Communication

Assertiveness is not something that has come easily to me. I find it difficult to draw boundaries. That is further complicated by keeping the boundaries, a task I find even more difficult. I come by it honestly, as they say. My mother was unable to be assertive. And she was almost completely incapable of the boundary thing. How I wish it hadn't been that way. Assertiveness, clarity, misunderstandings, boundaries, follow-through, saying what's on your mind when it's tough to do, sticking up for yourself, separating out misunderstandings and plain old lies. They all weave together. Separating out one part from another baffles me. I find it challenging and, most significantly, unnatural. Time after time my life gets ensnared in some assertiveness dilemma. Sometimes I am able to be assertive and make my point; sometimes I'm not. Tonight I was not. Problem: I had wanted to talk to Laura and Kyle about tidiness. I had hoped we would be able to have a calm discussion at some time during our road trip up north. The right setting didn't happen. When we got home the problem got compounded. Katy had come to take care of the dogs but she had been unable to get over to talk to Laura about it before we left town. She came late and the dogs had relieved themselves in their cages. She thought Laura and Kyle always left poop in their dogs' cages. She was upset. Laura and Kyle always have fans on in the room. Before we left, we had closed off the bathroom to the garage because we didn't want Katy to know there was a bathroom there. This meant the bathroom was closed and the fans were off. The air in the room became stagnant. Katy thought the room was always stuffy and full of dog poop. She wanted to call the ASPCA. She did the one thing I didn't ever, ever, ever want her to do: she brought her dad over. Now the one person I didn't want in my home---and particularly in the garage apartment-----the one person next to Bill who would take immense pleasure in causing me pain, has been in it. Katy's dad gets perverse joy out of calling agencies out on people. He called the city on a woman's fence a block away from me, and two blocks away from him, and she spent months going to hearings over her fence which she ended up having to tear down, thanks to David. With a touch of the keypad, David could turn my life into pure misery. I am screwed. So, last night, Laura and Kyle came home to dog filth and were up past 12:30 washing dog beds. Katy feels they are raising their child in unsanitary conditions. She and I spoke today when we were at her mother's house. She was very upset, her voice quavered as she expressed her concerns to me. That many dogs brings in too much bacteria. Much of it can be transmitted through the air. There's too much dog poop in the back yard. There are too many things on the carpet and, with KJ crawling soon, he will have a multitude of things to put in his mouth. Laura had left soiled diapers out instead of in a sealed container. There were a lot of used alcohol containers. She has some valid concerns; she also has some misunderstandings. She and Laura will speak tomorrow. Next Problem: I had to broach the now compounded topic of tidiness with Katy's concerns about substandard sanitation. I asked the kids to meet with me when I got home. They were on the defense and Kyle just went gangsta on me. He lashed out at me. He didn't face me as we spoke; he sat sideways, playing with a basketball (but not bouncing it, thankfully). He said it was my problem too. As we sometimes say, he threw everything at the wall to see what would stick. He tried to derail the conversation. I expressed concern about how having four dogs in 400 square feet was not good for KJ. Laura ended up being the peacemaker. Kyle probably wants to move out now. I'd rather not have him in my life if he can't work with me to solve problems. He wanted to give Katy a piece of his mind. Laura said she knew how he was feeling but Katy had been a friend of hers all of her life and she needed to do some problem-solving in her own way with Katy. Laura was stuck in the middle and I felt sad for her. She's under so much pressure and having to be the level-headed one puts her under more pressure. Things didn't end well with us. They really didn't. It is so tense around here, and I have an overwhelming sense of sadness and loneliness. I understand their lives are hard. Laura and Kyle are both working, they have a baby, they have staggering debts, and four dogs. This is so tough. I thought we could figure something out. I had already expressed my concern that the items on their floor would soon be hazardous to KJ since he's so near to crawling. Their reactions, no, Kyle's reactions, sent my hopes crashing down around me. It might be time for them to seriously consider moving out.

