Unpression Has Begun

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I suffer from compression

    The Scribe and Hippie didn't come out of the school, so I ran in to get them.  Something was about to change in their lives and I had to tell them as soon as possible.  
    I found them in the Scribe's classroom.  "Hurry kids.  We need to get home.  But on our way, I need to tell you a story."
    "I need to tell you a story, too," the Scribe said.  "It might even be more important than yours."
    I studied her.  "Maybe.  I doubt it, though," I mumbled.
    "She might be right, Mom," the Hippie said.
    We sprinted from the school and none of us said anything for a moment.
    "Mine can wait," the Scribe finally said.  "You go first."
    I nodded.  "Once upon a time, a little boy lived happily.  He was darling and perfect.  Everyone loved him, especially his parents.  But as fate would have it, his parents both died when the boy was very young and the state had to decide who would take him."
    "How terrible," the Hippie said.
    "And sad," the Scribe agreed.
    "Well, the boy had a very fun aunt and a kind uncle.  Neither of them were married, but they had good jobs.  They both always wanted a boy and so they each begged the judge to give them the child.  After a few meetings, the judge decided to give the boy to his aunt because she was a woman.
    "Things didn't go as they hoped, though.  At first the aunt gave her nephew all of the love in the world.  She spent every moment with him, playing and laughing.  But soon she forgot about him and delved into her work instead.  Sometimes he would get fed late, or not at all.  She hardly spent time with him.  Often he found himself sad and lonely, until the judge found out and made the aunt come talk to him.
    "The aunt was reprimanded.  The judge told her to feed the child on time and give him attention.  She really did mean well, and she changed for a while, then things got even worse than before, and a whole week went by without her even giving him an ounce of attention.
    "The judge finally called the aunt and boy into his court.  The uncle was there, too, and he had proof of how much he loved the little boy.  He also had proof that he would spend time with the child every day, and feed him fancy foods and delicious desserts--even take him on trips.  The judge knew beyond anything, the uncle meant what he said."
    I turned to my girls at this point.  "If you were that judge, what would you do?"
    The Hippie answered first.  "Well, I don't want to be a nasty, old judge, but if I switched places with that little boy, I'd run far away from that aunt until I was at my uncle's house."
    "If I was the judge," the Scribe said," I'd give the boy to the uncle, then I'd tell the aunt how terrible she'd been and say she shouldn't have children."
    I took a deep breath and tapped the wheel.  "I'm glad to hear you say that; it means I made the right choice.  Kids, this conversation was about the dog."
    They gasped.
    "No.  NO!  We didn't know this was about her.  We wouldn't have said all that stuff . . ." the Scribe faltered.  "We wouldn't have been so harsh . . . if we knew it was about us."
    "No matter who it's about, right is right." 
    "How you said the aunt didn't spend time with the boy for a whole week . . . that was about us, too.  Wasn't it?" the Hippie asked.
    I nodded.  "You wanted a dog, but you don't spend time with her.  She's cold and alone outside.  I kept telling you that if you didn't spend more time with her AND feed her when I told you too, that we'd have to give her away."
    "But we did play with her . . . once in a while."
    "Once a week isn't enough.  That's no life for a dog.  She's a husky, girls.  She needs to run and play. She needs a family who is right for her needs, and we're not it."

    I started crying because it was hard.  I wouldn't let my girls see my tears, though.  So, I tried thinking of happy things, like the fancy car parked by our house, and the fact that the couple who stepped from it had come to buy our dog.
    The newlywed couple had a male husky.  He obeyed and seemed very well-trained.  After I greeted them and let Luna (our dog) out, she was so wild that I was embarrassed.
    "I just don't have the time to train her.  My husband works A LOT, and raising four kids is enough without adding a dog to the mix."
    Luna ran up to the male and they got along, instantly sniffing and brushing against each other.
    It still stung letting our puppy go, even though we knew it was the right thing.

    I cried when they left.  The Scribe and Hippie didn't seem as shook up as I'd expected.  And instead of me comforting them, my girls comforted me.
   "Now I know what you were saying," the Hippie said.  "They are better for Luna."
    "Yeah, and look at the bright side," the Scribe said.  "Our baby just grew up and got married.  Sure we'll never talk to her again, but it's sorta romantic."
    We laughed after that.  We went out selling girl scout cookies to take our minds off of things.  We all went out selling them for two hours--those kids are hard workers.
    It wasn't until we got home that the Scribe decided to tell me her news.
    "I had to go to the principal's office today," the Scribe said.
    "Why?"  I stared at her blankly.
    "It was terrible.  They talked about the police and social services.  I was in there for two hours."
    "What?!"
    She looked nervous just talking about social services.  One of my good friends is a social worker, so the Scribe knows all about what they do.
    "Tell me everything," I said, and we sat down for a very long talk.  The whole time I kept thinking how mad I was that the principal interrogated my child, and didn't think it was necessary to call me.

    To be continued tomorrow . . .