose.

One path leads to a familiar land.

A land once filled with joy.

But, in more recent times, it is a land consumed with anger and frustration.

The other path is completely unknown.

I have no idea where it leads.

One false step and I lose everything.

Or, by choosing that path –

That path to uncertainty –

I could find myself

On the road

To

Happiness.

Happy Birthday

Yesterday was my mother’s birthday.  And with all the craziness of the past couple of days (you know, what with the break-in and all), I failed to mention it when I dropped the monkeys off at her house yesterday morning.  Not exactly a stellar moment. I was well on my way to work when I remembered and gave her a quick call to send birthday greetings.  She was in the car, on her way back to her house after taking the Girl Child to school to then pick up Monkey #1 to then take him to school.

You see, that’s what she does. She ferries the monkeys for me on my days with them. Well, that’s just one of the things she does. She does ever so much more for me – for all the monkeys – and I am afraid I don’t let her know how much we all appreciate it.

Among the many things she does, she:

Is a chauffeur for the monkeys. She takes them to school.  She picks them up from school. She takes them to the doctor and to the orthodontist. She takes the Girl Child to dance three days a week. She puts miles and miles on her car every week – and never asks for gas money.

She is the homework manager.  She keeps track of missing assignments and project due dates and science fairs and…and…and…well, everything.

She is a teacher. When it was decided that the Middle Monkey had not transitioned well to middle school and perhaps needed to try on-line learning,  she has stepped out of her retirement and is serving as his learning coach. She spends all day cajoling an at times quite reticent (and quite loud about it) 12 year-old to complete his tasks. She is having to relearn high school algebra (yes, he was placed in a math class 2 grade levels above his own), just so she can assist him. I know it hasn’t been fun, but she’s doing it – for him. Because he needed it.

She is my errand runner. Dropping off prescriptions, dropping off the dry cleaning, picking up things I might need from the store but forgot to get.

She is a Dance Nonna. She takes care of all things dance related for the Girl Child. Other than ferrying her to class, she makes sure there are tights and shoes and costumes and rehearsal schedules.

She’ll bring us dinners and does the laundry and sometimes even surprise me by cleaning my kitchen.

Why, you might ask, does she do these things?  Well, because she wants to help and to feel the she matters.

And, yes. I repaid her by forgetting her birthday.

Ugh.

So, my sweet Momma. Our sweet Nonna Monkey. Thank you for all you do for me. Thank you for all you do for us. I know there are times when I don’t express how very much I appreciate you. I know there are times when I seem annoyed. But, I could not manage my life or the lives of The Monkeys without you. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Happy birthday.

I love you.

You Can’t Take That Away From Me

 We were robbed.

I mean that in the literal sense. Not in the idiomatic “We were robbed” after one’s favorite team has lost (yes, FSU, I’m talking to you).

I mean our home, Happy Monkey Land itself, was broken into, searched, and had things removed from it. Someone we do not know smashed a window, crawled through, slinked through our safe haven, rifled through our drawers, and took our THINGS.

I know we were lucky.

We could have been home. But, we weren’t. We were at our respective schools.

We could have walked in on the offender. But, we didn’t. We came home to discover the broken carport door window, well after the event.

We could have walked in to find everything we own had been loaded into a truck and carried away. But, we didn’t. We are missing only the electronics the offender could load into the backpack he found in my room and carry out with him.

The Wii, the games, the girl child’s DS, my camera, and yes – even my laptop – can all be replaced. The THINGS can be replaced. But, yet, I mourn.

I mourn that someone, some criminal, touched my things. I am tempted to burn all the panties that had been in my top drawer, but were carelessly tossed to the floor, all because he touched them whilst looking for hidden gems. (Thank you, Mr. Burglar, for leaving my vintage silver jewelry collection)

I mourn the pictures “saved” in my laptop. Pictures of our past two and a half years. Pictures of birthdays and special events and field trips. Pictures of our vacation this summer to Washington and New York. Pictures from the vacation my former love and I took with our children. That amazing week on the beach. Not that I looked at those images from that summer. I didn’t. Why dwell? Those pictures were tucked away in their own little folder, but they were there. Visual proof of what we once were to each other. And while I no longer mourn the loss of the relationship, the fact that I no longer have that proof, that data, that EVIDENCE, has hit me harder than I ever could have imagined. It is as if it never happened. I have lost them all over again.

