On The Lighter Side....

I've been working an excessive amount of OT lately. The end goal is money for our vacation so that if something comes up I can, without hesitation, say yes.  Hot air balloon ride? Yes please. Fancy smancy dinner out? Yup. Room service because sometimes you just have to be lazy? Hell yes. 

We leave for San Francisco in two-ish months.  Two and a half days there, then road tripping to Santa Cruz for another two days. We plan to travel the pacific coast highway for the best scenes, stop in Big Sur, hit some touristy stuff in San Fran, see the redwoods and Salsalito, and take in the virtual immersive Van Goh exhibit for which we have already secured tickets. It's a lot, but I have 4 days off when we get back to rest up.  It will be nice to get away as a family again, and to celebrate our tenth anniversary.

Ten years. Crazy.  Doesn't feel like a day over 30 years.

On my rare day off a month (aside from Sundays) I've been catching up with my Mom, and meeting friends for lunch.  It's nice to have some one to talk with that is going through more or less the same struggles with their kids that I am. Things ebb and flow with Youngest and it's exhausting.  Oldest is gone 11 hours a day and on weekends his butt is planted firmly in a chair on the beach. It's nice being a quarter mile from the ocean. Youngest prefers the pond, as he's more free to be himself without getting arrested. At least for now. 

For me, the backyard is becoming my sanctuary. 

Hubs does a great job at keeping everything alive for me.  So good in fact we spent much of Sunday morning before the heat rolled in  splitting, thinning, and repotting all kinds of plants for my friend from work. 

As for work, we are currently in the middle of a heat wave..... 

Meanwhile... in the mail truck....

Thankfully I am training so while my days are longer in the office, my road time is shorter. The heat is supposed to break tomorrow night which is good, because I feel like my insides have been thoroughly cooked through. My trainee is doing well, but it is still mentally challenging to be training for weeks at a time. And because I am not an official trainer I literally get nothing for my efforts other than knowing she is properly trained. My old substitute, that I adore, is making career and has requested to come back to my route, so this new trainee won't even carry for me aside from a week or two.  If management listens to me, she'll then move to another vacant route to train, and she'll likely stay on as his permanent sub. It's unlikely they will listen to my suggestions though, as there's a huge disconnect between management and staff.  The postmaster has been investigated twice for mistreatment of the employees.  Its' getting scary folks.  Like, really concerning.

My niece and I are touring two more colleges in three weeks.  At this point I think we are just visiting to visit, as I believe she may have found her happy place with our first tour.  It's also the cheapest one, which makes her parents happy.  I still can't believe she's almost 18, and going into her senior year. especially since I'm not aging, Not. One. Bit.

And lastly, the heat has brought out the swimmer in the girl. Once afraid of the water, if not watched carefully she now runs in full boar during our walks, stopping short of getting her head wet. Which is so funny to watch, not so funny to smell or wash out when we get home.  

Pond water + triple coats of husky hair = a special funky smell. 

Wait... is that a squirrel?

There's a good sniff over here...

And here...

Since last weekend the pond has been packed.  It's nice to get a few moments at night when there's almost no one around.  But it does provide for many, many good, highly distracting, sniffing spots.

And with that, I am off to eat dinner, before the chaos begins again.  

An Unexpected Reset....

 The weather has been getting warmer and warmer here.  So warm that we had to turn on the air conditioning for the dog. It sounds crazy, I know, but until we did she just hid under the bed all day, seeking out the coolest place in the house. 

So it would come as no surprise with the holiday weekend coming up, the temperatures dropped like they had seen a state trooper in the rearview mirror. And with the cold, came the rain.  Lots and lots of rain. Truth be told, a rainy weekend tends to slow everything down, prompting a much needed reset.  

The lure of overtime drew me to work on Saturday. I left work around two, only to return with an old nightstand I was repurposing at the office and an updated news bulletin board that, since it's install that afternoon, has since gotten a lot of attention. Morale has been at the lowest point I have ever seen, and a few of us are working to find ways to recognize and connect us all.  Currently I am working on a perpetual plaque to honor retirees.  What started as a small project now has me recognizing retirees from as far back as 95, some of whom have long since passed on. Once the drop off and installs were done I headed to the grocery store for some desperate restocking.  Among the ingredients were all the fixings for chili and gluten free honey cornbread. The day certainly called for it, and nothing makes me feel more in the moment than chopping and sautéing, hearing the sizzle in the pan, smelling the fresh baked cornbread in the oven. It's comfort food for the soul.

Sunday called for more grocery shopping, bulk stuff this time, restocking the dog's essentials, and the garden center for a little treat for myself.

(The ever elusive yellow peonies)

The husband and I knocked it all out in about three hours which left plenty of time for early afternoon napping.  Recharged from our power naps, the husband worked on selling and listing sports cards while I tackled the garage.  It's been Youngest's clubhouse for some time now and it needed some serious cleaning and organizing, as well as a thorough checking for unexpected things.  Thankfully there were none.  

