Call Me Ishmael...

Life's been heavy lately.  A lot of things going on, many changes, lots of settling in.  The weather has been that of early Spring, high 30's to low 50's, unheard of in January.  So when it all gets to be too much, we've been walking.

Sunday we started the searching for a whale.

Literally.

One washed up on the beach months ago. Now more or less completely decomposed, it lays on the beach, a massive reminder of how small we really are on the food chain.  The trick would be finding it. Ironic that something so huge could be hard to find.

And no matter the outcome, the day was perfect for it.

Vaguely remembering where it had been sighted last, we ventured about 15 minutes away down the path through the woods to this beach first.  We headed right, because New England girls don't go north or south, we just take lefts at McDonald's and rights at Dunkin Donuts.  The old girl is doing great off leash, and being a quiet Sunday morning, she had full run of the coastline.

She searched the beach, but the only interesting things to sniff were piles of swampy seaweed washed up from the prior night's storm.  The trail was cold here, clearly, so I resorted to social media before venturing to the next location.

The next beach is part of a state park.  There are clearly cut nature trails leading toward it, still easily navigated despite being overgrown from winter neglect.  This beach was also devoid of people and dogs alike which made for more running and some great sniffing.

And then we saw something way off in the distance...

A giant circle of oddly placed seaweed.  Closer inspection found a giant pile of whale guts, nearly being washed out by the incoming tide, which the old girl deemed too smelly to investigate, but sadly no bones.  The search would continue to another day when I was told of another sighting, even closer to the house.  It seems the bones had been moved weeks earlier, taken to be cleaned so they could be displayed at some point in yet another location.

And as luck would have it, another gorgeous day of 40 degree temps coincided with a ridiculously early day at work, so the girl and I headed back out.  This time to an old overgrown cranberry bog.  With the industry failing, many of them have been turned into walking paths, allowing them to grow back into their natural state.  Had we stayed on the paths we'd likely have missed it. But my girl is too adventurous for that...

From across the bog we could see an oddly shaped large pile of something.  Whatever it was, it was big.  That storage building is a massive a 2 story outbuilding for farm equiptemnet.  The pile to the right clearly would need further investogation.

 

And we found them!  We found our white whale (bones).  Randomly stacked off to the side of the barn, they still had some of the carcass hanging from them, which when the wind caught it, made them exessively smelly.  Too smelly for the princess who was more interested in running through the tall grass again.  The head was massive, easily 15 feet long.  The other bones are likely backbone or rib, I'm really not sure.  

I hope to get back to writing soon, with fair warning that it could be heavy and vague, it needs to flow from my fingertips if I'm ever going to work through it.  But for now, I'll take my breaks when I can get them, even if it means I have to hunt down my own whale.

Until then,

Ishmael

And Then There Were Three...

I was in my car at 7 am this morning, loaded down with stuff, driving the main drag just as I have for the last three days, thinking for a kid that prides himself on his small footprint this is taking forever.  A mile into the ride the radio breaks from commercial into Billy Joel's classic "Moving Out".  

So ridiculously appropriate.  

Well played universe.  Well played.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bonus Son told us he was moving into an apartment 2 years ago with some friends we were elated.  It was time for him to be out on his own.  A gigantic step long overdue.

I think it was about 3 months in when I had a feeling it wasn't going to end well.  Just something about the whole situation, living with roommates that were engaged, just screamed instability to me. We decided to discuss options for when the lease was up.  Renting even a one bedroom anywhere within a hour drive was way out of his price point.  Sometimes you could find an in-law or a converted cottage on a month to month lease, but even that was risky and again, way out of his price point.  The more we looked at the options, the more buying became the most solid option.

So last year in January, we started looking.  We looked a A LOT of places.  So many we had to name them all to keep them all straight. While many were simply named "Nope", others included:

The Christmas House.

The Gut Job

The Chickadee House

The Swan Pond Condo

The Neighborhood House

The Beach Cottages

(and everyone's favorite)

The Crime Scene Condo

And after each possibility we were out bid, late to the game, or it was just a few thousand out of reach.  It began to feel like it may never happen.  Over the  months he continued to come back to one complex in town, which happens to be a few miles down the street.  After  looking at 7 units and making offers on three, it finally came down to one.

A small one bedroom apartment on the ground floor with lots of light (much to my intoverted vampire of a bonus son's dismay) in a quiet back building, that had been completely redone.  New paint, new floors, new carpet.  New sink and vanity in the bathroom, and appliancesso new in the kitchen, the cords and handles weren't even attached yet. It had been on the market 2 days.

He made an offer, they countered, and he took it.  The offer included the seller paying closing costs, so it allowed him to put all of his money down on the purchase price, making his payment (including his HOA fee) about $400 less than the current market for one bedrooms.  His HOA, we would later find out, covered trash, snow removal, landscaping, a fully comprehensive insurance policy of in and outside the unit, and heat and hot water which is unheard of around here. His only untility bills would be electric and internet.

