Week Twenty One...

 Me: I think this new bed will be great.  You'll have so much more room.

Youngest: Maybe I'll grow

Me: Not sure that's how it works...

Him: But it might.  I'm also going to stop wearing socks when I sleep.

Me: okay...

Him: Nick and I had a theory way back. He thought wearing socks stopped you from growing in your sleep. (Note: Nick is now 6'4")

Me: Then shouldn't you have stopped wearing socks years ago?

Him: No because that would have ruined the experiment.

I'm not sure why I never realized that at 5'8" his feet now hung off the twin sized bed he's had since he was 8. We spent two hours assembling Youngest's bed when his new queen sized one arrived. He hasn't talked about Nick for years, not since the two, once thick as thieves since middle school, drifted apart after graduation. He didn't like what Youngest was becoming, or how he was treating his family, so he walked away. Youngest misses the friendship more than he'll ever let on, and his lack of mentioning him, ever, was proof of that. I still see his Mom for lunch once a month, and Oldest and he still keep in touch as they are also friends, so I have kept tabs on how he is doing. It's doubtful that their friendship will ever circle back, but it's nice to see he can remember some moments from back in the day.

He's hit some hiccups in his sobriety. While some kids are home from school, he's still struggling to connect, leaving him with few sober, smoke free options for hanging out. The medication, albeit slow, is making some progress. If I'm being honest, I'm concerned about a backslide, but that's not my battle to fight for him. I'm trying to focus on the tiny victories... his choosing not to go clubbing because he was tired. Voluntarily taking his meds. Being in before 9 most nights. 

He and the Hubs haven't spoken since December. Not a single word.  The dirty glances have gone, and they can briefly tolerate being in the same room, but they haven't spoken. This week, Hubs was coming back from walking the dog and caught Youngest coming around the corner. 

Hubs: He said Hey to me today.

Me: Seriously?  What did you say back?

Hubs: Hi.

Tiny victories.  The weekend was spent framing in the bathroom that Hubs insisted I not build.  It's going slow, as it's being built paycheck to paycheck as I can afford it.  My Dad offered up metal studs that he's had out back forever. Um, yes please.  So, I'm learning metal framing now too.  Full disclosure, it's more of making it up as I go along, but whatever. My sister had an old bookshelf she was getting rid of, so I grabbed it, cut it down, and inset it into a wall, taking advantage of some dead space for storage. In building, I've had to shift stuff around, and now that Youngest's bedroom is done, I was able to hang his banjo in his room. (The banjo was an acquisition during a manic phase while he was homeless, he has no idea how to play, or what he wants to do with it.) I was sitting upstairs today doing bills when I heard the quiet twang of it's strings.

Sometimes he makes me smile for reasons he'll never comprehend. 

We're getting the band back together. 

Week Twenty...

 

The week started out with the annual Postal Food Drive.  It's a national drive for local food pantries where customers can put nonperishable food items in their mailbox, and we pick it up and get it to the pantry for them.  In our area we are the biggest supplier of food, second only to the Thanksgiving Parade drive the town does in November.  This was my donation this year, because food insecurity should never come between anyone and their birthday cake.

Sunday found the Hubs and I at the Brimfield Antique Show.  If you are unfamiliar, it's a HUGE fair where people come to sell literally everything you can think of. Last year I found a 5-gallon glass water cooler jug reminiscent of my childhood, and a bank of PO boxes I turned into furniture for under the TV.  Having lugged those over a quarter mile back to the truck, this year we borrowed my friend's garden cart, in case of treasures. The day started slow, I found this huge basin that, while I specifically bought to store in the garage for lobster Sundays, I totally love, and now resides on top of the fridge.

We started mid field and worked our way back down to where we started last year.  We stumbled upon the vendor that had all the PO boxes last year.  While I had no intention to get another, we were checking out the last one he had, an 8-box unit, when some guy behind us says Twenty Bucks!!!

SOLD

I have no idea what I'm going to do with it yet.  So many ideas, so little money. So, for now it will wait in the garage for it's transformation.

Speaking of no money, we've been tucking away a bit here and there since 2020 when we thought the fridge was about to die. The oven is also on it's last legs, and wouldn't you know it, the dishwasher died completely on Wednesday. Since we bought it at Sears, which went out of business around here about 8 years ago, when the Hubs and I discussed it, we decided not to fix, but rather replace it. Knowing he also didn't want to install it, I looked into the install costs. Yeah, no. Way too much for something we can do ourselves, so that project is good to go for the weekend, as well as finishing up the paint in Oldest's bedroom.

Which brings me to today, where I sit patiently for FedEx to deliver Youngest's new big boy bed. Oddly enough it never occurred to me that he's had the same bed since he was eight, and that his feet *might* be falling off the end every night. We discussed options, flipping his room with the other side of the basement, measuring, reviewed how much space he'd lose. Yesterday I flipped his current room so the bed would fit in, swapped out the carpet, blah blah... it was a ton of work, but hopefully it will work out. The next step will be to list his old bed, headboard, and trundle frames on marketplace as well as the king size frame he bought during the chaos of being homeless, to see if we can recoup some cash.

