This morning started like any other. Coffee in hand. Dogs pacing around with their usual “we must defend the yard at all costs” energy. And then I saw it. A familiar sight: a groundhog waddling across my backyard like it had rent to pay and errands to run.

Except this time… something felt different. Maybe it was the way my dogs barked like a judgment day had arrived. Maybe it was the whisper of intuition. Or maybe it was the fact that two more groundhogs popped their smug little heads out from under a rock, just in time to watch the first one make its dramatic exit across the lawn.

Three. Three groundhogs. I thought I had one. One rebellious, burrowing menace with a talent for driving my dogs into an existential crisis. But no. I have a groundhog community. A suburban woodland commune. Possibly a cult. Definitely a conspiracy.

And now I’m left sitting here on a Monday wondering what this means for my life.

Let’s be clear. I’m not a superstitious person. I don’t read tea leaves. Actually, I am very superstitious. Who am I kidding?  I also do believe the universe has a snarky sense of humor, and when it sends you three groundhogs in a single moment, you pay attention.

Is it a sign? A warning? A furry omen that the week ahead will involve more chaos than I budgeted for?

Honestly, I should have known. The holes were everywhere. My backyard has started to look like an overzealous mole got hired by a lawn-destroying startup. But I was in denial. One hole? A fluke. Two? Coincidence. Twelve? A “Mimi, maybe it’s time to open your eyes” intervention.

So now I sit here on this Monday, armed with questions. Do three groundhogs mean something in folklore? Is it the woodland version of the Three Musketeers? Are they plotting something? Do I need to call someone? Or am I just destined to be the unintentional landlord of a rapidly expanding groundhog neighborhood?

Here’s what I’ve decided. These three groundhogs are this week’s metaphor.

Sometimes you think your problem is small and containable. Manageable. Just one furry nuisance with dirt on its paws. And then, surprise. The problem multiplies, peers out from under a rock, and watches you with beady little eyes as if to say, “You thought this was over? We’re just getting started.”

And isn’t that just like life sometimes? You patch one hole, and two more show up like they RSVP’d late to the party.

But also, maybe, just maybe, three groundhogs is a sign of resilience. Of persistence. Of not giving a single damn what humans think of your backyard development plans. Maybe I need to tap into that energy this week. Bold. Unapologetic. Dirt on my metaphorical paws.

Still, if a fourth one shows up, I’m calling animal control and a therapist.

Happy Monday. Watch your backyard.