As I write this, I’m finishing my final day of summer school. The program flew by and I’m relieved. I made some extra money, spent time with Cymone, worked on some materials I needed for the first week back of my normal school year, and got motivated to exercise. I also successfully finished the first task for curriculum planning, and, with Lisa, created a detailed and helpful unit overview for Reconstruction. The other four members of our curriculum team worked on two remaining units. Two members finalized Westward Expansion and two members took on Gilded Age/Industrialization. These are the first three units of study, so it was imperative that we completed them before the start of the 2025-2026 school year. We then, should hopefully begin work on the next three units; this is where Lisa and I will tackle the Spanish American War and World War I.

This week, I’ll also be getting ready for my brief trip to Texas. I leave next Monday and will enjoy a direct flight to Austin. My brother is all set for my arrival, and I’m glad I can say I am still going…my darling little cat, Ike, decided to scare his mama by getting sick. I came home from work last Monday and noticed that he was keeping to himself. He had also vomited. I thought nothing of it that day; he usually gets hairballs because of his long and thick black fur. The next day, though, he was still avoiding me and, to make things worse, he wasn’t eating. He didn’t come beg me for his dry Temptations dairy treats when I shook the bag or sit on the floor with his big green eyes pathetically begging me for his wet Churu treat. I decided to wait it out and see if he improved the next day. Ike only acted more lethargic on Wednesday, so I decided to call my vet. The vet, luckily, could see him on Thursday afternoon.

After my work day ended, Ike and I headed to the vet. He was vocal about being put in his cat carrier and meowed the entire five minute drive to the office. You could see the anger and frustration on his face when the vet examined him; he refused to come out of the carrier for a little while. The vet drew blood, shaved off some of his matted fur, and attempted to get a urine sample. Ike, however, was not having it, and refused to urinate. Unfortunately, since he didn’t go to the bathroom during the appointment, it would be up to me to obtain the sample. I also received a topical steroid to apply on Ike’s ear; this would help stimulate his appetite.

Ike, luckily, started to eat a little bit after the cream was applied. He drank water too. I decided to let him get some nourishment into his body before I began the process for the urine sample. The vet supplied me with a special litter that did not absorb the urine. I would be able to use a syringe to collect the urine and place it in a plastic medical tube. I only had a 12 hour window to get the urine and take it to the vet. It was also the weekend, so it would be easier for me to monitor him going to the bathroom. My goal was to take the urine sample to the vet first thing on Saturday morning. I figured, if I delayed it any further, I would not have enough time to get Ike’s diagnosis and therefore, need to postpone my travels so I could keep an eye on him.

My issue was that his sister would use the box with the special litter, so, per my vet’s suggestion, I purchased a new litter box. I filled it with the special litter and placed it in my bathroom. Ike was directed by the vet to stay locked in my room, with access to the litter box, until he decided to relieve himself. Umm, easier said than done.

I was going to need to pull an all-nighter then, hoping he would pee, making sure the other cat didn’t try to find him, and timing it to where I could drop off the sample within that 12 hour window before the vet closed at 1 PM on Saturday.

Ike, thank God, was tired and managed to sleep for most of the night. He knew where the litter box was if he needed to go. My anxiety over hoping he would go to the bathroom had me waking up every hour checking for any progress. By 2 AM, he still had not peed and was getting the zoomies…he kept scratching at my bedroom door to let him free. I ignored him and then begged him to go to the bathroom…as if talking to him would make him listen to me (but I was exhausted and running out of patience).

I fell asleep and woke to an alarm that sounded at 7 AM. Ike was awake too and scratching at the door again. I decided to let him free so he could try to eat breakfast. I grumbled to myself that I would never get the urine sample as I checked the box for the umpteenth time…

Only to see that Ike, my clever and sweet little Ike, had obeyed his mother’s orders.

I quickly siphoned the urine into the medical tubes, refrigerated them as I got dressed, and was at vet right as they opened. My all-night had been a success. I spent the rest of my morning running errands and cleaning up the mess from his litter box in my bathroom. I took a glorious nap later that afternoon and spent the rest of the weekend recovering from my messed up sleep patterns. Summer school had me up at 5:30 AM every day, so I was tired enough from that early wake up time…my body was truly craving the sleep.