But, mostly, I mourn the loss of The Monkeys’ sense of security in their home.

The Girl Child didn’t want to sleep in her own room last night because the offender was in there. He took her DS from off her bed. She made sure I not only reported the DS as being gone, but also its Hello Kitty case. She counted all her American Girl dolls and has proclaimed them all present and accounted for. She wants to inventory the “buddies” on her bed, just in case some rogue stuffed-animal-thief comes and takes THEM, she’ll know what is missing. You, my dear baby girl, know what is important in life.

The Middle Monkey is quieter than usual, none of the trademark arguing with his sister. He quickly ran upstairs to count his books, and check to see if the Kindle and HIS DS were there (everything was, the boys’ rooms were unscathed). He will randomly come up to me and hug me and say, “I hate burglars.” It’s happened about 10 times since yesterday. I understand, baby. Really, I do. So do I.

Monkey #1 has taken it upon himself to be The Man of the House. He has been updating me on the value of all the missing items, especially the missing games, “so we get the right amount back.” He allowed his little sister to sleep on his futon last night, even though what he really wanted was to be left alone. When I came out of my room this morning to let the dogs out, he was standing in his doorway, holding the dowel that keeps his window shut, standing guard. “Just let anyone try to come in.” He has spent the day with his Nerf gun always by his side, threatening to “shoot in the brain anyone who tries to hurt my brother or sister.” My sweet little man. Excuse me. My sweet almost-full-grown-man-who-shouldn’t-have-to-feel-the-weight-of-the-world-on-his-very-narrow-shoulders.

We all took the day off from school today, The Monkeys and I. A day to clean-up and call insurance and make lists of missing items. But, most importantly, a day to heal and cuddle and to try feel comfortable in our own skins again. A day to reclaim Happy Monkey Land as our own.

So, Mr. Burglar, you may have broken our door. You may have taken our things. You may have pawned them for a quick buck. But, Mr. Burglar, you will NEVER take our love for one another. For, you see, we are the Mighty Monkeys of Happy Monkey Land, and no matter what happens to us, no matter what is taken, we will ALWAYS have each other.

No, no. You CAN’T take that away from us.

Not now.

Not ever.

Being a Mother Can Suck

There. I’ve said it. Being a mother can suck.

Please understand, I am not saying that it sucks to be a mother. I love the monkeys with all my heart and soul.  But, there are times when it sucks to be the mommy.

This morning was one of those times.   One of those mornings when I wanted to throw in the towel and just give up.  One of those mornings when I want to call the Monkey Daddy or the Nonna Monkey (my own mother) and admit my defeat and beg for them to simply raise them.  One of those mornings when I found myself envious of the childless.

Even as I write this, I understand how horrible that sounds. I understand there are those who are childless who desperately want to not be.  I understand there are those that due to custody issues would kill to have time with their children. I understand there are those who as they read this are looking up the number for Child Protective Services.

But, I also understand there are those who as they read this are thinking, “Finally!  Someone who has the guts to say it!”

This morning I found myself asking what I had done to deserve this. What kind of bad Karma I had brought upon myself?  What god had I angered to incur such a punishment?  And for how long was I to endure it?

I felt like Nancy Kerrigan, after she had been whacked on the knee, crying out to the heavens, “Why? Why? Why me?”

And the question wasn’t just rhetorical. I really wanted an answer, damn it!

Alas.  None came.  And I am fairly confident none will come.

So, I’ll say it again. Sometimes motherhood sucks.

But, I also know that when the Middle Monkey comes and sits next to me after Sunday School, he will snuggle up next to me, and say in that sweet little lisp, “I am sorry for screaming at you this morning.  I love you.”

