A Day Of Rest...

 Christmas for us, looks a bit different.  With the kids grown, and working straight up to the minute, it often resembles a day of rest than a celebration of life and family. This year was no different, other than it fell on a Sunday, giving the Hubs Christmas Eve off. This allowed him to do a much-needed grocery shopping trip while I toiled away in the mail truck, so we'd have food for our annual Christmas morning breakfast and less fancy food for the rest of the day. 

Remarkably, I got home from work about 130pm, was able to catch up on much needed bills, cleaning, and gave the dog a good, albeit freezing, walk through the neighborhood while Hubs was still out running errands. Bonus son would arrive around 8pm as he was working until 730. Oldest was home around 5pm, and Youngest curved all his plans to be in for the night by 6pm. I actually snapped a picture of them all in the living room, at the same time, a true Christmas miracle. Our Christmas happens on Christmas Eve, a tradition we started years ago, opening all our gifts at midnight. 

As the years have gone by, our midnight has become 10pm, because well, we are tired. This year was no different.  We opened gifts, the boys played video games. The gifts were not as plentiful, but meaningful none the less. Oldest got plane tickets for his yet to be determined spring break trip.  Bonus son got a roomba. Youngest got a sweatshirt, multiple gift cards (portability and practical for the uncertainty of his future) and a small hand pour of silver, something he has collected and loved since his early teen years. Youngest fell asleep on the couch shortly after opening his gifts. Being a pot head, when he slows down, he sleeps. 

The Hubs got a book series he wanted, a leaf blower, and some T-shirts. I got all the boys under one roof, if not for a brief few hours, the brad nailer I wanted, some new jammies, a neat little sign and charm from Oldest. It says I love you to the moon and back, something I have said to both of them since they were born. 

And then there was Youngest's gift. It's hard loving someone who has a mental unbalance and chemical addition. Like with Oldest's gift, he thoughtfully bought it for him months ago, but they got into a fight, so he was going to keep it for himself.  Oldest saw it in the garage, so when he opened it, he assumed it was a regift.  Which it wasn't, but there was no convincing him of that.  It soured the night for him. While he's okay now, it's hard when the lines of brother and addict get blurred. Youngest fell asleep before he could give my my gift, which was okay with me, as having him home sleeping soundly was gift enough.

Christmas morning, he was so excited to give me my gift.  He said he saw it at the mall and knew it was just right for me.

Thing is, it was just right for me. Hubs and I had seen them at the mall, loved them, but determined they were way too pricey for the splurge. Somehow, youngest just knew. He knew the colors, the design, he just knew. 

I think that's the hardest part about all of this.  That my son is still in there somewhere, struggling to get out, struggling to be seen and heard. Struggling to make sense of everything. 

We all had Monday off as well, since the holiday fell on a Sunday. Oldest and I ran errands exchanging a few things that weren't quite right. Youngest was gone most of the day, his heartache today brought on by his father and that side of the family, his anger coming through initially on me, and then later towards his uncle. They were supposed to do a paper lantern lighting in honor of his 51st birthday tonight, neither one of the boys wanted to go, and they didn't.

One good thing of note, the camper *should* be heading to the scrap yard tomorrow or Wednesday, which would mean one less thing following him into the new year. I happen to have Thursday off as well, as the cat has a vet follow up for her pneumonia, and it looks as though I may not have to work overtime on Saturday. Ensuring I have one final day of rest, before we head straight into all that 2023 will bring. 

It's Been A Bit...

 Actually, it's been so long, I have no idea where to start.

Youngest moved out around Halloween. And when I say moved out, he acquired a camper, and started to renovate it. Until he found it was full of mold. And then he became homeless, living in his car. And then, the winter came. Nights got cold. And things spiraled out of control.

Now he's back, and while he's more or less following our rules, his mental health is not good. He went to a new therapist, once. I'm unsure if he'll go again.  He needs medication, he refuses.  His plan is to move across the country where he has no support. I suspect he'll be back as he's taking his unhappiness with him. In the meantime he must tie up loose ends here, which sadly has left me in the midst of camper removal and unraveling his financial messes so when he does return it's not a nightmare. I'm not sure how fruitful running away will be for more than a few weeks, as his fragile state is such that he can't even handle changing a windshield wiper.

It would devastate me if I wasn't so tired from working nineteen days straight. I am lucky as the end of my stretch came this past Sunday when I finally said I'd had enough, and by some miracle, got Monday off as well. Sure, I'm back to the grind now, but the end is in sight and the massive snow-ma-geddon that is reportedly heading our way is currently arriving as rain. 

Oldest is home for three more weeks before heading back to the city for his last two semesters. He's been exceptionally helpful, taking care of small things without my even to ask. I've come to the realization that I don't need more time or less to do, I just need an assistant. 

The Hubs has been that special kind of cranky that only comes from dealing with the public for 10 hours a day without end. Throw in a supervisor that, when the line is out the door, is playing on her phone with her feet literally up on the desk, it's no wonder his mood at the end of the day is not one for making friends. 

Bonus son is sick, not with COVID, but some other upper respiratory thing that's had him down for days. It's unlikely we'll see him for Christmas Day.

The cat seems to be on the mend since switching from pill to liquid antibiotics.  She had/has pneumonia and bronchitis.

The dog is blowing her summer coat in preparation for her new heavy winter coat to come in. It goes without saying that husky hair doesn't care... and it is everywhere.

And that's about it.

2023 better have better stuff.

2022 feels a bit like 2020 take two.

When Work Comes Home....

 Hubs and I both work for the Post Office. It has its ups and downs, for sure.  And it has changed dramatically over the years. Back in May we took some time off together to go to the Brimfield Antique Fair, an enormous nationally known flea market, that has been the backdrop for several shows on HGTV. I went with a few things in mind. Quirky things.  I wasn't looking for a deal per say, but definitely for a few affordable items that I could craft into something else.

Hubs found some unique birdhouses made of old license plates and another chainsaw carved one made of cedar. I found an old glass 5-gallon water bottle, now turned "swear jar" that sits full of change in our living room. And this...

An old bank of PO boxes, that my husband, God love him, carried a quarter mile back to the truck for me. Shortly after we returned home, the shed project took over everything and alas, the boxes sat in the garage for months. I'm pretty sure the husband thought it was going to sit there forever. Until one day when I had a few moments of time, some spray paint, and sheet of maple plywood...

(Please ignore the dirty siding on the garage.  We just haven't precured the pressure washer from my Dad yet.) And then the box sat for some more time, until I figured out what exactly it wanted to be and could afford the maple to do it.

Hubs thought the top looked like butcher block cutting board. While I agreed, I wanted it to have that older rustic look, so I completely ignored him and moved on. It definitely needed a more chunky look..

See.  It needed to be chunky. It also helped that I had it on a creeper board that I could roll around when no one was home to help me pick it up. Then it was time for stain....

I have no idea what color I ended up with.  I was all over the place with it.  But it was coming together. The legs I bought for it are 6-inch brass legs. They overhang the sides for an art deco look.  Most important, they can hold 500 pounds.  Because when this sucker was done, it was HEAVY. Thankfully, they arrived from China a month earlier than expected.  Note:  I specifically bought them from Etsy, as I am anti-amazon, and yet, they shipped from China, not the US, and arrived via Amazon.  *sigh*

Anyhoo...