The last 6 weeks have been a blur of finances, scanning documents, phone calls, late night emails, writing checks, and waiting. We had a plan for closing which of course all went out the window when he closed two days late.  The storage unit was emptied on his original closing date and we had to drive around with his stuff in our cars for two extra days until the deal was done.  The rest was packed into the garage.  Because of the delay, he and I couldn't get the time off so moving has been done hours at a time, as productively as possible.  The husband was able to get the unit painted.  We talked him out of black walls and into a nice gray in the living room and a navy for the bedroom. Today was the last of it, all the furniture was moved in, placed generally where it was going, before bonus son headed off to work.  We stayed behind and hung pictures, put away pots and pans, threw out trash.  I stocked the kitchen with some staples so when he gets home tonight he can have a bowl of cereal or a PB &J.

The boxes are all still stacked in his closet. They contain stuff from every room in each box, (because how else would a 25 year old pack) so he really is the only one who can do it anyways.  He's making progress in getting rid of things he has no use for as well, which is key for living in 800 square feet. But he's got to take his time with it and process it as he goes.  Tonight he will sleep in his new "big boy bed" as we call it (seriouosly, you can't buy a condo and sleep in a twin size bed), and start his new life on his own.

The dog's a mess.  Everyone's been in and out, stuff moving all around.  Anxiety levels have been at an all time hight for weeks.  In just 14 days we've gone from a house busting at the seams, full of activity, and people to sniff and get belly rubs from, to just the three of us now. He walk options are limited now, poor thing.

Just Me, Hubs, and Youngest.

And yet somehow, I still managed to spend $211 on groceries.

It's All Coming To An End...

It was a weird weekend.

January, of course, is a full stop for me.  The insanity of the 11 hour workdays with only 3 days off the whole month of December comes to a full stop, and suddenly I have time to breathe.  So of course, when they were looking for a volunteer to train someone new, I raised my hand.  It was somewhat selfish, really.  January also found me at the doctor's office having my ribs x-rayed for fractures.  I fell 2 weeks earlier delivering a package.  Stupid really, I was on dry pavement but some ice was in the path and my boot hit it like a marble.  As I laid there on the ground, like a turtle on it's back, wind knocked out of me, I thought "This is it.  This is how it ends."  But no, I assessed the damage, and continued to work for two more weeks straight.  The good news, no fractures.  Bad news is they are severely bruised, and they ordered me a 40 pound weight restriction for the next 2 weeks. Training someone means they can do the heavy lifting.  It also means they are completely prepared for the job that lies ahead of them. And in an office with a 75% turn over rate, that's important.  Because every person that stays means I am one more person closer to getting my days off.

Because my trainee was moving right along, I was able to leave the office at 2 on Saturday.  I took Oldest to dinner and brought home take out for Hubs and Youngest who were returning home from another wrestling tournament.  Youngest went 3-1. One of his wins was up a weight class, which is impressive since he's already a light 152.  A rare night when everyone was in (except for Bonus who was working), we binged season 2 of YOU.  So dark, creepy, and ridiculously good.  Mid binge Youngest came upstairs and announced he had cleaned his room. Which meant we were three for three on the rooms getting cleaned this weekend. Don't be impressed. I think it had less to do with cleanliness and more to do with my threating note left on the bathroom mirror 3 days prior, saying if it wasn't done, I'd be doing it Sunday and no one wanted that.  Stellar parenting, I know.  I'll be accepting my award any day now.

Sunday we all went to breakfast.  All five of us. It was yummy, the conversation involved multiple aspects of political views, completely inappropriate bathroom talk, and it was also the last time we'd all be around a table for a very long time.  Bittersweet, yes, but it's for good things to come.

Once home I started slowly getting things out of the attic.  An ongoing process of letting things go, I bagged up 3 bags for the thrift store. The attic, by the end of the month, will finally be empty.  It's getting harder for me to navigate with the low eves, and the husband with all his 6'2" frame has never been able to get up there.  What I do decide to keep is moving to the basement.  In between bagging things up and the basics of the day we watched the final episodes of Game Of Thrones.  Yes, the ending was spoiled for us a long time ago.  It didn't matter. Another thing from the last decade had come to an end, just a bit later than we had planned.

I also fixed the paper towel holder that's been broken for most of December. The willy nilly-ness of the paper towel roll had been driving me crazy all month, but since I live in a house full of muscle heads who clearly feel the need to take out their aggression on the Bounty, it was not a simple fix.  Two trips to the Depot found me finally with the right bolts and it's now affixed directly to the underside of the cabinet in the reverse direction. Fingers crossed.

