All the Magic I Have Known

I’m usually pretty good about admitting when I am directly responsible for the mess my life has become.

Like the other day when my friend texted me and said, “What are you doing?” and my response was, “Watching Gossip Girl and working on PTA stuff. I’m having a hard time with this, because I used to wear flannel and listen to Nirvana. WTF, right?”

But I tend to get myself into these messes, and I’m ok owning up to that.

So today Zion’s friend Nicholas was hanging out with us while his mom was at work. Nicholas hates animals.

{I know – what’s he doing visiting us? But he and Zion were excited, so I went with it.}

We just happen to have this visiting us this week:

I KNOW. How can you not fall completely and utterly in love with a face like that? On a sidenote:

Right. And when you consider that the whole reason we have him is because two massively huge dogs got together and attacked him, and the little four-pound disaster of a dog held his own and survived – well, it’s just hard to hold a grudge. Or say no. Or not get attached.

Mike fell instantly in love when he realized that he does tricks. Seriously – what kind of rescue puppy does tricks? Uh, this one, thanksforasking. He was a little worried when he tried to climb into bed with me and Mr. Four-Pounds-of-Ferocious tried toremove his face, but they made up. He expressed concern when “Puffy” {this was a huge compromise – I wanted to name him “Poof” and Mike wanted to name him “Puff Daddy”} snarled and chomped a chunk of his arm after he tried to retrieve his car keys from their comfy spot underneath the dog.

But he’s not ours, and I’m ok with that – totally content to just hang out and love on him until he’s feeling better.

So you can imagine the uproar it caused when I realized, at 11:00 this morning, that the two boys had somehow managed to let all the dogs out the front door and never bothered mentioning it to me.

Uproar is actually not a good descriptive term. There was screaming, yelling, crying – all of it came from me – and really confused looks from two five-year-old little boys.

“WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO IF THIS DOG DIES, ZION?!?” I wailed from the driver’s seat as we searched the neighborhood, hysterically weaving in and out of children riding their bicycles. “WHAT IF WE NEVER FIND HIM?!?” I pictured in my mind all 526 of the Terrible Things That Can Happen to a Dog of Only Four Pounds. I wrote the screenplay for the conversation I would have with my mother when I explained that I was only doing the dishes, and these irresponsible five year olds refused to maintain accountability for their actions.

And then I heard myself telling my husband that his cute little Puff Daddy was gone..

…when I saw him sniffing a bush on the next corner. I stopped the car, hopped out, said, “Hey Puffy, come here!” and he snarled, growled and snapped at me. I have never been happier in my life.

So you can imagine the uproar that his sudden disappearance at 2:00 caused.

Did I say uproar again? I need to find better words.

I threatened to disown my son. I cried. I screamed. I panicked. I called the mailman. I talked to the drug dealers down the street. I begged the guy with the Coolio hair and the pitt bulls to please pick him up and hold him if he saw him, and promised to come back by. I recruited one of the local 6th graders to keep an eye out, and as I drove away from him heard his friend say, “Who was that?” I couldn’t even manage a grin when his response was, “You know, that crazy white lady on the boulevard over there…”

I asked a 326-year-old black man if he had seen a poofy little tan-colored dog running around, and I was really concerned that I would have to perform CPR after he went into cardiac arrest from the effort of answering my question. I abandoned all hope of ever finding this silly little dog alive.

And then, as we pulled up in front of our house, we saw one of the kids from down the street standing on the porch, little brother in tow. There at his feet on a leash was Puffy.

I threw the van into park, jumped out and yelled, “CAN I PLEASE HUG YOU?!?”

He looked so confused and said, “He came running down the street a few minutes after you drove away, so I just grabbed him.” I hugged him. And then I hugged him again. And then he looked uncomfortable, like someone had maybe already told him about the crazy white lady on the boulevard…

And then I took the silly little dog off the leash and brought him inside the house and the drama was over. For that second, anyway.

Dear Zion,

Sixty-nine days ago, I printed a list of all the things we wanted to do this summer. There were all kinds of fun things on that list, like going to the zoo, seeing the dinosaurs, playing in fountains – all kinds of fun, summery things, right? I knew there was no way we would get to all of them, but I had high hopes.

The school thing, man. I tried to keep it together. I tried not to let everything fall apart. But you know how I am, right?

That thing I said I’d never do – that crazy, soul-sucking thing – you know, the PTA. I became the president. It was the last day of school, and the person who was in charge stepped down and asked me to take over. I have this thing about saying no.. I’m not good at it. So I didn’t say it. And then the shit hit the fan.

Because shortly after this happened, we realized just how upside-down things were. And then after we realized that, figured out how to take care of it, and actually took care of it… well by then, we realized just how bad things were with the school itself, and the school district. And you know me, right, because I’m your mom and all. I had to go and insert myself right in the middle of the whole mess.

And the next thing I knew, it was August.