After the stain and poly was fume free, it made its way into the house, where I redid the numbers with my Cricut machine. I had keys to only two of the boxes, so two locks are still intact.  Rekeying them all is far too costly, so I am getting magnetic closures for the rest of the doors, mainly so the cat doesn't take up residence in one of the boxes, as they are the perfect hidey holes. I'll keep a bottle or two of wine in there, but as I'm not much of a drinker, the rest will house cords for the TV, and other miscellaneous stuff that kicks around the living room. 

It's one of my new favorite things.

Can't wait until next May when we return to Brimfield... imagine the possibilities.

Building Walls Of Cardboard Boxes...

 Youngest's house hunt is not going so well.  Truth be told, I'm not really sure how hard he's trying.  He's out in the garage with friends, clearly getting ready to do... something. He rushes in, asking for something that he can't find.

He proceeds with more attitude as I'm putting on my shoes to go find it for him, rambling on about how I shouldn't be moving his stuff. The same stuff I moved THREE months ago, after giving him 4 days notice that his grandfather was coming, and the entire garage needed to be cleaned up, and accessible so we could get in there for tools and not break or damage any of his stuff. He did not in fact, do any cleaning, so I moved all his stuff into boxes and stacked them neatly in the back of the garage, three months ago.

I find the item in less than a minute. It's in the same box he left it in, along with some of my higher end kitchen stuff, now destroyed, that he has commandeered without permission, for his many projects. Irritated, I return to my Hallmark movies inside when the flurry of texts come in.

Now furious and frustrated, I go outside and tell him to be an adult and talk to my face instead of passive aggressively sending texts. The yelling starts.  He heads into the kitchen to clean something and drops it in the sink.  Before he breaks the other dishes in the sink, I tell him to get out.

He starts packing up the garage. He thought I meant to move out, not get out of the kitchen before he broke something. Voices are high.  We are both exhausted and frustrated with each other. Now he's packing to move out, with no place to go, but can't save face and settle back into staying, even though he's been told that that was not what I meant.

It takes him hours for pack it up and stuff it in his car.  One friend has to walk home. 

He has nowhere to go. he's undoubtedly going to couch surf with far from reliable friends.  The entire encounter was somehow different than others. Our heated exchange never got out of control, perhaps because we are just too tired for real emotion. We have done that too many times now. Just two hours before we had a productive conversation about his next steps. Now, my stomach feels as if someone has ripped half of it out.

He returns later, says nothing, drops off a backpack, picks up another box. 

He doesn't return.

We leave for work this morning, my stomach still in knots. It hurts to breathe.

I check the cameras, he's returned to get another box from the garage, which is still full of his stuff, and grabs the backpack.

The entire thing is heartbreaking. My brain says it's time, my heart is broken. Perhaps if he had an actual place to go, I would be better, maybe even helped him pack. Because in all the back and forth, he has not taken any clothes.

None.

Not even his toothbrush.

I'm not sure how one moves out without their underwear.

But if there's anything I know for sure, it's that if anyone can do it, it's my son.

*sigh*

If he doesn't return before the weekend, I will clean up the mess, boxing up all the rest of his stuff and putting it aside, so undoubtedly, he won't be able to find anything. 

Irony at its finest, I guess.

The He Shed...

 What feels like a gazillion years ago, I posted specs, a plan if you will, of a shed to be built in the backyard.  Ever obsessed with living in a castle, I had dreams of building a turret shed off the side of the garage.  Oldest had dreams of putting a sprinkler on the top that would rotate and cover the entire lawn to keep everything fresh and green all spring long.

Alas, it was not to be.  Hubs squashed the plan quickly, as we broke ground for a boring old square shed, back in June. So as not to take up any extra space in our tiny yard, the digging began behind the garage in otherwise unused space.

That fence runs along the property line.  Thankfully Oldest did land surveying all last semester for his co-op and knew all the laws for our town regarding easements and such. So we started the build...

This part took forever.  Leveling. Digging. Checking twice. Swearing. Repeat. My dad came over a few weeks later and got us started on the framing...

It was going great until we realized that the original lean-to roof wasn't going to work.  Enter why construction costs are more than expected, even when using a contractor, albeit, a retired one. *sigh*  So our plans took a turn, resulting in 30% more space, and about 30% more cost. The walls went up, as well as the roof, and tar paper to keep the rain out. To save costs I found four cords of shingles on FB marketplace for a quarter of the cost.  As a bonus, they are the exact same shingles we have on the garage and house.

At this point the heat really moved in and all plans for the outside came to a screeching halt.  No need to be on a roof in 100-degree heat if we don't have to. So, I began working on the inside, getting a plan together. Last month my dad came by and we knocked out the shingles. The following week, he and I put in an upcycled door (free!) and replaced all the siding. Hubs supervised this endeavor as he had hurt his back earlier in the week.

Behold!  The He Shed.... 

My in case of zombies wall is coming along. We've added more weapons/tools since this pic was taken...

And finally, the back side of the shed.  Originally, I had requested a door on this side as well.  Again, I was quickly voted down.  While we were landscaping this back section when all was said and done, the Hubs had the nerve to say to me, you know what would be nice?  If we had put a door on this side too... Of course, if there had been a door there, I'd likely have hit him with an easily accessible shovel.

And there you have it folks.  It took 5 months, and a whole lot of overtime to pay for it all. But all our gardening stuff, or rather the Hubs gardening stuff, has an organized home now. And even though it's not a castle turret, it does look pretty good and maximizes the space in our yard. 

Not to worry though, I still have big plans to get a turret in here somewhere.

And it will be magical.

The First Kid, Vs The Second Kid....

The months have gotten away from me as they usually do.  

I wish I could say it was all good and peaceful, but no. 

That is not how the bipolar rollercoaster rolls, or how it derails. 

Sparing the horrific and painful details, it's become apparent that Youngest is determined to do things his own way, disregarding the effects on others, or potential consequences.  He's looking for a place to stay, as he knows his time here is limited. He will always have a bed here, but it's time he learns that the toilet doesn't magically clean itself, nor does food just appear in the fridge. 

The irony of calling him out on everything, with nothing left to hide, has left him pleasant actually. It's an odd kind of calm. He's connected with someone in the area who has several Air bnb's that need occupancy for the winter. While most of his stuff will stay here, the chaos will go with him, along with his never-ending laundry. While he's not ready, it's a necessary step if we are to salvage any of our relationship.

I don't agree with much of what he's doing, as I would stay on the safer, more steadfast path, but I know if anyone would be successful in such endeavors, it would be him. Perhaps he actually is that one in a million who can see the path long before a clearing. Time will tell.

The weather has started to turn here, the leaves are slowly changing, rain has finally moved in. The mornings are crisp, humidity is gone, fall bulbs have been planted and flower remnants are all being cut back.  We're taking full advantage of being outside while we can, finishing up the endless outdoor projects that until about 3 weeks ago it was far too hot to complete.

The shed is nearly done.  

The garage is meticulously organized.

The last of the hazmat chemicals, left here by the previous owner 17 years ago, are on their way to disposal next week.

We reworked a long-neglected back section of the yard.  We replanted some bushes, set in some neglected cobblestone edgers, and planted shade plants for the spring. I reused a whole bunch of rocks to create levels in the shrub and flower area, because they were really GOOD rocks, and needed to be used. Hubs, of course, overdid it and has been laid out on the couch for the last two days. At some point he will need to have surgery for his lower back, but today is not that day.