Dog Goes

The eleventh hour, or in this case the fourteenth day, came. Bill had until Thursday to pick up the dog. It was a much-anticipated event. It had become emblematic of Bill's inability to both keep his promises and take responsibility for his possessions. As long as his dog was here I was having to pay for the dog's food and medications, bring him into the house to sleep with me at night, pick up his poop in the yard and clean up after any mischief he got into. Despite that, the dog is not unlikeable. In fact, he's smart, and affectionate on some level. He is a littermate to my dog and the two have been together for most of their lives. My dog, Quincy, is a little lonely now spending the days out in the yard by himself, but on the upside, he gets to sleep with me after having had to be outside every night for almost a year. For me, getting to bring Q-ball in at night is the very best part of Bill taking Matt. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Bill contacted Laura and asked her if he could pick up the dog on Thursday evening--- at the last minute, as is his style. That told me he had received the letter from my attorney reminding him about the deadline date for picking up Matt. He also asked her if 'she' would keep Matt for two more months and he'd pay her $50 a week. I said no, not two months and no, not $50 a week. First of all, we both know it would be three or four months at the least. Secondly, Laura wouldn't be the one taking care of the dog; it would be me. And thirdly, he would have to pay $100 a week. Dogsitters charge between $25 and $50 a day. The thought of recovering some of my spousal support from him was enticing. Laura had some kind of plan. If he was willing to pick up the dog, she would go out for coffee with him. After some haggling with Kyle, she decided that if he merited a trip for coffee, she would take the baby with her. If Bill was kind or well-behaved or something else I don't remember, at the end of the meeting she would present him with the $100 a week offer. For some unknown reason, her coffee experience with him led her to have him take the dog. She told me she would call him in a week or so and present him with the $100 a week idea. She said he is undergoing chemotherapy again and had to have someone drive him to town and back. Maybe she didn't make the offer to him because he had made such an effort to get here. Maybe the guy who came with him gave her a certain feeling. It's hard for me not to question her about it, but I feel it's important that I not ask anything. She volunteered some information and I have tried really hard to stay quiet about it. The one thing she did say was that she had given him a little hardcover book she had made of photos of KJ on Shutterfly and he really didn't have much of a reaction. She said, "You know how he is about gifts." "Oh," I said. "I had tried to forget how he was about that." "Well, I'll keep reminding you." It's when she makes comments like these when I remember that, in some ways, she has a pretty intense dislike for her dad. He couldn't even be a gracious gift recipient.

Another Infamous Date

Thinking back on these recent posts, it occurred to me that March 29 isn't the only curiously bizarre date in my life. There is another date that keeps popping up with the same mutant power: April 28. On April 28, 1972, I started seriously dating my first husband. I even had that date and our wedding date inscribed on the inside of his wedding band: April 28, 1972, December 21, 1974. On April 28, 1984, I left him. Fast forward to April 28, 2010, and I receive a phone call two days before my twenty-second wedding anniversary to Bill. That was the call that essentially ended our marriage. It was the call where Bill advised me that he was gambling, always had, always would, and that was just the way it was. Oh, yeah. I could take it or leave it, but that was the way it was. And the results of that conversation are chronicled in this blog..... But wait! There's more! In the summer of 1986 Bill and I broke up (for the first time). It was then that I bought my house. While I waited all summer for the house to come out of what seemed to be a never-ending escrow, I stayed with different friends and twiddled my thumbs. I had hoped escrow would close and I could use the end of my summer, the time between when summer school ended and the new school year started, to fix up the house. It was definitely in need of work, it badly needed painting both inside and out. But no, I didn't take possession until after school had resumed and I was deep in the throes of getting another class of 33 children going. During that long empty summer I had a fling. A fellow had met me at a party at his sister's house. He had expressed interest in me to his sister and sister-in-law and, when things went sour with Bill---and with my permission---, they passed my number on to him. He has always been in sales, and gets right on things when he wants them. He called immediately and we started seeing each other. He was a few years younger than I and had chosen not to go to college. He had attended a local, academically demanding Catholic high school and, like many people I know who went there, was all burnt out on school by the time he graduated. At the time we met, he had also just come out of a pretty confusing divorce and was bewildered and injured by what had happened. I guess his sisters thought we had a lot in common and could commiserate. It was not a good time for me to be getting intimate with anyone, and he was feeling like all he could be was a player, and the results left me feeling rather empty. A short while after that, I got back with Bill. A couple of years later I saw this guy at his sister's annual party. By then I had Laura, and he had a six-foot-tall blond who was also in sales, had no problem staking her claim, and kept him on a somewhat short leash. They had a child together and eventually said 'to heck with the Catholic church and it's stand on divorce' (she had had 3 and he 1) and about the time their daughter was seven, they went ahead and got married. Two weeks ago, I got a call on my desk phone at work. It was from him. He said he had been at his sister's and my name had come up. I can only imagine the context: Cindy is divorced and Cindy is retiring. Cindy will have a lot of free time. Anyway, he called me several times to say he was just wondering how I was doing and thinking that it's been a long time since we saw each other. Would I like to have lunch? Hmmmmmmm.....in a public place. Ok, sure. Since then he has been very persistent. Texts, calls. I had an uneasy feeling. My exercise partner has dinner at his sister's every Sunday night and she happened to be in my room when he and I finally spoke on the phone. When I hung up I looked at her and said, "What does he want? Why is he calling me?" She had the predictable answer, "There's trouble in paradise." "I'm not getting involved," I said. "I will go out to lunch because I have one burning question I've been wanting to ask him for 25 years, and it has nothing to do with my affair with him. I will be cordial." I will have lunch with him tomorrow. His birthday is April 28.