August, child.

We hadn’t gone to the zoo. We hadn’t played in the fountains. We hadn’t seen the dinosaurs.

We left for vacation, and as we were driving to pick up Nonnie, you said, “Hey Mom, no texting on vacation, ok? No PTA, either. And no answering your phone. Also, no checking your email.”

Dude, you’re 5. You shouldn’t have to be telling your mom these things. I kinda suck, and I’m sorry.

We got home from vacation last week, I spent the weekend at work, and then Monday I had – you guessed it – more PTA stuff to do. Tuesday we hit the ground running with therapy and friends and meetings at the school.

But Wednesday…

Wednesday was so, so awesome. I woke up and laid in bed for a half hour, just until I heard a little bitty voice beside me say, “Mommy, are you awake?”

You climbed in next to me, and we cuddled and had tickle fights for another half hour. Then I said, “What’s for breakfast?” and you said, “Uhmmm.. pizza.” So we had pizza. And we watched tv. And we cleaned your room a little bit. And we talked about what it’s going to be like in a few weeks when you become A BUS RIDER. We read some books. Watched some more tv, just to veg out for a bit.

Daddy came home and we played some games – checkers, crazy eights, and go fish – and did a couple of puzzles.

That was what summer was supposed to be. Maybe if we lived in the suburbs, if we put you in one of those “good schools,” we could have had a normal summer? I wouldn’t have known what to do with that, and I don’t think you would either. You’re my kid, after all.

It lasted all of one day. Then today we got a $600 electric bill, the waterbed exploded and we found out the air conditioner has been leaking through our bedroom ceiling and into the living room. Welcome back to reality…

I promise to try to cram an entire summer’s worth of fun into the next three weeks, little man, and maybe in between scrubbing mildew, fixing the waterbed, painting two rooms and sanding floors I’ll be able to sleep once a week or so. Here’s to the new school year.

In case you were wondering, there is nothing – NOTHING – hotter than watching your husband dive into a swimming pool – fully clothed, including $120 work boots, cell phone, and wallet – to save someone else’s kid from drowning.

That’s why I married him.

Well, that and the dreds.

It’s really bad when the coffee shop calls you personally and says, “Hey Sara, what’s up? Haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks…” And not in one of those “calling-your-best-customers-to-make-more-money” kind of ways, because this particular coffee shop is located at my work. So they literally called this afternoon and were like, “Dude, where ya been?”

And I was all, “Rachel, I’m not avoiding you, but I’m going on vacation in a couple of weeks and I am literally saving my pennies to make sure we can cover all of our vacation expenses. I’ll be back after August 5th.”

And she was cool with that. But I felt guilty, still. Maybe one latte won’t hurt the vacation budget..

I am feeling low today.

Feeling as though I am spinning and spinning and spinning and never. going. anywhere.

Some days that’s a really good thing – a cool thing – a very “Sara” thing to do – putting your arms out and spinning as fast as you can go until you collapse in the grass, giggling and feeling very glad that you took the time to do that.

And then there are days that have deadlines and due dates and time clocks and it seems as though there is no end to the pressure.

This week was full of those days – the pressurized ones.

So today I have taken a moment to remind myself of some very important truths.

~ I love the silence of the night ~

~ I am not comfortable if my feet are not bare ~

~ If it is white, I will paint it ~

~ One day, I will visit Morocco ~

~ I am aware that I do not have to accomplish everything today, but I will try anyway ~

~ When I fail, I will remind myself that I do not have to accomplish everything today ~

~ I will erase the sadness of failure and frustration with pretty pictures filled with saturated color ~

~ If the pictures are white, I will paint them ~

Mike: When u txt me it plays My Chick’s Bad

Sara: That’s cuz I’m a down-ass chick.

Mike: Westside.

Sara: We live on the eastside. I learned that from the KC Star.

Mike: I get all my ghetto info from the Star, too.

1. “Mom, how long will it take? Wait – no – nevermind. It takes as long as it takes, right? Like when Daddy poops.”

2. “Daddy, some days I feel like being bad. And if this is one of those days, you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

3. (Upon meeting Ms. Robyne for the first time) “We got this new pool, and it’s like a big sink!”

“For the PTA, this is like the moment after the Titanic hit the iceburg, and the captain is like, ‘I don’t think I wanna do this anymore. Wanna take over?’ and you’re all, ‘Yeah, I think I can fix this..’ and she’s like, ‘Good, I’ll just take your place on the lifeboat real quick..’”

Edited to add:

“And now you’re mad at the guy who’s asking the questions. Like, ‘Hey, does this lifeboat hold more than 8? Because it says up to 8, but it’s kind of an emergency, so I’m thinking maybe we could put 10 in? What are your thoughts?’”

It is just past 10pm, and I have pulled up to the security guard station at the entrance to my mother’s trailer park -

- my mother does not live in a trailer park? -

and the guard says, “Sorry, it’s after 10. I can’t let you in.”

