Well, spring break is over and my dog is thrilled.
Actually, she’s a nuisance today. She went with me to drop off Zippy to carpool down to the Villages with CaroLynn and when we went to the meeting place and I snapped on her leash, she lunged at CL, snarling. Bad girl.
Then, later today when I was assisting the repair of a flat tire, I had my girl outside with me, which was dumb on my part. The blonde is unpredictable, and I looked up to see her down on the end of the property by the road. I yelled at her and finished what I was doing. Then I went down to get her, and she’d run off.
I looked all around and finally saw her – ACROSS the highway in the Harrell’s yard. I wound up picking her up and carrying her back. I wanted to smack the crap out of her, but I don’t think her little pound dog brain had any comprehension beyond “Bad girl!”
Which is different than the nephews, whom I am happy to report are safely back in Orlando. Zippy and I dropped them off Saturday and man, Kocur and I sure slept good that night.
Saturday … what a treat. I walked in the Springtime Tallahassee parade with 19 other RPCVs (and four future ones: two who are leaving this summer and the almost 1-year-old twins of a couple who served and met in Guatemala.). I hadn’t been in the parade since my high school band days and I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen it.
I got to carry the flag of Morocco. Apparently, the state library here has flags of many countries and you can just go check them out. Who knew?
My nephews didn’t care to march with me, but eventually they met me at the park, but by the time they found me they were in pretty foul moods, so we headed out.
On the way out, Zac almost got killed because he ran across the road without a moment’s hesitation, let alone looking. Fortunately the oncoming car saw him and the person mostly in danger was Zippy, who almost had a coronary. It absolutely, totally scared her, and I think her being so scared frightened Zac.
After she started breathing again, we stopped by their favorite spot, Chick-Fil-A to kill time on the way out. They enjoy the play area, even though Nic is pretty much on the bubble as far as being too tall. Parents, grandparents and aunts enjoy the fact the play area is pretty much soundproof. You can’t hear anything that comes from that room, which is usually fabulous.
And sometimes it’s not. Zac and Nic were playing and laughing along with some other littler kid and I went to refill my tea. I came back, sat down and looked in only to see Zac bawling. From my angle, he was holding his nose and noiselessly sobbing his little heart out.
I ran in and asked what happened. Nic, he said, had taken his face and shoved it into that rubbery net thingie that keeps kids from crashing from the upper levels. I couldn’t believe it because it seemed a bit violent – something a person would do in anger instead of playtime. I mean, they had been laughing and playing and all of a sudden the mood changed.
Nic ran by and I stopped him, asking if he’d done what Zac said he did. He said yes, and had no apparent regret about it. He was done playing, as was Zac (I’d previously given them five more minutes, and time was up anyway. And Zac was still crying.)
I just don’t understand this kiddo’s brain. He’s the same guy who advised my mom to lie to someone about something, and when she protested and said that wasn’t good to do, he replied breezily with, “It’s easy.”
At Chick, I asked him why he’d done it and he had no answer. You can’t reason with an 8-year-old, but I told him I really wanted him to tell me because I just couldn’t understand it.
Man. There was some other stuff that made me worry, too.
It’s not like the spear. That was his fault, for sure, but it was carelessness. He’s done similar stuff of Zac before, and when you get a reply about why the answer is along the lines of Johnny Cash: “I wanted to see him cry” or “To see if I could hurt him.”
My speared leg, incidentally, now has a bull’s eye on it. It’s a dark purple circle with a faded green smaller circle inside. In the dead center, there is a black scab. It looks like a target, but I am hoping with both boys back in school that people will refrain from throwing pointed objects at it.
It looks like the boys will be at Camp Papa for a stretch this summer, too, but I won’t be around to play Favorite Aunt. I’ve taken a copy editing position at a newspaper and will be leaving Saturday.
It’s a good thing, but I’m not completely overjoyed: I’d hoped to never work in journalism again and it’s quite a ways away. But it’s a good job in my field, and inchallah it will give me something my resume lacks: new media experience.
When I left in 2006, what they mean by “new media” didn’t exist, so I’m coming up short on other “communications specialist” positions, even though I could figure it out. So hopefully I’ll be able to get back into the game.
This has been in the works for a little while, but I’ve been so burned on jobs I’ve been scared to mention it. Even now, with a start date of next week I am still hesitant to voice too many details.
It’s not quite real to me yet and I’m still continuing to act as if I am not leaving because I’m spooked something will happen at the last minute. I’d just started going to Thomasville Road Baptist Church and finally joined the singles Sunday School. Last Sunday was my third week, which means I’m officially a “member” of the class.
In my “continue as if the job will fall through” phase, it didn’t occur to me my first week as a member would also turn out to be my last at the church.
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