Hitting the Ground Running

Hitting the ground running... typical night's sleep... wake up at midnight... and one... and two... and three... and four... finally surrender and get up.  Eight hours total... but somehow it feels like not enough.  Mess around on the computer for an hour or so... managed to say hi to an old friend that I haven't talked with in a while on face book chat. 

Get started on my day... dress, pack lunches, comb hair, brush teeth... take stock... watch, phone, I-pad, cold medicine, cough drops, big cup of hot tea with honey and lemon, purse, lunch, water bottle...yep that's everything.  Ready to commute.  Find that man in my life and get a kiss on forehead.  (He had been hearing me cough, hack, bring up horrible green stuff from what seemed like my toes too much lately to dare come anywhere near my mouth.)  Hit the road.  Floss my teeth.  (This may seem odd... but I use those plaquers type things are easy to use with one hand.  Prolly only one one hundredth as dangerous as using a phone... not that I would ever use a phone while I drive).  Cough... drink tea... cough some more... drink some more tea.

Traffic was light... get to work at 7:00 am about a half hour before nearly everybody else... put away stuff... Got some more tea... go check the fish tank.  (I am in charge of daily maintenance of a very nice salt water aquarium.) Feed, refill water, clean filters and wash the windows.  Good to go.  Check watch... ten minutes 'til time to get breakfast ready.  Stop by copy machine...run some copies for later... 7:30  Run to cafeteria, warm up ovens, take inventory... head to main kitchen... get food ... roll it back to cafeteria... 7:50 Serve breakfast... take lunch orders... keep track of each and every kid who eats.  Check their names off on a list.  Make sure to smile and wish each and every one a Happy New Year.

8:30 Head back to main kitchen... give cook the orders for lunch...

Head back to de-escalation room.  Sit down take three deep calming breaths.  Put on shin guards.  (I don't get kicked every day... but I get kicked often enough that it is wise to wear the personal protective gear.  Find a clean pair of kevlar bite protection sleeves... fill pockets with an odd mix of hair ties, nonlatex gloves and cough drops.  Refill cup with tea and lemon.  Go check on my assigned classroom. 

Peek in window.  Good news... only 4 of the 8 kids have shown up.  (You know you are starting to burn out when you wish the little monsters don't show up.)  And one of my most challenging high flyers seems abnormally subdued... He is actually calm... doing school work... cross fingers... knock on wood... maybe just maybe there has been a med change that finally works.  Classroom is running calm and smooth... don't even go in.  Take the time to tour the building, touching base with folks... How was your break??? Happy New Year!!!  Good mornings all around.  Pick up some sign out sheet I will need to do December data.  Run some more copies.

Principal gives me a new heavy duty case for my I-pad.  Take about twenty minutes to try and figure out how to get it open and put the I-pad in.  It totally sucks.  The protective rubber makes it nearly impossible to turn on and off... spend another ten minutes taking I-pad back out and putting the thing back in its box.  Thanks but no thanks.

Head out to check on my classroom again.  Find one of my second graders trying to leave the building.  He is pissed.  Did not get what he wanted when he wanted.  He is singularly whiny.  Prolly for good reason... family in total chaos.  Mom lost in the druggisphere... him staying with kinda sketchy family, child protective services trying to figure out what to do with him and his siblings.  When he gets really mad he screams at me that he wants him mom.  Heart break.  Now he is "LEAVING!!!!!".  I am standing between him and the door... gently, firmly, telling him there is no way I am going to let him. He ends up huddling under a bench, refusing to come out.  I sit down on the bench and tell him that we have all the time in the world to figure this out... and wait him out.

Poor little rat falls asleep.  Awwww.... he was tired.  I gently prod him awake... tell him he is too tired and he needs to take a nap in soft space.  We will work this out when he feels better.  Guide sleepy little guy to our pile of bean bags and put a blanket over him.  (He is out for the next two hours.  Typical case of fucked up sleep patterns from being off for two weeks.) 

Walk by someone who has a screaming autistic kid in time out.  Ask if they are okay or if they need help.  They do need help.  Autistic kid is repeatedly trying to take his clothes off... "Can you get me his belt... "  Head off to classroom.  When I get back with belt, kid has managed to pull his pants down for enough to tear his diaper off... we end up walking him to bathroom.  (Walking him = one on each arm as he kicks fights struggles...) I restrain him while other guy puts on diaper, pants and shoes.  He is not happy but he is clothed.