Oldest is busily working at his new co-op.  He loves the company and hopes to have the opportunity to stay on.  If he does, they will pay for his masters degree. He comes home every so often to pick up his packages, get his hair cut, and run errands with me. It's hard to believe that he'll be graduated in August. I miss him, but it's nice being mostly just the Hubs and I now a days. No need to cook big dinners, no need to juggle cars in the driveway.

Four years ago, I had a longing, out of nowhere, for a dog. After exhaustive searching, and painful heartbreaks, we found Alaska, who completed our family and added a depth of comfort we had no idea we needed. Alaska is our rule follower, easy, aims to please, just wants to be loved. She's a calming force for us now, much like when Oldest lived here.

Three months ago, I had the same longing, this time for a cat. And, for the first two months, after nothing working out, I had all but given up. Over Labor Day we were in our local Petsmart where we saw a small cat melting into the plexiglass to get our attention. When we got home, the Hubs pestered me into filling out an application online.  Thinking it would go nowhere, I reluctantly did. Less than 24 hours later, we brought Kiki home.

Straight from Puerto Rico, she has flipped our world. She melted into Youngest, our resident cat whisperer, who clearly needs her most. She's wild, energetic, snuggly, and fresh. While she can see fine, her eye was damaged when she was wild, so her left gaze is black, and her right gaze is bright green. A turn off for some I'm sure, she fits right in, as we are all a little broken in this house. 

She's found every cobweb in the house.  Forced me to give away half my plants. She tosses everything off the edge, ensuring that everything gets put away. She topples the Hub's meticulously piled sports cards and hides in the sleeper recliner. Her complete absence of color makes her the queen of hide and seek. We finally had to GPS her collar to ensure she doesn't accidently get out. She squeaks when she snuggles, whistles when she breathes, and purrs louder than I've ever heard.  She demands attention, on her own terms. She'll let me clip her nails, while she's half asleep, and only growl a tiny bit to show her detest. 

She makes me question my sanity every minute.

I love her fiercely, but she makes me crazy.

And she's cute as heck.

Remind you of anyone?

Give Me A Bit Of Credit....

 There's big ta-dos with the government "forgiving" $10K worth of federal loans beginning in December of this year. The right says it's too much; the left says it's not enough.  When in reality it just stirred the pot on an already bubbling over problem of the higher education debacle. Perhaps they should have eliminated federal interest payments or offered the 10K to middle income families as a retroactive grant.  Either way, the politicians have found another way to divide the masses over it. 

College, the pursuit as well as the concept of it, has exponential flaws. Most of which I'm not going to get into. The cost of college is out of control, but so is gasoline, food, and everyday living. That's never going to change, too many hands in it and all. Most of the people yelling the loudest have never used federal aid of taken a loan for college costs. It's a trillion-dollar industry that's not going away until the little people stop playing the game.

But that's not what this post is about.

I have three that will benefit from this forgiveness.  One son has faithfully paid for 8 years.  In opting in, he will have the last few thousand removed from his dept load, and pay state taxes on what he's forgiven. When you consider that he paid off his principal balance 5 years ago, and all that's left for the remaining 12 years of his loan is interest payments, it doesn't really seem like too much of a free-be now does it?  But nonetheless, he will participate in the program. 

Oldest will take the money as well, because it's 10K off his six-figure debt load that will commence for payments in August of 2023. Even with paying the state taxes on 10K extra in "income" this year, it's still cheaper in the long run for him. 

Youngest is where it gets tricky.  He's stopped going to school, so his federal debt is relatively low. He had planned to begin payments last year and use the remainder of the loan as a low interest (albeit compounded interest) way of building his non-existent credit. Of course, now if he opts in, he won't be able to do that, as well as have to pay taxes on it this year.  If he opts out of the forgiveness plan, he'll pay around 3K and can claim it as a tax credit. Credit cards are not a great idea for him at this point in his life. Almost no banks offer simple interest loans anymore, and because he has no credit, if he could find one, would likely need a co-signer. If by some miraculous chance he was approved on his own, he'd be paying upwards of 18% interest. On a 5K minimum loan that would be $900 just to build his credit. This equates out to around $21 per credit point, which is crazy.

Thing is in our house, each son must have/had a plan on how to be self-sufficient by 25. 

Bonus son moved from his apartment to our basement, paid us a "mortgage" each month, that became his down payment for his condo. He signed on the dotted line at age 25 and four months, and since he'd already been paying us, his financial budget was already set to accommodate his mortgage payment. He just turned 28 and actually has money in savings after his bills are paid.

Unless some massive opportunity comes his way, Oldest already has a job offer with a company close to home after graduation.  His plan is to move home for 2 years and pay off all his debt, so he can then be free to find a place of his own without the noose of school debt around his neck.  He too will pay a "rent" in line with rents here, he and I will consult of the best ways to funnel that into the fastest payoffs for his loans, and when the time comes his budget will already be set to afford to live independently. He knows it will suck for those two years, but he also knows it's what he needs to do to be able to live the life he wants later.

Youngest, who is flying by the seat of his pants, still needs a plan. Despite his having a Roth IRA that's maxed out, substantial long- and short-term stock investments, and a hefty savings account, twenty-five will come faster than he thinks. We've begun working on his credit so that when the time comes, he can buy a car (with payments), condo, or really good tent because he can't live here. We went to the bank yesterday to discuss the credit building options. The banker, with ten years in the industry, had few options for him that weren't credit cards. All of her information, I piggy backed with my own, and catered it to his bottom line.  At one point in the conversation, when Youngest started asking about national average investment returns to offset his compounding interest rates, she blank faced looked at him and told him he was "way over her head". 

*sigh*

This is what happens when you bring a legit mathematical genius to the local bank. When we left, he looked at me and said, "She gave me a lot of good things to think about", as if I hadn't just been there when she said to him "I think your mom knows more about this than I do" and offered me a job.

So yeah, now we're looking into credit builder loans.  They offer a savings type of structured payments, so the interest is actually earned, but the payments are reported to your credit bureaus. I also added him onto the back end of my credit card as an authorized user.  Mind you the card will be cut up as soon as it arrives, but he can piggyback on my credit for a bit until he gets established.

And all this has left me kind of discouraged honestly.  The whole system is rigged against any independence for the regular 18-year-old. Their options, unless they have a VERY savvy parent, is to build credit with a credit card which has long been proven to be a bad idea, take out a compounded interest student loan with the parent as a co-singer, or succumb to the highest of interest rates for a car loan. It's crazy cakes. I spoke to my sister about it, as my nephew has no plans to go to school and thought maybe it would be something she could talk with him about. She said, no, he'd have to learn it on his own. As if she's not helping his older sister by cosigning her life away on student loans already. This, my friends, is why I make sure my nephew knows he can come to me. My sister loves my nephew but, she, like so many parents, just doesn't understand.

I think the best take away though was when I was sitting aside him at the bank, discussing credit card interest rates compounding daily, and what that actually means, and he sarcastically replied....

So glad they taught me this in school.

For My Nephew...

 I had planned to give this to you last year, but it appears I'm kind of a hot mess. Now that your sister's off and you're an only child, odds are you'll get way more attention than you ever wanted. Don't worry, your mom's gonna freakout for a while, but eventually she'll get off your butt, it's just what happens when the whole world flips upside down.