I say, “Seriously? My mom is expecting us,” and I indicate my sleeping five-year-old in the back seat.

“Well why the heck didn’t you say so!” he exclaims and pushes the button to open the gate. As I drive through, I think to myself, “If I had been a bitch, this never would have happened. All most people want is for you to be nice to them.”

We arrive at my mother’s trailer, and I take Zion inside and tuck him safely into bed. This is when I realize that I have an absolutely uncontrollable need for Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Eureka! I think to myself, There just happens to be a gas station directly behind my mother’s trailer that serves Krispy Kreme doughnuts!

I climb the fence behind the shed, and as I am coming down on the other side, the gas station turns all of its lights out indicating that it is closing time. The resulting devastation hits me like a ton of bricks. “NOOOO!” I yell and collapse in a heap on the pavement.

A young man exits the store and says, “Hey, do you like Krispy Kreme doughnuts? We have a ton of them, and we’re just going to throw them away.” He hands me a box with about a half dozen inside.

Elation. Pure elation. What perfect timing! I think.

I take a bite of a chocolate cruller, and I can taste the chocolate cake-iness in my mouth. This is definitely not my favorite, but I will work up to that doughnut, with the glaze puddled delicately on the waxed paper.

As I begin to swim toward consciousness, I realize I have been dreaming, dreaming about that deliciousness that is the holy grail of glazed doughnuts, and the devastation, again ton-of-bricks-style, sets in.

Pico, heretofore asleep at my side, jumps to alert. Have you ever seen an 8-pound Shih-Tzu jump from dead sleep to alert? It is the most hilarious thing you will ever witness, hand to God. One moment they are dreaming, making adorable little Shih-Tzu grunts, and the next minute they are ferocious, determined soldiers, standing at the ready to defend their household and its inhabitants from… mice? Mosquitos? Maybe a housefly? I have no idea what kind of damage that little dog thinks he can inflict, but he is serious about it.

Pico is alert, I still have the taste of chocolate cruller and disappointment in my mouth, and Mike is happily – blissfully – unaware and snoring like a lumberjack.

Something is trying to get in our bedroom window.

Pico begins to bark his hilarious, tiny, “DON’T EVEN TRY IT  YOU BASTARD” bark. I hear chittering on the other side of the window. Immediately, I begin to imagine a rabid army of super-intelligent bats that have figured out the most accessible entry point is the window unit air conditioner in our bedroom.

“MIKE!” I am screaming, “SOMETHING IS TRYING TO GET IN OUR WINDOW! I THINK THERE’S A BAT!”

Mike jumps to alert, only slightly more convincingly than Soldier-Dog, and listens intently. He agrees that it does sound like a bat doing the sonar-click noise. He turns on the light, turns on the air conditioner, turns off the air conditioner, turns off the light, and lays back down.

I take a moment to wonder how in the hell that was supposed to be effective, and then the chittering begins again. Something is trying hard to get into that air conditioner.

My husband helpfully offers to drill holes into the window and the air conditioner to ensure nothing comes through. (It is 3am, in case you’re wondering. I’m sure the neighbors will ask that question when they realize there is major construction happening in the Mabin master bedroom.)

I say, “Don’t you think we should look outside and see what it is first?” I am still envisioning the army of super-intelligent bats.

He climbs across me, the bed, and the dresser to look out the window. Thirty seconds later he is still looking out the window. My body and my mind are both coiled, ready to spring, quite probably in two very different directions, the second he confirms my fears. “Do you see it?!?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, “it’s either a raccoon or a possum stuck on the roof. It’s like, pacing the roof line, trying to figure out how to get down.” He climbs back into bed, puts an arm around me, and closes his eyes.

My eyes are wide open, and every time something clicks, licks, grunts or sighs – and there are three cats and two dogs in this house, so this happens a lot – I imagine an invading army of super-intelligent rabid raccoons taking over my kitchen one floor below me. Sleep does not come easily to the anxiety-ridden.

I decide this is a great moment to tell my husband about my dream. As I near the end of the recounting, I say, “This puts me in a unique class of people that dreams about Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and I don’t think I want to be there.”

My husband, ever the diplomat at 3am, says, “Honey, I don’t know of anyone in the world that dreams about doughnuts except Homer Simpson.”

I believe this was supposed to make me feel better.

Zion’s principal has officially moved to a new school and, in case you’re new and missed it, I am heartbroken.

I share that feeling with the majority of the teachers and parents at the school. We’re each dealing with it in our own way.

The day before the last day of school, I spent the entire day carrying pieces of fabric and Sharpies around to each room asking teachers, students and staff to sign them. This is what I put together after it was finished:

If you click on the one below, you can see Zion’s class up-close-and-personal. It’s in the upper left-hand corner with the big polka-dotted “W10″ in the center.

Next year is feeling very empty without her leadership.