10:30... time to get ready for lunch.  Pick up food from main kitchen.  It is a surprisingly tasty looking meal.  Kiwis, canned pears, roasted carrots, peas, mashed potatoes, cubes of turkey meat, and gravy... with a whole wheat roll and chocolate milk.  Get busy assembling 42 trays in 20 minutes.  11:00 Serve a starving pack of kids.  Hand out lots of second to kids that have likely gone hungry more than a few times in the last two weeks.  We don't have fat kids... we have hungry kids.  Keep track of everyone that eats.  Roll the empty cart back. 

11:30 go out and supervise kids on playground.  Pretty easy... but my high flyer is still subdued.  Wonder what they gave him... wonder if I can get some for the rest of the kids.

12:00... time to come in.  Three of my four truck right in.  One doesn't.  One hides.  Go stand by him.  Remind him he has been having a great day.  Encourage him to keep up the good work.  Nada... nothing... zip... he growls and hisses.  Try to wait him out.  Still not moving.  Finally get another staff person and take him on hand.. he walks but is not cooperative... refuses to go into the classroom.  Take him to the de-escalation room... have him sit at a desk... start ignoring... no attention... positive or negative.  He seems happy enough... takes off his shoes and spends the next 50 minutes chewing on his toes.  Darn those kids that can entertain themselves.  Used the time to start working on data.  One eye on kid one eye on papers in hand.  Finally switch another staff in and go take my first break of the day at 1:00. 

1:30... kids leaving to go to school busses.  1:45 classroom meeting... 2:30 finally done.  Hit the road and come home... Somewhere in there I managed to do a load of laundry and go through the address labels and let the secretary know which ones we needed.

It was a pretty easy day... no restraints and my cold seems to be getting better.  Happy I have a huge pot of chili already. I even had the energy to make biscuits... 

Sunday Morning

Already time flies.  I go back to work tomorrow.  There is some debate about that.  My health hasn't improved much.  It is just a cold.  I 'could' do it, but I know I would be seriously dragging my ass before the end of the day.  Flip side... it is typical for the first day of work after a week or two off for a lot the staff to call in sick.  It is a given that the kids will be crazier... a lot of the progress made in the last three months forgotten... their sleep patterns all fucked up by two weeks of parents wanting them to sleep in, in the morning... and the mysterious 'X' factor of whatever could have gone wrong in their home life will have gone wrong.  And I really hate it when my co-workers blow off these first Mondays after a holiday.  I would be pretty disgusted with myself if I didn't show up and pull as much of my weight as I could.

I commented to Husband that the way this cold is progressing... getting worse instead of better... I prolly ought to go to work and earn some money before I die.

Meh... enough thinking about work .  I have one more whole day before I need to put that albatross back around my neck.

So it is Sunday.  I usually call my aging parents on Sunday mornings but it has gotten increasingly depressing.  Both of them don't seem to have much to say...  It is futile to talk about anything of consequence.  Their hearing is bad.  Their memories are worse.  I know my mother doesn't remember that I have called 20 minutes after I hang up.  And my father isn't much better.  They don't remember but I do and I feel sad.  It is so easy to procrastinate and 'forget'.  But then two weeks stretches to three weeks and the guilt builds up... and up...

Positive... I go play Dungeons and Dragons with my older son and some friends every Sunday evening.  It is at his house so I get those sweet sweet grandbaby girl hugs.  Plus it is my only real socialization outside work.  Christmas had us cancel last week so I am looking forward to it today.  Orpah, the level 9 cleric must bring some crumbs of sanity to the madcap impetuosity that the other characters have brought to the table.

Well that is my Sunday morning.  I have that hard phone call to make, a breakfast for the man in my life and I think a big pot of chili so I won't have to cook for a couple of days.

"Jigsaw Puzzle Girl" Chapter One: Setting Out

Chapter 1:  Setting out

Monica sat in the front seat of the big dark sedan and craned her neck to look back at the small group standing watching them drive down the long gravel driveway.  Junie still had one hand in the air, hanging suspended, no longer waving and her other in Happy’s collar.  The half grown golden puppy was straining against the restraint, her tail wagging furiously.  It was another gray misty late fall day, and the figures rapidly faded from view.  She raised her hand to wave good bye one last time and then turned and faced forward. 