And my heart will melt and I once again be reminded how much I love him and all will be right with the world.

At least until the next time.

*sigh*

The Middle Monkey and me, in a time where being a mother did not suck

It’s a Summer Solstice Miracle!

Summer officially arrived at 1:04 Eastern Standard Time.

And here in Happy Monkey Land we did not celebrate it with dancing nekkid in the sunshine, as per the druids of ancient days (or even as some of those who gather at Stonehenge even now).

It instead was met with a series of what will now be known as the Miracles of the Summer Solstice.

Miracle #1 – The Three Monkeys let me sleep until NINE!  Well, technically, it was only The Little Monkeys, as Monkey #1 was himself still sleeping.  No yelling.  No screaming.  No fighting over which channel to watch.  No peeking into my room and then jumping onto my bed.  Just sleep.  Heavenly sleep.

Miracle #2 – I had mentioned to The Monkeys that the inside of my car needed cleaned out.  Well, Monkey #1 and the Girl Child take it upon themselves to get my spare key, clean out the car AND THEN VACUUM IT.  It is important to note that this was completely unprompted.  Later in the afternoon, we all decided to go out and wash my car.  Big fun was had by all.

Miracle #3 – After cleaning out my car, Monkey #1 handed me some mail he had retrieved from inside.  I thought it was all junk.  Until I felt one, opened it, and discovered my new debit card inside.  I have been without it for three weeks, after SWEARING to the bank I never got it.  Just in time too.  The Netflix account ran out today.

Miracle #4 – We ate dinner together, at the table, with my mother, with no screaming, no yelling, no meltdowns, no screams of “SHUT UP!”  Just talking and laughing.  Oh, and they all ate without my having to nag or set the kitchen timer.

Miracles one and all, I tell ya.

You know, summer always has been my favorite season.  The sun beating down, warming me.   I feel like a little hot house flower, soaking up the rays.  And I know not every summer day will be as lovely as today.  But, today?  It was truly a miraculous day.

Summertime and the Living Is Easy… Says Who?

Kickin’ up my heels at the beach. LAST summer.

With all due respect for the geniuses that are the Gershwin Brothers and their masterpiece “Porgy and Bess,” but – that line is wrong.  On so many levels.

Oh, I know most folks believe that us teachers just spend all summer long laying out in the sun, workin’ on our tans.  Kickin’ up our heels enjoying our two month vacation.

I hate to burst that bubble, but that just ain’t true.

I use my summers to attempt to get caught up on all the things I can’t manage to get done the other ten months out of the year.

You know, when my days start when I get up at 5:30, and don’t end until I put aside my work and turn out the lights at 11:30.  And where my weekends are spent preparing lesson plans, and running errands – oh, and trying to spend time with The Three Little Monkeys.

During my summer “break,” I use the time to:

Attack my yard.  Landscaping.  Pulling up the ever-present ivy.  Cutting down wayward bushes.  Preparing the yard to TRY to get grass to grow.  Dirty sweaty work.

Clean my house.  And by cleaning – I mean THOROUGH cleaning.  Top to bottom.  Pulling everything out of cabinets.  Wiping the walls.  Reducing the layer of life that builds up during the school year.

Organize.  The storage room.  Closets.  Everything.

Paint.  The house I mean.  Not like PAINTING painting.  This summer, the Middle Monkey and I are going to finish turning his room into a solar system wonderland.

Make things for the upcoming school year.  Posters.  Charts.  Games.

Oh, and try to spend time with The Three Little Monkeys.

And before I know it, my summer break is over, and it is back to school I go.  And the cycle continues.

Well, back I go to continue my summer “vacation.”

I gotta say though, I’m getting one bitchin’ tan from all the yard work.

Weeds Never Die – Or Life Lessons Learned From My Yard

As I posted yesterday, I have a love/hate relationship with my yard.  I am constantly fighting with SOMETHING growing in my yard.  Those damn weeds are the most resilient things!!  It seems like no matter what I do, they keep coming back!

