Tragic

There is so much to say that I don't even know where to begin.  Perhaps it can best be described as a downward slide in mood...a disillusionment that I wasn't aware could happen.

My ex got caught acting as the "Tooth Fairy" last week.  So not only has my daughter been recently affected by the misuse of a Twister Box, but she has also lost any faith that the Tooth Fairy is real.  She told her dad that her friends had told her the truth, but she had ideas of her own.  She's been with me the past week or so, and hasn't said a word about the discovery.

I find it sort of tragic.

Tragic was the word I was stretching for to begin this thought.  Tragic then became part of my weekend when I found a little girl (about my daughter's age) crying in the dark at the gym where I teach classes. It was easy to miss her, of course, as she sat in the back corner next to the water fountain.  The group exercise room was dark, and there was no one but her in sight.  I sat down with her on the floor amongst the weight stacks and asked her what was wrong. She told me that she had gotten in trouble for saying something bad. The full story was earnest enough, and I told her I understood why she'd be so upset about it.  Of course I asked about her parents too.... whom must also be at the gym somewhere.  No.  She explained that her mother had dropped her off.  I grew rather uncomfortable, as I couldn't imagine leaving my child that age at the gym by herself.  After much investigation, I found out the girl was twelve, and for some reason, there's a rule that a child can be 12 to workout on his or her own. This rule was obviously reinterpreted by one of the gym staff.  Twin girls of a single mother are basically living at my gym because the mom has no safe place for her daughters while she works.  So, at 8am I have two twelve-year-old girls that bound into the exercise room when I teach on Fridays.  One has already told me about being touched inappropriately by one of the member boys.  I'm obviously livid. I'm not sure "safe" is how you would describe a gym that hosts swim meets and basketball games, where any stranger can swoop up a lonely child and no one would notice.  Somehow that is "safer" than even leaving these two girls at home.  I'm working out a solution on that one, but there are no good answers.  It's more like a lateral thinking puzzle or trying to find the best of one's worst options.

And one further blow was the news of a massive shooting this weekend in my hometown.  It was an act of rage against homosexuals, I guess. Though the more details that come to the surface about the shooter, it's harder to discern if it was a terrorist hate crime or just an enraged sociopath. Regardless, it has been named as the worst mass shooting ever in the United States.  That has added to the discord of this week.  I cancelled or subbed my Monday classes, and managed to make it through one class today.  I'm physically back on schedule, but mentally I'm somewhere else completely.

Twister

My parents rehab bank-owned properties for a living.  Basically they go in after the residents have left, assess the place, and then hire the subcontractors to do most of the work.  Some of it they do themselves.  Mom occasionally calls me with her leftover findings (like a gently used casserole dish or a high quality garden hose). This past week, my mother texted me inquiring about our family's board game collection.
"Chutes and Ladders?"
"Uno?"
"Twister?"

I recounted how one of our family friends brought over Twister a few months ago, and although I got roped into being the designated spinner, it was more fun than I expected from a plastic sheet and a cardboard spin wheel.

"Twister, for sure" I concluded.

When I saw her, she gave me the latest bag of goodies from her abandoned property.  This go round we were handed a spiral bound horse riding reference book, disposable K-Cup coffee pods and Twister for the kids. I thanked her for it and set it on the backseat of my car.

When my daughter got in the car that evening, she was excited about the book but more excited to own a new game for the nights we play as a family.  We do weekly game nights of Uno, Apples to Apples, Sorry and Monopoly (if we can manage not to get bored of it).  Twister would fit right in.

She picked up the box off the backseat and slid the lid off..... and then she gasped.  For in the Twister box was not the game at all.  It was rather, a collection of things that (perhaps) this couple did while they played Twister. It revealed to E her first images of pornography by way of a porno dvd cover. The front read something about "Underage Virgins" and showed some topless schoolgirl-looking whores.  The back, the side that was revealed to her before I snatched it away, was a collage of sexual acts: cock-sucking, doggie style, cum shots.  This was not suitable material. I secretly wished she had opened the box and seen the front cover instead....because topless sluts are only mildly disturbing in comparison.

By the time she had gasped and exclaimed "What is this? Who does this?" I had already wrestled it away from her.  Wrestled is a strong word. She gladly handed it to me, perhaps knowing this was not appropriate for her.

"I cannot unsee that" she exclaimed afterwards.