So much for a restful summer, but hey, at least I didn’t just sit and veg out every day. I was productive, spent time with my friends, visited with my family, exercised…and didn’t spend all day rotting away in my pajamas. I call that a success.

The vet called on Monday evening to confirm that there was nothing wrong with Ike…no UTIs, no infections…he got a clean bill of health and I am out $400, but at least my wee critter is healthy and I can go to Texas with the relief and knowledge that he is perfectly fine. If there are any lingering doubts about his health…well, the fact that he’s being mischievous and jumping on the “no-no” places (i.e. the kitchen counter) assuages those doubts for sure.

I can also go to Richmond this Saturday for a quick visit and tea time with Breanna. We had talked about going to Floris again before the summer ended for a tea, and she invited me to join her and her mother on the 26th. I was worried about Ike and told her I was a tentative “yes” but would let her know if that changed once I got Ike’s results back.

Even though Ike is fine, I’m still going to make it a day trip. I’ll leave early-ish on Saturday and come back in the evening. I need some time to focus on packing for Texas, although that really shouldn’t take long since I’m not staying that long. I’ll be home from Texas by next Friday, because by then, I need to get back into history teacher mode and start preparing for year eight.

Year eight. I can’t believe so much time has passed since I began my teaching journey, amidst a global pandemic nonetheless. I keep reminding myself; if I could survive teaching during COVID, I can handle anything else that comes my way for the rest of my teaching career. I keep holding onto that hope that I can continue teaching…

But, as the Richmond FC football fans in Ted Lasso say:

It’s the hope that kills you.

Granted, we’re not talking about hoping a perpetually losing English football team will eventually win a trophy as what will “kill” me, but when I heard this quote during a recent Ted Lasso rewatch, this time, it stayed engraved in my mind.

Perhaps me holding onto hope is what’s “killing” me inside. Perhaps me, choosing to have hope in education…and that student (and parent) behaviors will improve the further away we get from the pandemic, is what is causing my mental state to decline.

I remember I once had a colleague tell me that he noticed the joy and sparkle in my eyes had disappeared. This comment had been made when I went through a breakup, so it made sense that I was struggling and had lost any sense of optimism. This colleague, someone that I miss teaching with, was concerned about me, because I had always been the perpetually cheerful and perhaps, too optimistic, girl. That joy and sparkle came back, briefly, as I focused on myself and met the guy I am still (unfortunately) in love with, but ever since the pandemic…and ever since he left me, the joy and sparkle seem to have disappeared for good.

I feel like no matter what I do, or whom I’m with…when I try to find ways to find joy and sparkle…nothing works. Nothing changes how I feel. Hoping to lose some weight and feel healthier, hoping for true love, hoping for my anxiety and depression to lighten up, hoping for improvements in education…

Hoping for me to just be “me” again…

It’s killing me, mentally, every day. The joy and sparkle are just about extinguished from my eyes, this time, for good.

Then…then I think about Ted’s response to that quote:

I believe in hope. I believe in ‘believe.’

No matter how crappy life was for Ted, despite his divorce and his own mental problems, he never stopped believing in hope. He believed in believing in others…and he believed in believing in himself. If you’ve never seen Ted Lasso, give it a watch, because at first glance, the show appears to be a comedy…and yes, for the most part, it is…

When the dramatic parts happen though? They don’t just tug at your heartstrings…no.

They break your heart.

So, thanks to this wonderful show, I now realize I have two choices:

I can let the hope kill me…

Or I can start my school year with Ted’s mindset.

Have some hope for me that I can be like Ted, okay?

Many happy returns!
-kate

P.S. Season Four of Ted Lasso went into production this week! Brett Goldstein, who produces and writes for Ted Lasso, while simultaneously playing my favorite character, the ever-grumpy footballer Roy Kent, posted a video to his Instagram (@mrbrettgoldstein) showing a brief “behind the scenes” of the new season. This is a still from the video with four of the main characters.

This news arrived after over a year of fans wondering if there would be another season, as Season Three was supposed to be the end of the series. Not anymore! Richmond ‘til we die!