I can dig them up.

Pour full-strength professional grade weed killer directly on the roots.

Sprinkle them with “pre-emerge.”

Mow over them.

Fertilize the grass so it will grow and choke out the weeds.

But, NOTHING stops them from coming back.

I wish I was as resilient as those damn weeds.

I wish that no matter how many times some one attempted to destroy me by pulling me out by my roots, that I could continue to come back…just as strong as before.

I wish that no matter how much poison is poured on me that I could continue to not have it kill me. (Metaphorically, of course).

I wish that no matter how many times some one cuts me to the quick, that I could continue to grow.

I wish I could live my life like NOTHING could stop me.

It’s hard for me to hate the weeds.  After all, they are only quite literally fighting for their lives.  It is survival of the fittest.  They are bigger and stronger and more resilient than the grass.  It is their nature.  They were here first.

Why. then, can’t that be my nature, too?

It’s an interesting thought.

So, dear readers, before I leave you to continue my attempt to exert my dominance over the weeds in my life, I leave you with this quote:

“You fight dandelions all weekend, and late Monday afternoon there they are, pert as all get out, in full and gorgeous bloom, pretty as can be, thriving as only dandelions can in the face of adversity.”
–  Hal Borland

I should learn from the dandelions (and poke berry and mimosa and privet and ivy) in my yard, and thrive in the face of any and all adversity.

But, I still don’t want them living in my yard…

 

 

The Butterfly Effect, Or How One Person Can Change the Course of Your Life

The butterfly effect is an element of chaos theory that states a butterfly flapping its wings somewhere in China, could cause a hurricane in the Caribbean.  In popular culture, it is used in conjunction with time travel.  If you change one little thing in the past – what would happen to everything else in the future.  Think It’s a Wonderful Life.  Every one changes – for the worse – when George Bailey is shown what would happen if he had never been born.

Our own lives can be like that.  We look back and see that if one thing had happened differently, everything else would be changed.

I had a Butterfly Effect moment yesterday.  While I was in the shower (it is really funny how much thinking I can get done while washing my hair).  I started thinking about the events of the week, and seeing my former crush.  And it occurred to me, that if not for my former crush – my life could possibly be completely different now.  Here’s how.

1.  I might not have gotten back into singing.  My former crush was the choir director at my church – but before that he had played piano for the choir (don’t ask me what I have with pianists…my former love is one as well).  I hadn’t sung in public for YEARS – instead allowing my performance anxiety to comsume me.  But, then I got a good look at the pianist and thought, “Dang!  He’s kinda cute.  Maybe I’ll join the choir.”  He is the one who encouraged me to sing my first solo at church.  Other than one in college, I hadn’t soloed since high school.  It was only one line at the end of the anthem, and I was shaking like a leaf, but I did it because he asked me to.  Now, I am the main female soloist at church, and am frequently told I should sing professionally.

2.  I probably would not have met my ex-husband.  I met the Monkey Daddy at one of his improv shows.  The former crush was supposed to go with me, but at the last-minute he cancelled.  If he had gone, I probably would not have been waiting in front of the comedy club for my other friends to arrive, which means the Monkey Daddy would not have seen me standing there and come over to talk to me.  My ex would have probably also thought that I was “with” the former crush, thus REALLY not coming over to talk to me.

3.  I would not have my Three Little Monkeys.  Oh, of course, I might have children.  I might even have three.  But, they wouldn’t be the ones I have now (which depending on the day could be a good or a bad thing).

4.  I might not have gone back to teaching.  I was pretty happy with the job I had.  But, once I started dating the Monkey Daddy, I started slacking off at my old job.  And found my old wanderlust acting up again, thus deciding to go back to teaching.

5.  I probably would not have met my former love.  Since I met my former love through my ex-husband (his ex and my ex have been friends for almost three decades), most likely G and I would have never started dating.  And while the break-up has sucked more than anything else in life, I can’t imaging not having had him in my life.

I’m not saying things would have been better – nor am I saying they would be worse.  But, they would be different.