Countdown:We Have a Lift-off!

Ooooooh! Today was the day. I went to work. For the last time. And the way I felt? Relieved. Relaxed. Pleased. Glad. At the end of the day I turned in my keys. For the last time. How did I feel? Ok, actually. I thought I would be upset. I thought it would tear me up to lose the keys to my sanctuary, my private and personal domain, my little kingdom. Or queendom. But I think I have come to the point where I am ready to move on with my life. I think I didn't admit it to myself until now, but for many years I continued teaching because I had no other choice. It wasn't about whether or not I liked my work. It wasn't about dedication or not. I LOVED my work and I was seriously committed to it. Now I remember feeling like there were many years when I couldn't allow myself the luxury of thinking about doing anything except working there. I was supporting a family. I had bills to pay. I had obligations, debts, a child. And a husband who wasn't too concerned about picking up the primary financial burdens. Why think about what I wanted to do instead of this job? It could only frustrate me, or worse, make me sad. Realizing that this was in the back of my head for a long time has been freeing. I can move on. We'll see how I feel after a few months of not doing this job.

Countdown: R Minus Three

Also known as The Last Day with the Children, yesterday happened as if I weren't retiring. Yesterday was a typical last day of school. Without exception, regardless of my age, level of aerobic exercise or physical fitness, the last day of school has always left me more drained than I can describe. By the time the children leave on this day, I am beat. All I can think about is getting off my feet and resting my weary bones, bones that feel like they have turned to rubber, converted and are ready to flop me over at any second. Or maybe I'll just melt like Elphaba. Pour water on me; see what happens. The last day of school is like my usual Friday but on steroids, ramped up exponentially because not only is it a Friday, it is the last Friday of a school year, the wrapping up of 180 instructional days, the culmination of the exhaustive work of building a classroom community, a micro-lifetime come and gone, a beginning middle and end all completed within these 180 days. In 36 weeks, I have created an environment, established relationships, presented, worked for and reached (or fallen short of) goals and standards,instructed, mothered, nursed, refereed, mediated,and guided a group of children who had not had much previous socialization to the school environment. I have either welcomed or alienated their parents to our school and have ushered them all on to our first grades. I have planned lessons and homework, prepared the necessary materials to deliver said activities, have done the paperwork, the data input, the conferencing, the rubric-making, the team meetings, made and remade the groupings, set and reset the seating charts, assessed and reassessed the children, given them extra work, pushed them in their zones of proximal development, cleaned, picked up, and organized and dismantled a 1200-square-foot work space. At the end of this day, I am always, I mean ALWAYS, glad school is out. Did I have different feeling this time? No. My sense of exhaustion superceded any other feeling I might possibly have had. All I wanted to do was go home and rest. That said, there were still some traditions I felt must be carried out. No, traditions I believe in strongly, do every year, and WANTED to carry out. First of all, I always invite the families to the end-of-the-year celebrations. The children always vote on some songs they'd like to sing for our guests. We reset the furniture in the classroom during recess. After recess the families start arriving. After we sing, I give certificates individually to the children. I call them up one-at-a-time and say something special about each child. It's very sweet and it's one of my favorite activities of the entire year. After all the children have been recognized, everyone goes outside to have lunch at the tables. We all bring something. It's one of the few times during the year when I allow sweets and desserts. As the children finish their food, they head to the playground for the remainder of the lunch period. I pass out the progress reports to the parents. And before you know it, it's time to go home. This day, just like the last twenty or so last days of school, went that way. It all happened in a flash. And then it was over. I got lovely gifts, lots of well wishes. It was a good day. I left as I always do: tired beyond belief, happy, worn out, glad it was over.