Now that you're a Junior, there will be a lot of expectations about what you're going to do with your life, what direction you want to go, who you date, spend time with, and how you chose to spend your time. Don't worry if you don't have it figured out, no one does. You get to decide if you go to college or not. Maybe you go and it's awesome.  Maybe you don't and that's awesome too.  Maybe you change your mind when your 20. It's all good. Just make sure you make the choices you make because they are right for YOU and not what someone says is right, or because you're afraid of the unknown. 

So, there's a few secrets I'd like to share with you. 

The secret to money is not to worry about it. Make choices with your head and heart, and the money will somehow always work out. And if it doesn't, call me, and I'll show you how you fix it. 

The secret to enjoying life is time management. Don't put things off.  If a task seems overwhelming, break it down into tiny ones.  Delegate if you have to. Just get it done. Eat your least favorite veggies first, dessert will taste better that way. Get the work done, schedule it, put tasks on post it notes, don't leave things, or PEOPLE hanging. You will get out of life what you put in. If you never allow the snowball of life to roll, it will never get bigger. And if it won't matter in 5 days, 5 months, or 5 years, don't worry about it. Then STOP. Embrace the little things. The little things in life ARE the big things. Life is dorky, and silly, and stupid. Enjoy every second of it.

Worring is like wishing for bad things to happen. Expect the unexpected, and you'll always be pleasantly surprised.

The secret to girls is to listen to your gut. As soon as there's a red flag, walk away.  There will be another. I promise. Every relationship you will ever have will end at some point. Life is way too short to spend with someone who doesn't make you better, and the space in your head is far too valuable for anyone else to live in rent free. They need to earn that head space.

The secret to finding the right friends is dinner and a puppy.

If you wouldn't eat dinner or trust them to watch your puppy for the weekend, avoid them like the plague. If you would have dinner with them, but not trust them with your puppy, they're okay, just don't put too much time and trust into them, and for the love of God don't loan them money. If you don't want to have dinner, but trust them with your puppy, those are good people.  Not much fun, but good, solid dependable people. Everyone needs a few of those people in their life.  But... if you find a friend you like to spend time with, can talk with well into the night, that you'd trust with your most valued, vulnerable, things, like a puppy, THOSE are your people. Hang on to them for life.

Fake it till you make it is garbage advice.  You need to face till you make it. Avoidance or pretending that it's "all good" isn't realistic. Nor is it helpful. Deal with it, leave the past in the past, and move forward.

Junior year is huge. Everything will happen so fast and so slow all at the same time. Do not go it alone. Don't start habits you can't control, or because everyone else is. All choices, vaping, drinking, pot, excessive exercising or nutrition planning, purging, cutting (for weightlifting or with a knife) tattoos, piercing, sex, gaming, etc. have consequences. Sometimes those consequences will leave you missing out of the life you really want. Sometimes it won't.  It's about balance, mindfulness, and communication. The truth is, becoming an adult really sucks. But just because you have full responsibility for your choices and independence at 18, doesn't mean you are alone. 

Because that's the best part. You have so many people that love you that have already done this before, screwed it all up, and dug their way out. Learn from us. There is LITERALLY nothing, no scenario, that myself, Uncle, or cousins have not been though. We can be your wheelhouse. Any Time. Every Day. Even if it's a choice we don't like, we will always love you. No matter what.

And lastly, be smart about your dumb choices. You'll make a lot of them. We all did. Be smart, use your wheelhouses, and you'll be just fine.

XOXOXO

Checking In...

 I wish I could say I've been on some lavish vacation, surrounded by warm breezes and palm trees, but no.

About three months ago Youngest came off all of his mental health meds.  While I didn't like the decision, or that he did it cold turkey, it was his decision to make. While adjusting to this, there were numerous ups and downs, eventually landing him employed by a plumbing company. During his first few weeks he complained about not feeling well and losing weight.  

I rolled my eyes and figured it was just him adjusting to everything. Fast forward another week, he spikes a 103 fever and lands in the ER.  Turns out, mono is making a huge resurgence.  Unaware of how or from whom he got it, we leave with virtually no medical advice, and his demeanor spiraled. Mono spurs depression in 40% of patients, and having just come off all his meds, he was already predispositioned to it. 

It. Was. Difficult.

I almost killed him with my bare hands.

Once his throat swelled to where only air could get through, we returned to the doctor for steroids.  And then again 3days later for antibiotics, which did the trick, ending our three-week ordeal in two days.

Finally on the mend, the husband starts to feel icky. 

COVID.

Yay.

And it's not the 2 day strain, it's the 3 week hybrid-version that causes extreme symptoms and your wife to go insane.

So, as Youngest finished his recouperation, I'm now following the Hubs around with Lysol wipes as he spreads his germs faster than a toddler, testing myself every morning before heading off to work. Thankfully, Monday was coming and Youngest would be back to work. Right?

Wrong.

Finally enjoying being healthy and able to eat again, he took his electric long board to the beach to meet friends on Sunday afternoon. Five hundred feet from the cliff stairs, he hits a pothole going 20mph, hitting the ground in a less than graceful way. Significant road rash on his hand, knee, upper left side, the entire top of his left butt cheek and the majority of his arm, paled in comparison to his inability to walk. Turns out he broke a toe in the right foot and has a midline sprain in the left.

Since he has a basement bedroom, that left me dragging a mattress up the basement stairs so that I can put some distance between him and the Hubs until he tests negative.  Still following the husband around with Lysol, I'm now watching the boy for a ruptured spleen (because of course he fell on his left side) and doing nearly everything in the house because one is contaminated and the other is gimpy.

I'm holding it all together with duct tape.

And not even the good kind.  It's like dollar store duct tape.

After two weeks Hubs finally tested negative and headed back to work. He still has issues breathing and still has some weird effects from the virus. Six weeks after the accident, Youngest is still not back to work. His doctor needs him to see an orthopedist to ensure nothing else is going on. They won't call us back and he can't start PT without it. 

He's. Making. Me. Crazy.

Last week I was on vacation, in which I stayed home and cleaned. I reorganized the entire garage while Hubs demolished the old shelves and cabinets that weren't working for us. I organized the new shed (more on that later), scrubbed the kitchen cabinets and touched up all the paint, scrubbed the bathroom walls and ceiling, and generally purged years worth of stuff. We did a few things with family, I saw a few friends, ate my share of Oreos, and binge watched some shows. By Thursday I wasn't feeling great, by Monday, I knew...

I had yet another diverticulitis flare. Having not finished paying for the last CT scan, they opted to give me the antibiotics, and see how it goes. I'm on day six and it's not working. I called for an appointment and the soonest they can get me in is tomorrow. 

Meanwhile, Oldest has to be moved into temporary housing at school for two weeks until his Fall dorm is ready. He still has no internship, so we don't know if he'll even need to live at school or not. He needs to be picked up tonight though, as he has family obligations here tomorrow. He was supposed to know where he was moving his stuff to at 8am. It's 3pm. Still no word. No idea when he'll be picked up, but at this point it's looking like the Hubs may go after work.

And I may check into the ER for some peace and quiet.

Is It Too Late To Trade Him In?

My niece graduates High School on Friday.  Needless to say there's been quite a bit of crafting and last minute stuff going on here and at her house to get things ready.  Last night she and my sister came over so that she and I could decorate the top of her mortar board for Friday's procession. Super fun, but when she doesn't get here until 7:30, it makes for a later night.