Interesting to think about…

Moving On

I heard once that the one way to truly get over a former relationship is to move on to the next one.  How strange.  And how seemingly unfair to the next person.  To be used for the purpose of getting over someone else.  My question is, how, exactly, do you know when you are really emotionally ready for that?

Yes, I understand that there is only so long you can HOPE for a reconciliation – particularly if the relationship ended amicably – or if there are some unresolved issue.   I mean, it’s not like the love disappears overnight.  It is still there, right under the surface.

Take my relationship with my former love as an example.  There is no doubt in my mind that I still love him, even though it has been seven months since our “break-up.”  And no, not just because I am sitting around feeling sorry for myself that we are no longer together.  Well, that’s not overly true.  We are still “together,” but in a different way.   We have managed to remain friends.  Close friends.  Our relationship has moved on to a different phase.  But, if given the opportunity, I would welcome the chance to try our relationship again.  There were far more goods than bads.  It was right. Full of joy and love and happiness.   99% of the time.  But, the situation is/was so damn complicated, we never had the chance to have it be about US.   He and I have said that if our relationship had begun THIS April instead of LAST April, things would have been completely different.  If we had simply waited until his past was truly in his past and no longer in his present.  But, that isn’t how the story of us played out.  Unfortunately.

The fact of the matter is, it HAS been seven months since we ended what we had been.  And the fact of the matter is, he has “moved on.”  He is in a new relationship.  (It is even “Facebook worthy.”  He changed his relationship status.)   I gotta admit, I was surprised it happened so relatively soon.  There are times (only a few times) when I will doubt how “real” we were – because he has moved on, and I don’t quite seem ready to do so.  I mean, was I really that easy to get over?   God knows he hasn’t been.  But, in my heart  I know that what we had been was incredibly real and special and unique…which makes it even harder for me to stop looking longingly upon the closed door.

About a month ago, I fessed up and told my former love that I was still in love with him.  I felt he needed to know.  Not that I thought things would change.  Admittedly, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t.  But, I felt he had to know.  And not by reading my blog  – and deciphering the metaphors from my poems.  Just point blank.  I am still in love with you.  I do not regret saying it.  It came from my heart.  And I also know that no matter what happens in the future, I will always be in love with him.  It’s just how things are.  Relationships like ours don’t come along every day.  After all, it was one of those great loves that if you are fortunate enough to have one, it will change you for good.  Forever.

But, even seven months later, there is a part of me that feels as if I am betraying him – or us – if I were to move on.  How could I say I still love him, if I am ready to see someone else?  How could I say I would step right back in to what we had if I were to move on?  And would that be fair to the next person?  Knowing that in my heart I am still conflicted?

Who knows.

But, something happened this week that made me think that maybe, just maybe, I might be just about ready.  You see, I saw a former crush.  A wonderful, kind, sensitive, compassionate, creative man I had a MAJOR crush on for a couple of years – before children – before my ex-husband – before his ex-wife – before I had even met my former love.  And for the first time in seven months, I actually felt a little giddy at the thought of seeing someone.  You know.  Made sure I looked cute.  Tried my best to be witty.  Smiled a lot.  And I felt that old familiar feeling of my heart going pitter-patter.  Not that anything will happen – other than us getting together to chat about everything that has happened in the seven years since we have seen each other – but, it felt good to see  him.  Really good.  And I realized I had missed him.  So, it made me think maybe, just maybe, I was just about ready to move on.

Not that I suddenly don’t feel conflicted.  Because I do.

Not that I suddenly don’t love my former love.  Because I do.

Not that I suddenly stopped feeling a little guilty about thinking about moving on.  Because I do.

But, maybe it is time.

Maybe it is time to stop staring longingly at that closed door and see the ones that might open for me.

Maybe it is time for me to realize that it’s not that I don’t still care for my former love, but that I can’t control the fact that he has moved on.

Maybe it is time for me to take control and open a few doors.

Maybe it is time to move on.

Just maybe.