I was mortified.  Actually, it was a dash of that with a sad little bit of nervous laughing.  Explaining what porn is to a 10-year-old is challenging.  I rambled off something about people being into some interesting things to which others might find disgusting.  We were driving down the interstate joking about it in a forced effort to make light of a very awkward situation.  We (the adults) took a photo of the cover to send to my mom.

We texted her about how Twister had some questionable material in it.
"No way" she texted.
"Yes way" we texted back.

We sent her the cover photo and she was devastated. I think she was afraid I'd be upset or wouldn't want to talk to her.

 I couldn't be mad at my mom.  She's very careful about what she says and I perceive her as one of the most prim and proper thinking people.  I reminded her that we all understand she didn't purposely do anything.  I did rib her a little bit by saying, "it's a plastic sheet and a cardboard spinner. Didn't you feel the heft to this box?"

Needless to say, she won't be handing us any unopened boxes ever again.  E managed to sleep through the night despite such raunchy images dancing in her head.  She hasn't said a word about it since.  That's how I was as a young girl.  Let it go. Let it be.  Unfortunately that stuff will still visually leave an impression all too early on a young mind.  My heart sank a little knowing that had happened.

Fun Friday

I should be asleep by now. Fridays are the worst kind of busy for me --the kind where I get up and teach exercise classes from 8am until 11:30.  I call it "Fun Friday" but it's only that way when I go to bed at a decent hour and I haven't drank too much the night before.  A "Fun Thursday" could totally ruin my Friday, along with all of those early morning cardio queens that are looking to make a good calorie deficit before overindulging over the weekend.

For the record, I've already written over 750 words today.  Damn that 750words.com that S got me hooked on using!! As you write, it gathers metrics about your typing speed, your word choice, and then spits out all sorts of data.  My fastest 750 words (which means typing basically every shallow thought that comes to mind) was 12 minutes.  I know because the website told me.  I became an addict in January of beating my statistics and it's ultimately been the demise of this blog.  My internal excuse is always --  Screw the blog; I've already written 750 words today.  I'm trying to break myself of that.

It's been a hell of a week, and I mean that in both good and bad ways.

I have begun yet another job.  A thoughtful grad school cohort offered me a yoga class on campus. Thursday afternoons I make the drive down to the college for an hour of gentle yoga. Today was the first of what I hope are many Thursdays to come, maybe even more classes on this campus.  It's a great facility, the best a private college could offer.  It's a sweet deal too-- the school pays more than twice what my other workout facility pays per class. Regardless, I'm not there to make money.  No one teaches exercise/yoga classes for the money.  I'm happy if I break even. I'm even happy when I don't.

Mom visited the new house again this week.  She has been very eager to help me get things organized. I can't refuse her as she's got more energy and more organizational skills than a whole girl scout troop.  This week was for tackling my "office."  I've been blessed with some extra room in this house that I could actually call my own.  I'm channeling my inner Eudora Welty here.  Actually, as much as I'd like to pretend like I'm a genuine writer, I will also equally pretend to be the practicing meditator and yogini as well.  Let's just say that it is a room meant for many purposes, but right now it's only proven to house my wireless printer in a sweet little closet space.  The rest of the office (up until today) was a complete disaster "catch all" area.  Mom and I spent the entire afternoon sorting through boxes of paperwork: investments, taxes, yoga sequences, Body Pump choreography, graduate papers and syllabi.  I bought 2 large packages of hanging folders. She brought half a dozen plastic crates for filing.  By the end of the day, we had sorted through the mess and packed most everything into my very functional office closet (the one that houses the wireless printer).  

Beyond the work, the home, there is of course, the latest dramatic shift in my ex-husband's life that I have to deal with.  The kids let on that he was dating someone new (which was why he asked me to have them on his designated evening).  Her name is Susan. She has grown kids that are in college. She works for an office supply company.  She had given them some radically cool mechanical pencils.  I started putting all of these little details together and realized my ex is dating the lady we bought our house from. I called to confirm this discovery. Yes. Drama.

I don't know if it's on purpose or not. I don't know how exactly they met.  I just know that we are suing her for not disclosing damage to the house, and I let him know that he should kindly lean in on their date and inform her that there will be legal fees she needs to pay (along with fixing our floor that she so creatively covered with a rug she just so happened to leave behind for us).  I'd love for them to be in a relationship long enough that our paths cross as they did with the last one. I'll have a chat with her.

There are other things too, this week.  Stories for another time. I've said too much already.