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I almost spit out my Diet Coke, “What was that last word?”
“Humped.” He said plainly.
“Ohhh, jee wiz. Umm. OK. So, we say that word about the dog, but it’s actually a bad word, so you’re going to need to choose something different.”
I walked away grateful he mentioned the question because I don’t really check their homework unless they’re being obvious liars that they finished so they can watch TV.
I haven’t had the dog neutered, although I think he would be the perfect dog to make more of, because I’ve been too busy. Everyone in the house finds the dog humping a disgusting nuisance and we kick him off of us, except G who finds it hilarious. I’ll come in the room screaming when I see G walking around with the dog who’s twerking at the end of a Conga line.
My summer break started this week. Being a teacher is not great pay, but having summer off is like winning the lottery. I dropped twenty pounds of baggage and will take care of household things to do, like getting the dog neutered.
By the end of the semester, I was in a tangle of anxiety, and I think it’s from interacting with ninety 18-22-year-olds every day. Sounding like a northern California hippie lady, I think I absorb too much of that young adult stress, where they have the entire world in front of them, their bodies can’t even contain all of this life potential.
I love talking with my students, we really have some good laughs, but occasionally one will come in and have a breakdown, and being forever scared of HR, I can’t give them a hug, but just try and give them verbal hugs, and reassure them, all of this is fleeting, and they will have a new set of problems in five years, hopefully, more manageable problems.
One way I can tell being around thousands of twenty-year-olds affects me is my period. I’ve always been a period interloper and jump on any woman’s cycle I talk to for five minutes, but by the end of the semester, I’m having a period every two and a half weeks. April 2023 I will forever remember as the month of PMS. My boyfriend probably thought I was on the verge of burning the house down because of how I reacted when the genius dog eats cat poop and leaves bits of it on the carpet.
If it’s not students, it's coworkers. Last semester one of my coworkers was going through a divorce. He was devastated. I could hear him sniffling as he walked up the hall and then would stand in my office doorway for an hour, unloading a mountain of drama. At first, I was interested in the authenticity, but after a while, it was a huge inconvenience because whatever work I don’t get done, I have to bring home with me to do after I pick up the kids from school.
I was listening to a lot of Zig Ziglar’s motivational speeches at the time. He gives helpful career advice, and his recommendation for dealing with the person in the office who eats all your time by having a one-sided conversation in front of you is to tell them straight up, “Go ruin someone else’s career.”
I told my mom I was going to do this and she said, “No. He might shoot you!”
I always take my mom’s advice seriously, so I just told him I’m too busy to talk, and he found someone else to listen.
At first, I thought I could give advice. Like I was some pro-divorcee, but honestly, I don’t know anything. I had lived by the guidelines that you make your kids think their other parent is fucking awesome, the best human being alive. I think this might have some long-term problems though because, after a while, the kids must think to themselves, well if you think he’s so great why aren’t you guys together?
My daughter came out of therapy the other day and said I think it would be helpful if you told me why you and Dad got divorced. I told her I would, over the weekend. I need time to think of what to say. I suppose it could be an opportunity for me to finally use ChatGPT because I have no idea how to say this without inducing a smear campaign against the other half of her DNA.
Another problem with pretending you think their dad is the fucking shit, is you then have to pretend their partner is the shit too. One time G asked me if I knew my IQ score, and I said no, and then he let me know his step-mom is a “genius” based on her IQ score. I wanted to say, “Who’d have thought? Well, now I know whom to call if I ever need to guess the next shape in a pattern.” But instead, I cheerfully said, “How lucky for her.”
I’m a type of chess piece in the mechanics of my ex and his wife’s relationship, and it nearly made me want to beat on a cowbell with a drumstick and march the perimeter of their house chanting, “Eat shit assholes,” after I refused to go to therapy with the two of them in December so they could determine why my daughter is having such a hard time at their house. Seeing as the intention places blame on me, I naturally declined to be the third wheel at their couples therapy, and they unleashed a retaliation where I can’t pick up the kids from their house to get one-on-one time like I used to.
So, the kids and I operate as a triad, and we can’t have one-on-one trips for the time being. My daughter wanted to watch Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, but my nine-year-old son refused to go. My final bribe was that I’d give him twenty dollars and he could play his switch the whole time, and he still said no. Exhausted from negotiations, I said, “You wouldn’t even go if I offered you a million dollars.”
Of course, he said, “I would do it for a million dollars.”
I told my mom that I wanted to take Kiki to see the movie and she said, “Isn’t that about…” and then whispered, “Periods.”
Then I told my mom, periods have become a main topic of conversation in the house after my daughter’s fifth-grade assembly on pads and tampons. Lucky for my daughter, I’m having them all the time, so she excitedly runs and gets me a pad or tampon when I’m screaming from the bathroom I now understand why I felt like the entire world was crashing down on me the week before. Naturally, my son has become quite informed as well, and I was driving him to football last week, he asked me concerned, “Mom, have you ever had toxic shock syndrome?”
Instead of going to the movies, we had a movie day at home. I was feeling nostalgic and watched old James Bond movies. My brothers and sisters and I used to watch these movies until my dad would come in from work, and see his five kids lazing about and demand we go move the firewood from one side of the house to the other. I don’t know why we didn’t question the motivation for this repetitive reaction to sedentariness.
The misogyny in the movies is horrendous, however, the villains and henchmen are quite entertaining. We started with The Spy Who Loved Me where my daughter said after seeing the female spy, “She’s so pretty, why would she want to fall in love?”
And I thought, “Uh, have I said something to make you think that?” But, I reassured her, “Everyone wants to fall in love Kiki. It’s nice to have a partner to share your life with.”
I’m sort of the opposite of my dad and am constantly popping popcorn and refilling drinks. Kiki is my little princess child, and I have to start being more like my dad, or she is going to really need to get a partner, no matter how gorgeous she is, or she’ll starve and live in a pigsty.
Then we watched Goldfinger. The kids didn’t even bat an eye when Pussy Galore comes out of the cock pit to introduce herself to Bond. They don’t know what the word pussy is.
Hopefully, it doesn’t show up on their homework.