The rain continued long into the night, so my inside projects continued. While  switching the laundry over, I noticed there was water was seeping in under the door.  In 16 years we've never flooded in through the basement door, but a quick check revealed that there was about 9 inches of water collected at the bottom of the back stairs. So there we were, the bucket brigade, shoveling bucket after bucket against the tide, or in this case the raging storm.  The husband took the 5 minutes I went into the house to get the ladder and climb on the roof to unclog the gutters.  

I could have killed him, if the rain, winds, or fall didn't.

Thankfully, he returned to earth unscathed, aside from getting stabbed in the butt by the nearby grapevine. Serves him right for not listening to me. So with the water diverted and the dehumidifier running, we finally called it quits. I believe the news reported that we got nearly 4 inches of rain throughout the night. Thankfully, only a small amount of it was in the basement.

Monday was far less exciting, more laundry and hanging out watching TV. My Mum's been trying to catch up on holidays we've missed over the last year so we headed to her house for Chinese food and family.  Youngest did not go, which is a story for another day, and I'd be lying if I said his absence didn't bother me. But like I said, that's a story for another day.

Because today's story is one of clearing the clutter, resetting the day, appreciating the sunshine's return, and embracing the rain... when it's not flooding the basement. 

A reset if you will....

Of the earth.

Of the home.

Of my mind.

The Fixer...

Him: "Why did you buy those flowers?  They're not looking so good."

Me: "Because I am the fixer of the broken.  I can heal them."

Sixteen years ago when I bought this house I was a single mother of two toddlers working part time at the Post Office.  Money was beyond tight some weeks, others were not as bad. But there was never a week with enough to indulge on myself. Ever. Diapers needed to be bought, mouths needed to be fed, every penny needed to be watched.  But one day, while delivering mail to the local garden center I noticed a scraggly bush, way in the back, with a 75% off tag.  It was wonky, stood a bit sideways, and had hardly any leaves. $20 and it was mine. I was the hoarder of all things broken, fixer of all things, plants and people alike.

Which has always been my problem, really.  The broken people always find me, they come to be healed, use up everything I have, and walk away.   Oldest had a date this weekend with a girl he met through Tinder. They spent the day together down at the waterfront, walking off their overpriced, sugar-coma inducing, monster milkshakes with a five mile walk along the massive rock jetty out into the Atlantic Ocean. It left a lot of time for real conversation.  Somehow the conversation turned to past relationships, in which he told her he was the "healer of the broken".  She said she was too. It's an odd thing to have in common, but let's face it, two healers together are far better than the alternatives. In that moment, I think I saw more clearly than ever, that he is just like me.  So I asked him the question that I have been struggling with for weeks,  "Where do the the ones that everyone turns to to make things better go? Where to the healers go when they are broken?"

"Therapy" he says.

I am different.  I get that.  I see solutions that no one else sees, have an internal drive that is incomprehensible to most, and can be strong in nearly every area of my life.  I am, without embarrassment, one of the strongest people I know. And the truth is, I do go to therapy, or here, when I am broken. Because in real life, no matter how many memes or quotes I post on the book of faces, or how many tiny comments I make, it is rarely picked up on by those around me.  It flies completely under the radar because she is strong, and she can handle everything.

And while I have long lost the desire to fix broken people, they still find me. They know where I live. Occasionally they get in with a proverbial key forgotten under the mat, and I find myself furious with my decision to let them stay regardless of how short lived it is.  I don't answer the phone for most of them anymore. Their texts are left unanswered. I try to explain this to the Husband and he tries his best to validate it, but inevitably takes a left turn into fixing, saying to turn it off, stop listening to the voices in my head, This or that is not on me. As if it were that easy. Youngest is broken. Partly his own doing, partly just the course of nature. He wants to be grown, independent, but still needs a parent. And in acknowledging this, he specifically doesn't want me, which is the hardest pill to swallow. We have always been connected in a Jedi mind melding sort of way. We play off each others chaos and calm, feeding off the energy of those around us. I do what I've always done, model what he needs, work with what I'm given, fly by the seat of my pants, always there for him, and he does not want it. I can not fix him. I can not heal him. And yet, I can not quit him.

The desire to care for things is just in me.  To take the old abandoned 100 year old steamer trunk and make it beautiful again.  To grow the wonky 75% off bush into a stunner of the backyard....

or the half dead, burnt leaves of whatever....

into a centerpiece of red, pink, and yellow begonias to be amazed by all summer long. 

It's an inherent in me as my blue eyes and chunky thighs, it's just part of who I am.

I am the fixer of all things broken.

Everybody Wants To Rule The World....

Welcome to your life, there's no turning back

Even while we sleep, we will find you

Acting on your best behavior, turn your back on Mother Nature,

Everybody wants to rule the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~

But very few want to do the work.

I recently reconnected with an old friend. To share a bit of backstory, we were co-workers turned friends, she was getting remarried and had asked me to be her Maid of Honor in her small backyard ceremony.  It caused quite a commotion within her family, there was a falling out with the Bridesmaids. She, myself and another friend went to NYC for a girls weekend before the wedding. We had a great time. The wedding came and went, and I could see she was off somehow. A week later she checked herself into rehab.  Apparently she'd had an issue with alcohol for quite sometime.  I never saw it, not even on the weekend away. She had left my workplace to take a M-F desk job before the wedding, it was easy to fall out of touch. And with my history with alcoholics, I was not who she needed and she definitely was not healthy for me and my compulsive need to heal the wounded. 

