Some of my classes don’t have a seating chart and some of my classes are assigned to a table. No one has a required “spot” but everyone sits in the exact same place every day. If someone takes their spot, woe unto the intruder.
It’s the same way at my house. Mom has a spot. Dad has a spot. Oldest child had a spot until the dogs came. Now the boys are in a power struggle to claim their own “spots” in the living room.
Percy wants to sit next to me, always, so his spot is the middle of the couch. Drake and Haas like to try to sneak in when Percy isn’t looking and they generally get about 3 minutes before Admiral Jealousy finds a way to move the competition. Sometimes it is with the theft of a favorite toy, sometimes it is wedging a shoulder in and pushing, sometimes it is causing enough trouble that all of them get kicked outside. With any of those methods, no one else is in his spot.
Haas taking advantage of Percy’s inattention and getting snuggles with Mom. Percy stopped this one by sitting on Haas.
The new boys are still in a “spot” struggle. They are vying for Oldest Child’s place on the big couch. Oldest child doesn’t deign participate and often resides in teen cave so it isn’t a three way competition.
The struggle was real this weekend when Drake took 2 full minutes to circle and find the perfect relaxation position in Oldest Child’s spot. He was stretches out and happy looking. After just a short time, there is a bit of a cry and I see that giant Haas (who has a good 40 or 50 pounds on Drake) is flopped down on top of Drake while Drake squirms and fights for air and freedom. Fortunately, my littlest boy is more agile and was able to quickly get free. I don’t think this was the end of the war, though. My little shark may get his spot, yet.
The kid/dog couch has enough room for all three of those monsters.
I have good boys. They are really good boys when I am holding some sort of food. They sit quietly and make eye contact. I am pretty sure they are also trying to communicate their “goodboyness” telepathically much like I try to telepathically get my husband to bring me ice cream on a Saturday night. (He isn’t a good boy and seldom brings me ice cream, but, whatever.)
I have had such good boys that I had even thought that it was time to maybe test letting them stay out of their crates when people were sleeping or at work. After the last few days, I still love them but they won’t be allowed free rein any time soon.
Maybe it’s the weather, but several bad habits have resurfaced in the last few days. Three pieces of mail have been shredded, a kitchen towel (how in the world did they get a kitchen towel when they aren’t allowed in the kitchen??) has been ripped to tiny pieces, and they absconded with Dad’s yicky, dirty socks.
Today was a stormy mess and so they weren’t able to get rid of some of their extra energy. Maybe, just maybe, they aren’t incorrigible and the storm is why they have gotten grounded for life today. Before Dad went to work, they had the opportunity to stay out of the crate for 10 whole minutes before Mom and younger humans came home. That didn’t happen. Instead, the terrible trio stole one of my shoes and ran outside. This caused Dad to have to go outside and be the angry participant in a game of keep away. (Here, I have to be honest and admit that I would have liked to have seen that and had a bit of a giggle.) Because of this, they lost 20 minutes of freedom and had to go to bed. Bummer.
We’re sorry, Mom! Let us in the kitchen and we won’t eat anything we aren’t supposed to eat!
And then Percy regressed. I don’t know it was Percy, to be fair, but based on the offense, it’s pretty likely. Frustrated youngest child came in with two dollars, or rather one full dollar and pieces of another dollar that had been retrieved from Haas’s droolly face. Oldest child wasn’t missing money. Youngest child stashes the money in a secret hiding place. Where did the money come from? Very mysterious. Also, as a teacher, I could use a mysterious source of money. I could buy so many pencils and books, and… oh wait, youngest kid pulls another dollar from a slobbery dog face.
“That’s three dollars! Where did they get three dollars?” kid asks.
Then, I remember. I had three dollars floating loose in my purse. I never have money, and apparently, I still don’t. Those stinkers went through my purse! Ugh. These boys.
Teenagers are frustrating, whether canine or human. Neither want to listen and both require more patience than I have today.
Here is Drake, ready for a nap. It is hard to remember they are still technically puppies until I see this face.
The lack of patience is my own failing. I knew what I was getting into both with the profession as well as the dogs. Neither group is “bad” and both act according to their natures. Not being naturally patient, or kind, I have to struggle sometimes with my nature to be who I need to be for both groups.
Weighing on my mind today is a piece of advice one of my favorite high school teachers gave me when I was student teaching. She told me that it was better to be kind than to be right. I really (like obnoxiously so) like to be right. I need to be kind.
My frequently misbehaving furry friends need kindness. They need me to forgive them them for trying to eat the half filled out scoring guide I was using to grade an essay. They need me to gently repeat, over and over and over, the lesson that humans don’t play by biting and nipping. They need kindness in redirecting their long-contained energy away from rowdy play on the couch. It is a kindness to teach them boundaries and proper behaviors and to do this in the most compassionate way possible. They also need me to remember that they are puppies, even if they are in big bodies.
They know they aren’t supposed to play on the couch. It is strictly for napping and nice boy time. Here, Percy is determined to get Haas in trouble.
Several years ago, I started looking at other teachers in a different way. Before, I watched for teaching techniques, content delivery methods, and behavior management “best practices”. Those things are certainly important, but maybe that wasn’t where I should have focused. I thought that there must be a “right” way to do everything in the classroom and that this would be best for my kids. Then, I started looking at the teachers the kids loved and were willing to work for. Some kids will learn, behave, and succeed no matter what or who is teaching. Some need structure and routine and for the teacher and classroom to be predictable. Some need variety and constant stimulation. They need me to remember that they are still kids, even if they are in grown-up sized bodies. All of them need kindness.