One of the things Monica hated most about being so short was the way she had to stretch to see out of the windows of some cars.  David’s big FBI issued sedan was one of those kinds of cars and Monica found herself pulling her knees up underneath her to give her some height.  She looked surreptitiously over at David.  He had chided her in the past about her habit of not sitting ‘right’ and that it wasn’t safe.  He said that the seat belt needed to be over her hips and when she sat like that it would not work to protect her properly.  Monica had pouted and said that if she had read the warnings correctly, the air bag would probably kill her anyway.  David had laughed and threatened to buy her a booster seat or make her sit in the back.

But that was a long time ago, almost a lifetime ago.  Monica blinked, really it had only been a few months but so much had happened that it seemed another time.

As the big car drove down the long gravel driveway, the rocks clicking and crunching under the tires, Monica’s eyes were drawn to the place where the body had lain.  There were still some spray painted marks on the ground and she was pretty sure that she could see where the blood had spilled on the road.  It was hard to believe it was over, that David had killed the man who had attacked her, changing her life, her heart and her body.  Everything had been literally sliced apart and in many ways she did not think she would have survived if it had not been for this veteran lawman who had been sitting beside her hospital bed when she had woken up.  

She looked over at the man she had consented to marry just the day before.  He was lean and tan and much older than her.  She did not understand completely the overwhelming compulsion to be near him, but she knew that every time she was apart from him it felt like parts of her were missing.  There was a great aching void inside her and when she was separated from him she would feel this ominous ever growing sense of fear.  It was like she was unfastened from the world and he was her only lifeline.

He was not wearing the dark omnipresent FBI man suit that she was so used to seeing him in.  Instead he had on his worn jeans, pearl snap western shirt, and old scuffed cowboy boots that meant he was not working, but Monica knew that attached to his belt, just out of sight was his gun.  She had never seen him dressed when he was not carrying his gun.  It was so much a part of his daily ritual that she hardly noticed it anymore.  Yesterday, when he had proposed and she had said yes, he told her that he was retiring from his position as an FBI agent.  She wondered if once he was officially no longer with the FBI if he would stop wearing it.  He drove with one hand resting on the console gear shift lever and on impulse she reached over and laid her smaller hand over his.

He looked over at her and asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.  It is just that so much has happened and I don’t know what is going to happen next.”

“Pretty girl, we get to decide exactly what happens next.”  He took her hand and gave it a squeeze, “The only thing on my list is that I have to turn this car in to the FBI head quarters and then we need to rent a car.  Or we could buy one.  In the long run, it would probably be cheaper to buy a car.  I have a pickup truck back at my house in Louisiana, but you will need to have a car of your own too, I guess.  What kind of car do you think you would like?”

Monica felt a tremble of confusion at the question.  It was a harbinger of so many decisions that needed to be made and she did not feel up to thinking about any of them.  “Oh I don’t know.  I never was a very good driver.  I have a license but I have not driven a car in over a year.”  On impulse she grinned and then giggled, “I want a car I can see out of.”

“Well I have plenty of money in savings, I haven’t had much in the way of personal expenses the last year or so.  Let’s get something comfortable.”  David looked over at her, “Pretty girl, I really want to take you to Louisiana.  I have family there and I do have a house.  I haven’t spent much time there in the last few years.  It was more Irene’s house than mine and I just hung onto it so I would have a place to go if I ever needed.

Monica knew his wife had died of breast cancer quite a few years ago and that he had pretty much buried himself in his work after that.  “Sure I guess so.”

David nodded, “We will only be there long enough to get the house ready to sell and meet the family.”  He looked over at the tiny blond girl, “What I really want is to build a place on my property in East Texas.  I want to raise horses.”

“I don’t know anything about horses.”  Monica’s voice was small and shy.  “But if it’s what you want…”  She did not finish the sentence.  A growing feeling that she had somehow forced herself into his life and that she had no right to question any of these decisions kept her questions at bay.  That and the fact that she had no idea what she wanted. 