They left around 10pm, and Youngest came in, sober, around 10:30.  Totally reasonable, said goodnight, and went to bed. Around ten past 6 I went down just to make sure he was up, which he was. I returned to the living room, opened the shades, and went back downstairs...

Me: "Um, where's your car?"

Him: *Thinking WAY longer than he should have* Oh, it's at freshy. I'll just walk over and get it.

Me: Okay...

He emerges from his room and looks out the living room windows.

Me: "What are you looking for?"

Him: "The car"

Me: "Pretty sure I didn't miss a bright red car in the front yard."

Him: "Where are my keys?"

Me: "I have no idea.  You want me to track them for you?"

Him: "No.  I'll do it, just find me the spares"

Needless to say, the car was in fact not here, and neither were the keys. He did find the car where he left it, but the tracker on his keys GPSed the last location about 5 miles west of where he was last night. Now completely awake and an hour early for work, I did some hunting downtown for the keys. I left the phone number various places in case they turned up, then went to work.

Around 1pm I had not heard anything from him so I double checked that he had texted his friend to see if she had them in her car (which would explain why the tracker pinged them across town).  I was about to take the dog downtown to sniff them down like a bloodhound when he texted me that his friend who rolled out of bed at NOON, just found them in her car.

*sigh*

We may need to invest in a tracker for his tracker the way this kid loses stuff.

Keeping It Alive...

 Tis the season around here for projects.  As many of you know, about 2 years ago I took to refinishing old dilapidated, destined for the dumpster, pieces of furniture (or anything really) and breathing new life into them. I do this, in an effort to curb my frustration with some of the choices my family members make.  To put it simply, I take to the long-neglected wood the frustration I shouldn't take out on the people I love most.  So far, it's kept everyone alive.

It started with a 1916 steamer chest and has spiraled into many, many other projects.  Around Christmas I treated myself to a Cricut machine and, well, I may have a serious problem controlling my creativity. Anyhoo.... the husband was in our local Savers thrift store a few months back and came across an old military chest for ten, yes, ten dollars.  No brainer, right?

It still had the original tray but was definitely in need of some love. Inside, in black Sharpie marker was the original issue date of 1942, the owner, and that it was later converted to files in the 80's. Knowing that these trunks, unless in pristine condition, hold very little monetary value, I went to work. I utilized my Buy Nothing Face Book group to access ancestry accounts.  We found census records from when he was 9.  His original draft card for WWII.  His obituary.

I reached out to his son, who was living not too far from here to ensure that the trunk was not donated in error before I did anything.  When I got no response, I got to work. I stripped the old painted cardboard off and brought it down to the bare plywood.  It was not easy, let me tell you.  I tried everything from a heat gun with a putty knife, to soaking it in water, to olive oil.  In the end, after inhaling several pounds of what I can only assume is caustic glue residue, 80 grit sandpaper did the trick, and we were down to bare wood.  

I taped all of the plywood off and gave all the metal a clean coat of gunmetal gray spray paint. I attached casters to the bottom. I found some cool fabric at my local store and used Mod Podge to adhere it to the inside.  This ensured that the sharpie marker would remain intact even though it was covered. The bottom was adhered to foam core board so that the bottom would have a bit of a cushion between the caster screws and the lining. I brought the tray back to it's original size, sprayed it navy, and Mod Podged the fabric to the bottom of the tray. I have plans to get together some of the original owners information that I gathered and put it in acrylic resin in the center of the tray. But I haven't gotten there yet. The handles were replaced with leather belt pieces, that I procured for free.

I knew I wanted something super fun for the top so I scoured the internet.  I was thinking old maps, but just couldn't find what I was looking for.  I came across an old sketch of a P51 Mustang bomber plane and just couldn't get past it. For some reason, I just couldn't find anything else that would work and be affordable other than that image.  So I ordered it, for all of $18, and wouldn't you know, it came a month earlier than expected.  I then got to work on hand painting the sides.  Three different shades of gray (one of which happens to be my sunroom walls) and some black buffing oil paint, and the look I wanted was finally achieved.  

The last touch was to use a rustic army font and pay homage to the man that started it all.  His serial number, issue date, and USAF adorn the sides and top.  

Once it was finished, I reached out again on our town FB page in hopes that someone would know his son or grandson.  It was then that I discovered that back then, it was not called the USAF, but the USAAF, as the Air Force didn't exist as it's own entity yet, but simply as the Army Air Force. And, as luck would have it, after 381 likes/loves and nearly a hundred comments, someone reached out to him and he found me via direct message.  

This was, in fact his dad's trunk, and he loved that it had a new life and someone to really love it. His dad was drafted into the US Army Air Force in 1942.  During his time in the service he rose to Staff Sargent and was certified to fly many planes.  Of all of them, the P51 was his favorite "ship" to fly. And suddenly, I knew why I couldn't get past the image, and why the colors matched my house perfectly. 

I joke about how I take on these projects to stay busy enough to keep my family alive. But apparently, there's another force entirely ensuring I'm keeping something much bigger alive. 

And I'm so happy to do it.

Dad Classes....

The older I get the more amazed I am at how smart parents are.  

I have had 2 plastic trash cans stuck together for probably close to 2 years now. We have tried everything short of cutting one in half to get them apart and nothing.  My Dad was over one day and saw me lugging these two stuck barrels around while I was weeding and thought I was crazy. Or stupid. The look was hard to decipher. 

"Just stick the lip of the top one on the tailgate of the truck and hit the rim of the bottom one with a hammer"

You know it took three whacks and the thing came right off.  What the actual heck?

Now, I'm not dumb. And I'm really good at you tubing answers and googling the quick tutorials. But there's just some things you just can't find, or can't put into words, and for those things my parents always seem to know the answer. Always. 

I've done my share of passing along bits of info to the boys, but I wonder how much actually gets through.  They can address and mail a letter, write a check, dial an old school phone, etc. They know the names of tools, wrenches, and can tell you what a Phillips head is. Oldest has googled basic car repairs, changed multiple car batteries, tires, and the like. They have basic (very basic) sewing skills.

However, I was outside the other day talking with the neighbor and I was saying how tired I was because Youngest had ended up with a flat tire at 10pm the night before and rather than calling AAA, since he was local, we went up and helped him change it. He commented that he's 100% positive his kids would never have a clue as to how to do it, let alone who to call other than him. That it was almost embarrassing how little his kids knew now in comparison to what he knew at their age. I mentioned something about Youngest wanting a fire extinguisher for his room because he had a space heater, and my neighbor commented about how he's sure his kids wouldn't even know how to use one. Same for oil changes, changing electric suppliers, billing and banking inquiries, and where the water main shut off is in the house. The list adult stuff is actually endless, how to reset a washing machine, check brakers on the electric panel, hem a pair of pants, or change the furnace filter.

Which got me to thinking.... how are these 20 somethings ever going to gain all of this Dad knowledge that has helped us all survive for generations?

There needs to be a hands on class in High School again.  Maybe a coalition between the Council on Aging and the school that they need to pass prior to graduation. It could be part of their 40 hours of volunteering... spending time with retirees learning the trades and skills they spent a lifetime doing.

With a refresher course for the 20 somethings.

Or even a judgement free how to lifeline that you could call for when you need to remain anonymous because you feel so stupid.