I decided, then, that if someone were to describe me, the words I would want them to use (and didn’t) was that their teacher was kind, calm, and capable. I want my kids to feel peace and safety. I know that life isn’t peaceful, safe, or often kind. But. (Isn’t there always a but?) I can be kind, as much as possible.
I’m not there, yet. It is likely that I will never get there, but I will keep trying. I still get frustrated when kids argue or refuse to use time and resources given to them. I get loud when a 90 pound dog uses me as a trampoline or smacks me upside the head while trying to play. Then, I have to remind myself to be kind.
Today the phrase is written in large, clear lettering on an index card on my desk. (I am struggling to be kind and not insistent on “right”)
So, in the interest of accountability, today, tonight, and tomorrow, I will be kind in the following ways.
I will be kind to my students by remembering that Caesar can be hard and giving them some down time, even if it is just a few minutes.
I will be kind to my boys by taking one for a walk and giving the other two a special treat. They all get extra play time.
I will be kind to my department and bring muffins for breakfast tomorrow.
I will be kind to myself and remember that although I wasn’t always who I wanted to be today, no one is perfect and I can try again tomorrow to be calm, capable, and kind.
I am not sure which is more frustrating, teenagers who are required to read The Tragedy of Julius Caesar in February or a group of stinky, over-sized dogs. Both of them are driving me to my favorite, wonderful, most excellent, slightly-scary-but-beautifully-decorated-hair stylist for excessive amounts of hair dye to cover the grey. (I go see her in a few weeks, so Hi, Sis! See, I appreciate you lots!) Currently, it is a toss up as to which group I would want to spend the rest of my week hanging around.
HaasDrake
On Monday, we had a snow day. It was perfectly timed. Percy went in for the big snip so the new boys and I had a lazy morning. Then, because it was Monday and I have a standing dinner date with my grandfather, I was able to get a little work done and bake a spice cake. The house smelled amazing and looked pretty good for having two kids, three dogs, a cat, and a husband. It was a good day…until I went to get Percy.
For once, Percy didn’t immediately forgive me for taking him to the vet. A month or so ago, this guy forgave me immediately every time I held him down and put multiple cream medications in his eye for what looked like pink eye when it happens in my students. Apparently, this trip was less than pleasant and required some time apart. He went off with Haas and left me to start dinner.
When I came back into the kitchen after an absence of about 6 heartbeats, the Teenager was chasing the big boys out of the spice cake 15 minutes before my grandfather was set to arrive. P-awsome. (The big boys are still alive.)
Spiced sadness
Teenager saved the day with chocolate mint cookies and life was good. Life was really good until Percy ate a cookie. That required some unpleasant clean-up the next morning but Dad helped with that one. Since I am not 15, I’ll spare you the description, but, ew.
Tuesday, I had the joy of starting my least favorite Shakespearean tragedy with teenagers who are done. They were much more interested in getting out of school early than investigating the political intrigues of ancient Rome. I couldn’t blame them. An hour early is still an early out with the possibility of a snow day the next day, too.
We didn’t get a snow day. There was much sadness. Looks like a full rest of the week filled with
“I don’t get it!”
“What page are we on?”
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
“Do you have any toys you don’t immediately shred and make a mess all over the living room floor? I just vacuumed!”
“Don’t eat that!” (To be fair, this one I say to both my dogs and my students)
So, M-, I’m gonna need the industrial hair color and maybe an extra hour in the chair. I’ll bring extra tea. Love you!
Percy seems to have finally realized his new friends aren’t leaving. The constant urge to play seems to be dwindling and he doesn’t seem so happy to be sharing his toys and person.
No one else, according to Percy, is allowed to sit next to Mom on the couch. Interlopers must be squeezed out. Should the trespassers be too large to evict, i.e. Haas or Dad, then Percy feels he can reassert his claim by sitting on Mom’s lap. This makes any recreational activity such as reading, watching tv, or breathing a bit of a challenge.
Percy has had to share humans before as our old man dog, Stump, had a prior claim.
This was my Stump. He was the best boy and I miss him every day.
We lost Stump just before Christmas and Percy had been a bit spoiled in terms of attention. He will eventually accept that he isn’t the most important being in the world.
But, the toys. Oh, the toys! Stump was never interested in toys, so Percy has never had to share. The stuffed animal type toys cause the giant, hairy goofball to transform into Gollum with his “precious”. The eyes get huge, the head sinks into the shoulders, and I would swear I can hear Percy plotting violence and ruin on anyone who dares take his toy away. They must be stopped by any means necessary.
Percy and what started out as a rhino
Drake is one who dares. With his superior speed and agility, stuffed animals are snatched from Percy’s jaws and then passed off to Haas so Drake can pursue his personal passion: gnawing on a bigger dog’s hind leg.
This is when chaos reigns. It snows stuffed toy guts, dogs are snarling and tumbling end over end, and humans are yelling for this to be taken outside. Percy quickly forgets about the toys and is happy to play Doggie Demolition Derby. It sounds horrible and I expect blood. There’s never blood. They love it and then take a nap. This makes Mom jealous. Naps are precious.
This was an elephant at one time. Now it is just sad.
The Terrible Two on Four Feet 