Tomorrow morning I will head into work after squaring away some paperwork for Bonus, and the Husband will be bringing Oldest back to school to start his second semester.  He's strategically scheduled his classes this term to incorporate more work study hours, sleeping in a bit, and (most important to him) better access to the gym.  This semester he will likely not resurface here until February which is also bittersweet.  I love the normalcy his return has brought.  His brother, not that he'll ever admit it, has missed him.  He has brought an evenness to the chaos. His absence, although wonderful for him, will be felt everyday here.

Monday will also be Youngest's first day back from vacation.  Back to the grind of classes, practice, and wrestling both on the mat and with the drama plaguing him currently.  He's struggling with his girlfriend of 4 months, which is never easy. Not that he says much, but when he does, all I can do is sympathize and tell him he'll know when he's invested more than he should. I am cautiously hoping he'll work through this in a healthier manner than he did his last serious girlfriend, and bracing for the storm if does hit home. It's a process we all have to learn.  After all, all but one relationship ends, right?  Breaking up is 99% inevitable.

I made chili for dinner tonight.  We set the proverbial table for five for the last night in a while. Bonus of course, had Pop Tarts and root beer, because well, he's 25 and thinks he can eat like that forever.  The rest of us ate at our respective spots on the couches and chairs, Youngest joining us in our Netflix binge when he got home from work.

It was a weird weekend of ends.  The end of Holiday Season.  The end of 2 binge worthy Netflix shows.  The end of smelly bedrooms and attic messiness.  The end of Oldest being home, of arguing of who needed to fill the car with gas, of relationships, of vacation, of willy-nilly-ness of Bounty paper towels. The end of our table for five.

And with every end, there will be beginnings, both large and small.

Its just going to take a bit to get used to our table for four.

Resolutions...

New year, new decade. *Eh*

"Accept The Things You Can Not Change" -Neibuhr

I'm not one for resolutions. I am of the mind that if you don't like something you change it. If you can't change it, you change your attitude about it.  I am not as fit as I'd like to be, but I've learned to accept that I have lived my life, and that comes with stretch marks, squishiness, and huggabilty. I could go to the gym, the boys use our memberships regularly, but they are packed full right now and I hate sit ups. By accepting that I don't want to put in the work, I can therefore embrace the jiggle. Sure I could eat healthier, but cutting carbs and sugar usually makes me crazy and I can't be starting the decade out stabbing someone with a fork.

"Let go or be dragged" -K. McCreight

I am not however immune to analyzing my life like we all do this time of year.  Last year it became apparent that unlike the rest of the middle aged world, my diverticulitis was triggered not by food, but by stress.  I laughed at the doctor when he said "You are going to have to eliminate the stress in your life."  Seriously.  What kind of medical advice is that?  Stress for anyone is inevitable.  Stress, in a house full of boys, is as unavoidable as fart jokes. Nevertheless, I took a hard line on many things this past year.  I let go and trusted Oldest to do the right things with his free time. After a small (mostly) private breakdown, I held Bonus Son more accountable for his 6 month *rent-a-room* in the basement of the house, and let go of my pipe dream expectations of how it would be when he came to live with us. And, I all but ignored Youngest's antics until it became HUGELY apparent he still needed a mother to guide him through this section of his life, or threaten to take him out if it.  Whatever. In the end, I  have only had a few flairs, none of which I needed to be hospitalized for. 

"The house won't fall when the bones are good"-Marin Morris

There was a moment last month that while making dinner, we realized the house was empty except for the husband, myself, and the dog. Funny how that happens.  You wait years for some peace and quiet, maybe even lock yourself in the bathroom for it, and when it comes it's, for lack of a better word, uncomfortable. While not exactly empty nesting, because they will be back and forth for the next 5 years or so, things will be very different.  We have never been a married couple without kids.  We never had a honey moon phase, or had a story of just us. And while our foundation is good, it goes without saying that when you've spent the last 16 years of your lives with the distraction of kids staring at each other day in and day out can be, well, daunting.  So of course, we got a dog. 

Need a break? Walk the dog.  

Want a distraction? Pat the dog.

Arguing over the kids a wee bit too loud? Dog will interrupt like an obnoxious toddler.

The dog, friends, single handedly saved out marriage over the last year.  She offerd us a distraction, a reason to communicate that didn't involve crtitical analyzis of parenting skills, and a reason to get out into the fresh air, sometimes together, sometimes alone.

"We're not broken, just bent, and can learn to love again" -Pink

But if I look at that moment, and the moments in between, it has come to light this year that I do need to make a change. We have fallen into the routines, the doldrum of everyday life, sometimes passing the leash off as our ships pass in the night. So this year I've decided that before the scilence and monotony breaks us, I will work a little each day on writing my side of the story of us.

I will hold his hand.

Kiss him at least once a day.

Ask for help instead of being resentful.

Hold him accountable for his part on this team. 

Maybe, listen to his incessant political rambling, maybe.

This year I will resolve to be more.

More of a wife.

More of a partner.

More of US.

More of myself.