I'd call that just so I could avoid the look on my father's face as he watched my special kind of stupid drag two stuck together trash cans all over the yard.

It's Been A Week...

Him: So you mean to tell me you think this is a good idea?

Me: Nope. But it's an amazing opportunity, and he'll never know if it's for him, unless he does it.

Him: You're not worried?

Me: Um, well yeah... been doing some praying, might even actually go to church...

Him: So, when I was randomly up at 1am I prayed to my mother.  And then while I was in the shower, I'm a bit rusty, but I said some prayers in Portuguese.

Me: Listen, you can't spend twenty years teaching your kids to seize every adventure that comes their way, then condemn them, and worry yourself sick when they do.

And that, my friends, is how I ended up having one kid rolling the dice (and a sizeable chunk of change) that he'll land an environmental engineering co-op in the city this fall, and another floating around in the Atlantic ocean for a week.

Not literally, he was on a boat. I should mention that Youngest isn't a great swimmer, has no idea if he gets sea sick, and doesn't like boats.  But after quitting his job last week, when his friend mentioned they needed a fifth for the boat, he jumped onboard. Literally.

Y: So, I think I found a job.

Me: Awesome.  That's definitely different. Could be a great opportunity.

Y: Yeah, so I'll be home later to pack.

Me: Wait, wha....

Y: It's a four day trip.

Me: What kind of boat is it? Who's the company? Where do you go? Will you have cell service? What do they eat on the boat? Will there be food you can actually eat?

Y: I have no idea.

Me: Okay then, Have a good time.

So, he ended up the bait man on a lobster boat.  Turns out there IS a smell worse than wrestling funk.  Who knew? The trip was actually 6 days, and there wasn't much he could eat, aside from the snacks I haphazardly packed. There was no cell service so he was able to disconnect, which, honestly, he loves. They go about 200 miles off the coast, so the night stars are amazing and there's a certain sense of peace when the work is done. But I think it opened his eyes on a lot of things. Youngest is far from a vegetarian, but the waste was hard for him. He saw way too much death, for little reward, as it's just the very start of season. And of course, the traps catch a lot of live fish, which then get stuffed into bait bags to literally die as something else's meal. Large fish get caught in the lines and die.  The only choice is to cut it free and move on. The shark, nearly as big as the boat, was the hardest for him. Already dead from the lines long before they pulled them, it's still hard to be that close and not feel it.

He got seasick the first night and then was fine.  The disconnection from the outside world and being on night watch every night allowed him time to decompress and think. While he's not planning another trek anytime soon, he's spent more time at home engaging with us than he has in two years. He's also decided that "If I can handle the disgustingness of bait, I can definitely be a plumber."  He's going to start canvasing for an apprenticeship this week. If it actually happens, it would be a HUGE step in a positive direction. We were in the kitchen today and he mentioned he just doesn't want to waste his fun years working full time.  I reminded him that he's 20, and now's the time for him to work full time, so that he can enjoy the time off he has and really fully enjoy his life. 

Me: I've worked full time since I was 17.

Him: You should have been livin' your life Ma....

Me: But then I wouldn't be where I am now, I wouldn't have you.

Him: And you'd probably have been much better off, it would have been so much easier if you didn't have me.

Me: You know, as hard as some things have been, I have never once, ever, not wanted to be your mom. ever.

Him: I really appreciate you Mom.

Me: *momentarily speechless*

And, the Coast Guard didn't find him floating in the water, so we're calling it a win.

Tomorrow, we pack up Oldest to head back to the city for summer semester.  He's put deposits down already to stay through August of 2023 when he graduates, literally banking on landing a completely different co-op in the city. Of course, I'm nervous for him, because if he doesn't, it's a lot of money to pay back for housing that's unnecessary, but as he keeps reminding me, if there was ever a time to do it, it's while he's in school. It will also round him out considerably, having already done co-ops  in structural and land surveying. 

*sigh*

I've raised them to be bold, take chances, and LIVE life. 

I hate it when they throw it back at me.

The Me Too Move-Around...

 When I first started working at the office, I was told by several carriers to never be trained with two carriers in particular. Back then, about half the routes still delivered out of their private cars, so training would put you in the back seat of their car, to see how it was done. I was told that because I was young and newly single, I would be a target for them.  I thought they were kidding.  They were not.  I never did train with either of them. I opted to learn on the fly, spending needless time teaching myself, rather than be put in a situation I couldn't get out of. It was clear that these carriers, career employees, were going nowhere despite their behavior, and I needed the job. 

So, a year later, when I went on one date with a new clerk, and he decided to go through my personal effects once I was out of the office, call me incessantly, and literally followed me around in his car while I was delivering mail, I didn't report it.  What would be the use?  The behavior was tolerated, he knew people higher up in the system, and I needed the job.  

You would think, in an office with a 2:1 women to men ratio, this would not be an issue. But it is.  One of those carriers past away.  The clerk was fired for unrelated issues. The other carrier was fired in 2016, after nearly 35 years of service because he had escalated to harassing his customers, and after several attempts for the office to handle it, finally they got the police involved.  His route was restructured to allow someone else deliver the buildings. He was escorted off the premises by the police. He was still given the option to retire rather than be fired, as he was over 70. He opted to not do any paperwork and ultimately got himself fired.  It took nearly 8 months.

We currently have a clerk who has been with us for 17 years and has had numerous complaints.  One recent one prevents him from working in an adjacent office. In the past you could tell him to stop and he would for a few months, or weeks, and then it would start up again. Annoying, tedious, ridiculous, but this was the tolerant environment the higher ups had created. He makes comments about appearances, everything from you look nice to I'd like to see you naked.  He's had to be blocked by several employees on social media for inappropriate comments. And a number of customers and employees have started going to other offices rather than risk an interaction with him, or have him know their home address. Recently he started in on a new employee, who tried every way short of vocal violence to get him to stop, but instead of backing down he seems to have escalated. Last week it boiled over, I believe the police were involved.

I actually wondered to the Hubs if there was something at home that triggered this.  It seems over the last few months he seems to be worse than before, like he's looking for the fight. It's eerily reminiscent of the carrier who escalated his advancements to the public. Knowing some of his background, I wondered if there might be an issue with medication. I inadvertently found out tonight that that may be the case. Regardless, this has been going on, and is heavily documented for the last 17 years. Which is shocking really, considering how much doesn't get reported.

I was asked to give a statement since I ended up in the middle of it all. I support the girl 100%.  This behavior can't be tolerated.  It never should have been the norm.  But it weighs on me heavy because this is a 25+ year career, he has a family, 2 kids. What do you tell them?  What does he tell his daughter??? Or does he not say anything, because as it has always been tolerated, why would he think he did anything wrong?

Ultimately none of this is any of our decision. Everything gets passed up to the labor board who will decide the next course of action.  And his union will fight it.  If he is allowed to return, then our union will fight it. If they move him along to somewhere else it will just happen again. He's too young to offer early retirement. One option is to send him to the only branch of our office left that no logged complaints. But that would restrict a lot of the current scheduling because of who he can and can't be in the building with (see existing files) and put him in constant contact with customers, often issuing passports, in a small office, having access to ALL their personal information, on a daily basis. It would also leave him more or less completely unsupervised which means chaos could easily ensue, particularly since there is always at least one woman also scheduled there.

Oh, and did I mention that position is a higher paygrade?

*sigh*

Only in the federal government. 

