It’s a Hard Knock Life

Three Stories That Prove I Am A Bad Luck Magnet:

1.) We arrived home from our 2014 March Break trek to N.C., U.S.A., pulling in Saturday night at 10:00 p.m. From the minute I opened the van door, I hit the snow/ground running. And I didn’t stop until I had most of the bags unpacked and put away. Things were pretty much back to normal by the time I went to bed that night, minus a suitcase that sat in the hallway upstairs for the better part of a week. Anything that could be stowed or shoved out of the way was, so as to buy me some precious time.

In some ways, it was like we had never left. Life falling back into a rhythm of fast pace hectic mayhem. Such is the busy life we lead. Sunday was church and the Ice Show, which consumed most of the day. Monday was school and meetings and piano lessons. And course readings late into the night. Tuesday was more of the same with the added bonus of a course exam by Skype that night with my professor. Since lunch time was taken up by meetings/preparations (as was more of the same after school), I had made up my mind to go home and make supper then head back into school at 6:30 to finish up the last minute preparations prior to taking the Skype call.

Everything running on schedule, I got supper started and made, and then decided that in order to save time, I would eat later. So I headed into school as planned at just an hour and a half before the exam.

The school was a quiet place to be- no noise and worries. Just peaceful silence. I settled in to read over my papers and print off my notes. When I was ready to leave, I locked the office and got my coat on. I had twenty minutes to spare. Everything was running on schedule. That should have been my first clue.

I was just about to leave the building when I put my hand into my pocket to retrieve the keys, only to discover: I had no keys. No keys. No KEYS???? To say I freaked out is an understatement. And to say that this really wasn’t that much of a surprise is telling the honest to goodness truth as well. I looked up at the clock. There was not a minute to waste. I ran back up to the office to see if I had happened to leave the van keys in the door, but unfortunately had not. I ran back downstairs to see if they were anywhere in my classroom. Not a chance.
I looked near the phone. Nothing. And then, I started to panic. I had no keys and an exam that would now be starting in 15 minutes, thanks to my dim-wittedness and lack of attention. In a moment of clarity, I dialed my Husband’s number and then completely unravelled when he answered the phone.

“I left my keys in the office,” I spluttered. “Come get me.”
“I’ll be right there,” the reply. Sweetest.man.ever. What I ever did to deserve him I will never know. I could almost see him rolling his eyes at me over the phone line. That this was happening to me was certainly no coincidence.
Because of course, these things ALWAYS happen to me.

While I waited for my Knight in Shining Armour to arrive, I desperately dialed my principal to see if I could avoid embarrassment in the morning and have him run out, unlock the office door, and allow me to slink out of the school with my keys in hand. No harm done. No one would ever know the difference. Alas, I could not get through his phone line, try as I might. It just kept running a busy signal.

I paced back and forth, knowing full well that I now had under ten minutes to make it home in time for that exam.

Finally, our truck appeared, barreling down the road; Husband pulled into the parking lot. I rushed over, grabbed the keys and took off in a record-breaking sprint for the van. T minus 10 and counting. I drove home, trying to pace myself and calm down from what could have been a full-blown anxiety attack. By the time I got to our driveway, I had resigned myself to the fact that “whatever will be, will be.”
I arrived home at 7:59. Walked in the door. I put my hands into my pocket, just a natural instinct. A reflexive gesture. And what do you know?

There were my keys. In my pocket. Exactly where I had put them twenty minutes earlier. Isn’t that always the way?

Knock one.

2.) I was loading the laptop in preparation for the Skype call to my professor. Ten minutes into the wait, I realize that maybe I am missing something here, as I am getting no calls. I check my e-mail and find out that my prof has already sent me two messages trying to figure out where I am in Skype-land. Turns out, there are twenty other people with the same Skype address as we have. I didn’t realize that there were that many Brian Gards in the world. Fifteen minutes after our exam is scheduled to begin, I finally clue in to the fact that I am the one to make this call. And so I do.

Knock two.

3.) Every week, we have at least one major liquid spill in our classroom. You’d think I’d learn. You’d think I would’ve bought a mop bucket by now. And you’d think that after a while I would have some sort of a slick system devised. But apparently, this is par for the course in Kindergarten, as I have come to learn. So it was on Tuesday that we had two chocolate milk spills in the span of an hour, causing me to wonder if there is such a thing anymore as powered milk. If so, I am buying shares in the company.

Knock three.

And there you have it.  My three stories that span the perimeter of one day in the life…of a woman with a few hard knocks.  It’s a hard knock life, boys and girls.  But it ain’t so bad as I make it sound, really.

At least I still have my sense of humor.

Joy is hard sometimes….

Sadly, our little puppy, Lucky, was hit and killed on the road this afternoon.  I never realized one could feel pain so deeply for a pet, but I have seen evidence of such tonight.  We are grieving, each in our own way.

It was a difficult day anyway.  I left the house earlier than usual this morning, shouting out orders to this one and that one as I ran out the door to the van.  I left instructions with my husband to put the dog in the shop so she would be out of the elements.  It has been a windy, rainy day. Even now as I write, the wind howls outside.  Blustery weather, to put it mildly.  Husband was busy finishing up morning errands, and we never finalized exactly what was to be done.  About the dog.  All I knew is that I did not want Lucky out in the rain.  So my final words were to my husband.

“Put that dog in the shop…she’s soaking wet!”

Little did we know at the time, she had managed to outrun her shock collar and get through the invisible wire fencing system we had introduced mere days ago.  And she did so when our son was on the way to the bus, unbeknownst to us.

Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve….

The last picture I have of her in my mind is from this morning.  I can picture her now digging a hole in the dirt where we just finished putting a new septic system in the ground.  She was as dirty as can be, happily digging there in that giant mud lot. She must have thought she hit the jackpot.

We waited until the very end of the day to tell the children.  Truthfully, there was no other time in between in which to even sit down and think.  What with swimming lesson for two hours, after school meetings with colleagues and another meeting with fellow congregants at my church.  And then, we were all off to a music awards ceremony in which our son was to receive recognition for perseverance.  We certainly did not want to bring anything up to him prior to his performance.

So, here we are.  It has been a rough night.

I am mindful that we have only lost a pet.  A cherished pet, but still, an animal.  However, death is death.  Grief is grief.  We feel it using the same senses, even if the sensations are more acute in some situations than in others. And because all life is precious, we will stop to take notice.  And grieve first and then remember.   Later on, we will find strength to understand that life is fleeting and we are only here but for a breath.  So make those breaths count.  Even stinky doggy breaths.  They count for a lot.  Especially to the people that love them.

My son has had the hardest time of all the children in accepting this loss.  To him, as to the rest, Lucky was a friend. A playmate.  A companion. Her presence will be missed.  She was funny, bright and loved.  She was silly and wild.  She was a true free spirit and she died doing what she loved doing best.

Fondly remembered, sadly missed, never forgotten. We’ll miss you, Lucky.