Doggone?

It is written in my divorce settlement that Bill will pick up his giant alpha dog within fourteen days of receiving the large lump sum from my tax shelter. I have had to keep in touch with the financial advisor's office regarding this. There had been numerous hurdles to jump in getting this money transferred to Bill. I purposely had it written into the agreement that the money would be distributed in a spousal rollover. I wanted no tax consequences as a result of giving him the money I had spent thirty five years saving. Finally, on June 7, the money was successfully transferred to an account they had set up for Bill. Does he know the money will be subject to taxation upon withdrawal? My guess is that he probably knows by now. My other guess is that he will try to circumvent the whole taxation process somehow. He will either find a loophole or find a way of not paying. He will ask, if possible, to have no money withheld on the basis of not expecting to have to pay any taxes for this year. Good luck with that. My experience has been that they take out the taxes first and talk to you about it later. Later being when you file your return for that year. I know that fourteen days after June 7 is June 20, possibly June 21. Bill asked my attorney if he could come by and fetch the dog on Saturday, June 23. I told the attorney that would not work and that Bill will need to get the dog on either Wednesday the 20th or Thursday the 21st. He can contact my dad's caregiver who can then walk the dog up to the corner and meet Bill there. It's so Classic Bill to try to push the fourteen days. He needs to know that the Neo-Classic Cindy isn't buying the blurry margins anymore. Not. Any. More. Dog. Fourteen days. Gone.

Countdown: R Minus 4

During this final week of a 37-year career at the same school, I have found the job of readying myself for retirement to be both difficult and easy. There have been cupboards to clean, student work to pass out, paperwork to fill, progress reports to complete, and other elements of closure that have always been normal to the end of any school year. The beauty of knowing the person who will be taking over my post is that we can communicate about what it is she wants me to leave behind and what it is she would prefer I tossed. The ultimate beauty in this situation is when the person says she'd like you to leave everything. That said, I have taken her comment to mean I have the discretion to throw out anything I feel is too old or ruined. It has afforded me enormous freedom. People continually ask me how it feels to be retiring. And I tell them I'm not quite sure I know how it will feel. It's too foreign to anything I have ever experienced. I know I will have a strange sensation when I close the door and turn in my keys, but that is something that's commonly done. For the last couple of years we have had to turn in our keys in June. Prior to that we had kept our keys year-round but some people's keys were getting 'borrowed' and non-break-in school thefts over the vacations had spiked. Somebody was leaving their keys in predictable places where they were taken and then returned without the owner's knowledge. It's been weird to feel as if I am deprived of my sanctuary for two months. But the summers have been getting increasingly shorter and the time between turning in the keys and going in to pick them up has been shrinking. Today my principal told me he thinks the time I'll feel it the most will be when August comes and I won't be in a classroom putting up bulletin boards and unpacking my supplies. But I sense that if I have any feelings of emptiness at that time, I will also have great feelings of relief at not having my summer cut short. Teachers traditionally arrange to be on a vacation the first time school goes back into session after their retirement. I think I will be visiting my sisters. It's about the best I can do at this point in time. Being out of town can help me bypass any awkward feelings that may come about.