When Life Give Us Lemons...

 Last summer Youngest found out that on his father's side they make a traditional Italian limoncello. He was given a nip bottle at a family reunion and loved it.  About a month later, I found out that he had called his uncle to see if he knew how to make it. He didn't. So, I did some research, and in what will likely be known as epic Mom fail number 8,971, mentioned to him that if he wanted to learn how, we could probably do it together. 

The idea has floated out there since Christmas with not much to it.  But as he secured everything in the garage, he noted he had a handle of Titos and asked if we could make it this weekend. So, I picked up all of the necessary supplies, extra big mason jars, a zester, and an exceptionally absurd number of lemons. I also picked up mandarins so we could make a batch of orange-cello as well. 

The true test to our effort won't be known for 4 months or so, as it must steep for a long time in the vodka for the best flavor. The best limoncello is made with Everclear or other grain alcohol that proofs over 100%, but we figured the Titos would be a slightly less shock to everyone's system this fall if it turns out worthy of being gifted. I also had some vanilla beans and a small amount of Titos left so I am making some vanilla extract as well. We shall see.

I tried to talk to him while we were zesting lemons, but my days of feeling like I've made headway have come and gone.  The last "break in" in the garage has left us all on edge. I installed another camera and check the locks routinely now. We're locking the cars, and I check the cameras when the light sensors come on. Youngest ripped his door off the track thinking someone was in his room.  We are all on edge even though, since we're now locked down like a fortress, it's highly unlikely it will happen again.

I have talked until I am blue in the face. I have tried every angle.  And although I know he sees that he needs to let go of all of these people, he just can't. His circle has gotten smaller and smaller and yet he can't walk away. I've offered school, therapy, a life coach, and nothing. Tonight, as I listened to his big business plans, I finally broke. While I love his enthusiasm and gusto for what he wants to do, he has no drive or plan to get any of it done. While he talks a great plan, he's not passionate about it, not committed.  When he wanted to read, he buckled in and didn't quit until he was the #1 reader in his entire school.  When he wanted to wrestle, he went every day to training, worked out, ate well, studied other wrestlers, and committed to training 4-6 days a week for 4 years until he reached a level he was happy with. 

But this dream of owning a smoke shop, it's easily derailed. He talks of one direction, then changes completely to another. He talks web design, then when it doesn't materialize, forgets it all together. I know how to get a business started, what it takes, how to run it, and he won't discuss it with me. It all just becomes another idea up in a puff of smoke. A dream without passion, or a drive behind it, is nothing but a pipe dream. I worry that in making the limoncello I am buying a ticket to this derailed train he's on.  I straddle the line of opportunity to talk to him and the condemnation of his actions often. 

I may regret teaching him in the months to come, but at least I'll have a nice liqueur to enjoy while I lament about it. 

Does This Hat Make Me Look Crazy?

 I'm not a sound sleeper most days.  Particularly around 3 AM, aging bladder and all. So, when I heard something outside at 4AM, and noticed the security light kick on, I put on my investigative hat and shuffled out of bed to investigate. 

I saw nothing out the back, went to the front window noticing the security lights were on as well, and nothing.  I glanced out the side window, seeing a red car turn just up the road in the neighbor's driveway, and leave. I assumed it was Youngest returning home in the wee hours, not wanting to wake us, and went back to bed.

For about 10 minutes. Then I checked the security cameras. Someone had been in our garage. It was not Youngest.  The outside cameras revealed nothing, meaning he parked up the road, circled the front, came up the side yard to the back, then down along the side of the garage to slide in under the camera.  Little sh!t.  We'd upgraded the cameras since the last break in (there's been 3, all specifically targeted), even posting signs that we had cameras. And while we don't get a clear picture of his face, we know who he is, right down to his smug little delinquent swagger as he took a swig of Tito's from Youngest's shelf and put it back before he left with a pocket full of Youngest's stash. 

The Husband was meeting my BIL to photograph the sunrise downtown just 15 minutes later. Had their paths crossed, I suspect he'd have beaten him with a shovel. Instead of the police, Youngest is threating to expose this kid to his parents, after which I suspect, the kid will wish he had met our gardening arsenal instead. 

Since I could not get a hold of Youngest, I met the Hubs and my BIL for breakfast, finally letting the Hubs in on what had happened.  Now only 7AM, my blood boiling, I switched out for my landscaper hat, started digging out the dirt behind the garage, sifting out the rocks and roots, and filling in the gaps along the new stone wall. Youngest returned around 8 from his friend's house, exclaiming he needed a new phone because he'd looked everywhere and his was missing. 

Off goes the landscaper hat, and on goes my miner's cap with the spotlight, I head over with him to the friend's apartment to look, knowing it had to be there. Both boys sat idlily by for 15 minutes as I stripped the cushions from the couch, telling me over and over how hard they looked.

I emerge with the phone inside of 3 minutes, because nothings really lost until Mom can't find it, right? Both boys sat stunned as I tell youngest to put the couch back together. We return home, And I go back to sifting dirt and placing capstone, while Youngest reviews the video and tries to confirm the suspect via the neighbors cameras. Youngest remained calm on the surface, but the boiling inside has started. We discuss what needs to happen, a safe needs to be purchased, the garage door needs to be locked, he agrees. He goes to two stores, gets frustrated and goes home. He didn't bother to go where I told him to, as I had already research and priced out lock boxes a few months before after the first break in. 

Meanwhile, Hubs and I pick up his new glasses.  I play optometrist and help him adjust the earpieces.

I return home, offer to chauffeur Youngest and help him buy a safe.  He's boiling under the surface. I find other projects.

I pop on my town maintenance hard hat and make a new street sign for the neighborhood. I am in and out of the garage, not paying much attention to Youngest.  On my last trip into the garage to get a crowbar to remove the old illegible sign from the tree, Youngest boils over, threw the knife he was whittling with, accidently catching it with two fingers. I walk away to finish my project, meet up with the Hubs whose been out walking the dog, and follow a trail of blood from the garage to the bathroom.

Oldest is in there trying to get him cleaned up. Youngest is almost passing out. I put on my EMT uniform, because while he tries, I wear that hat better than Oldest.  He ended up with 2 stitches in two fingers, four total. We return home, he heads back to the garage, and I decide putting away the tools can wait. Space is what he needs, and I'm not putting on the headgear for yet another boxing match with him.

Into the craft room, with small pile of clothes that need fixing. Not sure that a seamstress wears a hat, but my tired graying ponytail atop my head will have to do.  I fix compression shorts that will likely split again.  I alter the prom dress that needs a final fitting next weekend. I fix the pocket seam that Hubs managed to bust that's inside another seam. How does that even happen? I can hear Youngest leave as I finish up down stairs.

I put on my CEO hat as I clean up the kitchen, fold laundry, go through the mail, organize the tasks for the week, and clean up the tools. That's me in the locksmith cap also as I figure out which key goes to the garage so I can make copies tomorrow between appointments. 

I don my housekeeping uniform as I strip beds and start a whole new batch of laundry.

The chef's hat, thankfully, will stay in the drawer, as the Husband fended for himself.

It's six thirty PM. and I'm already ready for my nightcap, not the alcohol one, but the old-fashioned, snuggle down into bed and forget the world kind. But, sadly, that won't happen until around 11 or so as there's still more hats to wear.