I feel like my whole life is a cycle of moving things in and out, without actually getting anywhere. I know progress is being made, just sometimes I feel like the wheels are just spinning on the treadmill.

Weeks Eighteen and Nineteen...

 .....have blended together since heading back to work.

I think I was back for 4 hours before I remembered why I was looking forward to major surgery and being out.

Today was a zero stars day.

I am surrounded by people who would rather be miserable than fix tiny annoyances that have become the status quo. 

Cases that just need to be shifted one inch so equipment can properly fit underneath them.

Delivery issues that sit unresolved for seven months because no one feels like making a phone call to get a community mailbox installed.

Lights that don't work.

The list is endless.

I don't accept the status quo if it doesn't work for me. The idea that it's always been done that way doesn't fly with me.  There is usually a better way to do things, particularly when it creates inconvenience or safety hazard for others. Needless to say, I've been back for 8 days and I've not been quiet about it.

Management decided to do a huge floor move with all of our workspaces.  It's a massive move that can only be done by the maintenance craft of which we have two employees, one of whom is on vacation for ten days. So of course, they started it the day before he left. Now, half the office is moved, and half is not. Since this was a layout we had 5 years ago, I know there's only one way our corner can be configured to not create a safety hazard. And since no one listens to the 20-year veteran employee, it was horribly done.  It was then tweaked on Monday afternoon, better, but still inadequate. So, I approached the boss, told him what works, he agreed, and when I returned Tuesday after noon it was in fact changed, but incorrectly. 

Still a fire hazard, still a safety issue, I was told to give them some time to work it out. For two days I've organized and loaded all my mail outside in the parking lot. Thankfully it's been beautiful out, but still... the parking lot. Today, since I am still not feeling up to par from the surgery, and my knee's giving me trouble again, I pulled a hamper over to the case for ten minutes to load buckets and trays into so I didn't have to walk them across the room. And that was the moment that a random supervisor, who doesn't supervise me directly, decided to come over...

You need to move this out of here, it's a fire hazard.

Are you serious?

Yes. (Face starts turning angry red)

You know I've said that this floor move of your management team has been a fire hazard for three days now. I've talked to the boss multiple times. He said to work anyway and give them time to fix it.

Well it has to move.

You're kidding, right?

No.

And as he walked away with voices raised, he made no effort to slide the hamper back the three feet he wanted. None.  Instead, he went and told on me to our boss, who knows this has been an issue for days and knows I've been working around it. And as I'm finally leaving to deliver, he catches me at the truck to find out what happened. So I give him the run down... this project that was their decision was not executed properly, and everyone knows/acknowledges this. Despite the fact that I've had to literally work outside 90% of the last two days to be safe, the ten minutes I chose to load my hamper close to my space, he chose to come over and harass me over a problem that YOUR management team caused. 

The boss just smirked, so I told him I was headed out since I was so mad, I wanted to go home and then he'd have two routes to cover, as oh by the way, I had volunteered to do extra today and was carrying a third of another route as well. 

No one said a word to me when I got back. 

The workspaces have been shifted within one foot of what I had asked.

I am no longer trapped if there is a fire.

The other case has been shifted to accommodate the equipment under it so it doesn't impact my space.

Yesterday a different supervisor told me that I needed to think about what worked best for the whole office, despite the fact that what I asked for worked for everyone for years, and the fact that I am literally the advocate for everyone in the office, hardly ever advocating for myself.

Maybe this accused selfish girl needs to actually take some time for herself. 

*sigh*

Only 7 more Christmases....

Week Seventeen....

 Me: I was thinking your high school trunk was really too small for all your memories, so I found you a new trunk to add your college stuff, and special childhood stuff into. What do you think?

Oldest: It's rusty.

Me: Did you see your trunk, it's kind of taking shape out there.

Him: Nah. *goes back to gaming*

Me: So, do you want wheels? How are you thinking you'll use it in your place? What about the inside lid? Any thoughts?

Him: No. I mean I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm no where near as excited about this as you are.

Me: Okay.

Him: Does that make you sad?

Me: God no. I know I'm a special kind of crazy.

The special kind of crazy that saved the dog tag (names and address blurred out here) he made at the amusement park when he was 8 from the landfill, specifically for this project.

The special kind of crazy that added wheels, cedar lining throughout, and new leather handles for which I have ordered black custom end caps for.

The kind of crazy that spent hours hand rubbing the interior and exterior with linseed oil until every grain, imperfection, and 100 years of history shone through. 

The special kind of crazy that took all of his favorite memories, places he's lived, sports he's played, and crafted a custom insert for the lid (most of which has been edited here for his privacy)

The special kind of crazy that only can be his momma.