David seemed unaware of her uncertainty, “Oh, you will love them.  I will teach you everything you need to know.  I grew up on a horse ranch and I always knew I would do this once I retired.”  Monica knew it was important to him.  She had listened to him talk about his dream many times before.

She tentatively nodded, “It seems like so much to think about.”

“Am I moving too fast for you?”

“I don’t know.  I know I want this.  It just seems kind of overwhelming.”

David’s voice turned serious, “Pretty girl, I am running on pure adrenaline.  You think you feel overwhelmed.  I am pretty much feeling the same way.  I think my way of dealing with it is by trying to plan it all out and get a sense of what to expect.  If I start to stampede over the top of you just hold up your hand and say whoa.” 

Monica smiled as his southern accent deepened.  She whispered softly, “Whoa.”

“Yes, Pretty Girl?”

“Let’s not worry about all that now.  Let’s just get a car, you decide if we want to buy or rent.  I want to stop by my Mom’s house and get some stuff so there should be room for some suitcases.  It’s a long way to Louisiana; we can talk about horses and ranches on the ride down.”

“Sounds like a good plan.  I am sort of looking forward to being able to talk to your mother in a purely unprofessional manner.” 

Monica thought back to the last time she had seen her mother.  She grinned ruefully to think that she had attacked her mother, slapping her in her face and snarling like an angry little animal.  “I had almost forgotten about that.  You know she is really wasn’t always horrible.  It seemed like she sort of snapped when I got attacked.  I think she somehow blamed herself and then started to blame me.  She could not get past that.  She was pretty wild as a younger woman.  She never even knew who my father was.  She kind of overreacted to that and tried somehow to keep me from ‘turning into a whore’.  Her words not mine.  When I got hurt, and she found out what kind of bad decisions I had been making, she just tried to control me more.  She did it because she loved me.  She was all I had.”  Monica turned to David, “Please don’t make her feel too bad.  I am really all she has.  And I do love her.”

“Pretty girl, if you want it, I will be civil, but if she starts to call you names, we will be leaving.  Nobody talks to my wife like that.”

Monica giggled at his words, “I am not your wife yet.”

“Sooner than you think, Pretty Girl, I am not the sort of man to drive across this country with an unmarried woman.”

Monica felt a little rush of fear at the idea of being married.  Her voice squeaked, “Soon?”

His voice was nervous, “I made some phone calls.  I have a friend in the courthouse.  They got a waiver on the waiting period.  He will line up a couple of witnesses and a justice of the peace.”

Monica gasped, “I don’t have anything to wear!”

“Pretty girl, you can have a white dress and a big church once we get to Louisiana but like I told you before, I am an old fashioned man and I am not going to sleep with you until we are married.”

Monica felt her mouth go dry, a tiny tremble of fear coursed through her.  It was not so much fear that he would hurt her; it was more fear that somehow she would panic or not be able to have sex.  The doctors said that her reconstructive surgery was successful and there was no reason she could not engage in intercourse but there was a lot of scar tissue.  She had not even masturbated since she had been assaulted. 

She remembered Junie’s words to her, that if she wanted it, she would find a way.  Junie said to talk about it and be gentle and it would work out just fine.  Monica’s voice was soft and tentative, “David?”

“Yes, Pretty Girl?”

“I am pretty afraid about that.”

“Getting married?”

“Um… no… afterwards.”

He looked over at her and saw her lips trembling, and pulled the car over to the side of the road.  “Pretty girl, we have all the time in the world to work that out.  I did not expect you to rush into that.”

“I’m sorry.  I want to… I mean I want you to… but it’s just I don’t know if I can.”  A soft sob bubbled up and she sniffed.  “I’m afraid that I will not be good enough.”

He reached across the console and awkwardly tried to put his arms around her.  “Don’t cry; you are not the only one worried about being good enough.  I haven’t been with a woman in longer than I care to mention.  I had thought that part of my life was behind me.  Now I have a beautiful young woman who is going to be my wife.  Let’s just take our time with this one too.  It will be better if we don’t try to make it happen.”

Monica slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, tentatively reaching to touch his mouth with the shy tip of her tongue and then pulled away, an impish glint in her shiny wet eyes.  “Okay.”

He gave her a quick kiss on her nose and then pulled away, and put the car in gear.  “I think we will have fun reinventing that wheel.”