And the truth is, I am not special.  The game of hats is one most functioning adults play, just not maybe to today's extreme. People wear many hats, multiple times a day, it's the only way we can meet the demands of a society that always wants and needs more. We just pick it up and wear it, no matter how crazy it makes us look. We'll even wear hats that are so heavy we can hardly hold our heads up, no matter how ridiculous or ugly it is. And rarely do we ever question it.

Why?

Why do we do this?

I don't even look good in hats.

One Would Think...

 One would think that when I sanded down the 80-year-old cardboard I would have gotten sick from the cancer-causing glue that was used all those years ago.  I did not. 

One would think that after delivering mail in a deluge of 40 degree rain, when even my rain coat soaked through, I'd have gotten the sniffles.  I did not.

When the pollen soared because we went from said 40 degree day to 72 and sunny, I'd get seasonal allergies from the pollen coated mold spores, but nope.

And when both the boys took off for the weekend and it was just the Hubs and I that I'd finally be able to relax and enjoy some sunny days getting things done.  Also nope.

Instead, I got COVID.

When a general sore throat, continued into a progressive congestion and tiredness, I took an at home test. Never did I think it would come out positive. Unlike the covid of 6 months ago, the kids who both tested negative, went about their business as usual.  Oldest went to work, and Youngest who had been in NY for four days, spent all of two night at home, and found elsewhere to stay for the rest of his birthday week. 

My sore throat went to congestion, then into an unimaginable tiredness. Tiredness comparable to that of early pregnancy, where you are literally growing a new human being. Then the cough came, shortness of breath, and lost my voice entirely.  Two days of food that tasted like cardboard, dizziness, and nausea, and just when I turned the corner, the symptoms all repeated themselves.  

Oldest was nice enough to pick up my new glasses for me while I was home, and now of course I could finally see how dirty the house was.  I don't sit still well, even sick, so I would pick away at small tasks as I could.  I'd clean out a shelf in the kitchen cabinet, then have to nap for an hour. I'd throw in a load of laundry, start sweating so badly I'd have to change, and then take another nap. Seriously.  It was ridiculous. 

All and all, it took 6 days for me to feel somewhat human. The Hubs had minor sniffles and congestion but for the most part was himself, so while he plugged away at the stone wall along the driveway, I sat wrapped in a blanket, semi lifeless, in the Adirondack chair in the sun. It was a beautiful week to be home.  I was even able to open the windows to let the covid cooties out.  

One would think that after two years of waiting, finally getting my covid quarantine, I would have gotten so much done. But nope.

One would think that I would have cleaned closets, binged TV shows, renewed my love for cooking.  Nope.

One would think I'd have caught up with all my much-loved blog-ie peeps, also, sadly no.

One would think, it would not have taken me until I went back to work to tell y'all where I've been.

But here we are, post covid. 

And the best thing I have to show for it, due to forced time off, is a healed sprained knee.

One would think that I wasted so much time, indulging in sleep, breathing, losing track of the days.

Nope.

It's A Pity Party Project Post...

The other day someone left a little green baggie with chocolate on my front door. It was from a friend from down the road. Funny, aside from having kids the same age we never really connected often, but for some reason she felt compelled to leave me a little pick me up on my doorstep.  And it was the good stuff let me tell you, oversized bars of specialty chocolate, to die for.

The thing about being the one that does for others is that it's rarely done for me. When I say that, it's not that I'm not appreciated, I am. I know that.  And the regular characters in my small circle make sure I get what I need. But outside of the circle, that's a different story. Outside of the circle it's rare that someone goes out of their way, much less drives to my house, to make me smile. And the truth is, it was just what I needed.

The results of my MRI came back for me knee.  I have RA in my knees now as well as my hands. I have a sprained MCL and one other tendon.  I have cartilage damage in various areas, as well as the cartilage that connects to my kneecap is torn free. I also have a cyst behind my knee from a buildup of fluid due to the other damage. I read this all on my online chart. Not a single doctor has gotten back to me in regard to the next steps. I can't take time off from work until I get a doctor's note and FMLA paperwork done.

The day after I had my MRI, I was out delivering a package and fell on ice. Six inches of hard packed, bumpy, no traction in sight, ice. It was my first step out of the truck, I hit my tailbone on the bottom step of the mail truck and then slid further catching my back rib cage on the bottom step as well. It's not broken, but it hurts to sit, stand, and bend down. And my ass crack has a nice purple hue. 

So, between the wonky knee, and the purple butt, getting through the day is exhausting. I can't walk the dog for the leisurely walk she deserves because I can't make it more than 1/2 mile after working all day. I have to pace myself with errands which means more often than not we are out of whatever I actually need. Work is difficult because every bump and curb the mail truck hits bounces me in the seat and the pain makes me nauseous. I can only half hobble downstairs for laundry duty and forget about cleaning.

In an effort to push off my feeling of uselessness, I am doing small crafting projects around the house.

I finally built a frame for the puzzle Hubs and I finished. 

It took very little time and WAY more epoxy than I expected. But it is definitely cool to have done.

And we just finished this one.  It's a photograph of our pond, at sunrise, last July. 

We use our fridge as a wipe board.  I was frustrated by the disorganization of it, so I cleaned it up with some vinyl decals...

We've joked that our "company" needed T-Shirts for years now.  So, I made us some...

And then there's this trunk, that the hubs picked up for me at a local charity shop for ten bucks...

The first thing I did was do a deep dive on the information we found inside of the chest.  It was issued to a soldier in 1942, when he was drafted for the war. I asked around on my buy nothing FB site and I was able to access his draft record, an old census, and his obituary.  I reached out to the son, who lives semi local, but have not heard back.  It had been converted to files in the 80's and clearly has been painted and modified.  I'm in the stripping process now.  It's basically a plywood box covered with cardboard.  One would think that would come off pretty easy. NOPE. Tomorrow it will be in the 50's so I'm taking it outside to sand.  I got some cool fabric that I will line the inside with, the tray has been brought back to it's original height, and I will be using the documents from the original owner to add character to each compartment. I plan to replace the handles back to leather, I added casters, as it's the perfect height for a coffee table, and I bought a canvas of a WWII Mustang 51 Bomber blueprint (since he was in the Air force) to adorn the top. I am super excited about this one, but it's going to take a while to come together. That other chest in the photo was another project I finished two months ago. It was a Lane blanket chest from 1950 that I got for free from Buy Nothing...

It was in terrible shape.  The legs were broken, it was moldy and warped, but the inside cedar was beautiful. I went to work conditioning the inside, replacing the legs, and stripping the moldy veneer...

Youngest wanted the chess board since it was supposed to be a coffee table. He thought it would be a nice touch...

It ended up being entirely too big for the living room, so I put it out in the sunroom.  It stores the snack overflow for the kitchen and houses the cases of water and other stuff that I hate having in plain sight.  Plus it's super sturdy now so it's perfect for an extra seat when needed. I didn't mean for this beauty to be the keeper of Cheetos, but here we are. And the old owner loves what I did with it and is thrilled it didn't end up in a burn pile somewhere.  So it's a win all around I guess. 

So that's what I've been up to over here, having my pity party for one, eating Cheetos from my 70-year-old cedar chest and chocolate along side a cardboard coated trunk that would survive a nuclear war whilst wearing my clueless construction T-Shirt, because well, I have no idea what I'm doing. 

Until next time, with more exciting stuff. Maybe.