Fast forward two years and we've been talking quite a bit.  She's sober, but unhappy with many things, her current state of unemployment being one. We've spent hours talking about the kids, stress, Corona, her husband, her need to reconnect with a workplace and find her identity again. HOURS.  She decided to come back to work with us, applied, and waited.  She was offered another position in a different office. She was excited, as this would answer a lot of the frustrations she was having, and allow her to move forward financially, and mentally for her family.

I called the other day to see how she liked the other office, and to let her know we were looking into the possibility of an external career bid for our office, which in 18 years, I've never seen happen. Only to find that she didn't take the job. That she, in fact, was doing the exact opposite of everything she knew she should be doing, and thought maybe she'd revisit it in August, when things settled down.

Um, What?

I'm not sure why people tell me things but they do. People come to me for advice, and I don't candy coat things. Perhaps, it's because it appears that I have my ducks in a row. I don't, but I do know how to do the work so that my ducks are typically all in the same room. And normally I am okay with this, as I've learned how to listen, help, and walk away. I've learned the hard way to care, but not to get too involved in the outcome. Except here, when I've spent hours going over the same things, with the same results, and the same frustrations. It's time to walk away again for my own sanity, which is exceptionally hard for me. Ruling one's world takes hard work and even harder choices, none of which she's ready for. And perhaps saddest of all, her kids will see her survive, but never thrive. Two very different things.

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

It's my own design, it's my own remorse

Help me to decide,

Help me make the most of freedom, and of pleasure

Nothing ever lasts forever,

Everybody wants to rule the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Youngest announced that he is stopping therapy. Her list is a mile long of patients who need to see her,  his appointments keep changing and he's losing track, causing expensive co-pays for misses and reschedules. I believe that it was a good check in for him, but honestly if he's not ready to deal with the underlying causes of his problems, there's not much anything can do for him. He still can't articulate his anger with his father. He's still smoking.  He's still struggling with the on again off again girlfriend. He's still being bailed on by friends. He still can't sit still or alone with his thoughts for 10 minutes.

But, he other day he asked me to show him how to log into the college portal to set up his summer class. He asked me to help him schedule an oil change. He agreed that maybe it was time to see a specialist to see how much damage he's done to his stomach. He's not ready to change anything, mind you, but it would be good to find out if anything can be done and if he's caused permanent damage. And for the most part, he's coming in on time, and for now, stopped looking for a new place to live.

Change is hard. 

~~~~~~~~~~

There's a room where the light won't find you,

Holding hands when the walls come tumbling down,

When they do I'll be right behind you,

~~~~~~~~~

This one, I can't walk away from. He's 19, not 35. He's seen the hard work, he knows the sacrifices I make to keep things running. I see school as a huge opportunity for him to move forward, and to enforce this,  We reached an agreement for the rest for this year. He gets a B, I pay for half of the class.  He gets a C, he pays for it in full.  He gets an A, I pay. We take all aid out in his name, so he can build his credit no matter who pays for it. It's community college.  He can ace all the classes if he focuses, and he knows it.  I can afford to pay for that if I work overtime, and he is well aware of that sacrifice that I will make for him. And we will revisit the plan each semester he's in school full time, provided he's living at home, since that is the responsible coast effective way to move forward right now.

What no one knows (other than the Hubs) is that I'm debating changing routes.  Something I said I'd not do, but if the stars align, it could make things a lot easier financially here. I can and if the opportunity presents, will do that for him, for us.  It will be hard, but it's what I have to do to rule my little world.

And the hope is, that in him knowing this, it will serve as an example of how to rule his. 

~~~~~~~~~~

All for freedom and for pleasure,

Nothing ever lasts forever,

Everybody wants to rule the world.

                           ~ Tears For Fears

Keep Going....

"Social media is a weird thing. Ova' hea' I try to keep it happy, a wee bit sassy, and mostly real. It's no secret we've had great things going on here, and undoubtedly with graduation, prom, college (for 2), house hunting, etc., there will many great things posted. But make no mistake, there are many struggles in between those things. BIG ones, little ones, ones that I saw coming, others that blindsided.

Parenting, at any age, for any age, is HARD.

About a week ago, in a moment of parenting fail and frustration, I mumbled something about "Whatever, you guys never listen to me anyway", I heard it.

In a low voice from the kitchen, a manner in which he wanted me to hear but not really, came "I ALWAYS listen to you Mum. Even when you think I'm not, I always HEAR you."

It can't always be the BIG things. Sometimes it's the tiny things in parenting that keep you going. It's a new week Moms and Dads (of all ages), they see you. They HEAR you. KEEP GOING."

-Me via FB May 2019

I wrote that 2 years ago. Face book, lately, has a way of throwing my words back in my face. Sometimes it makes me laugh, other days it makes me reflect. Today was no different.

Last night Youngest stuck around the house to make dinner. Instead of grabbing a snack and heading to his room, he cooked an actual meal in the kitchen for himself. While few words were said, they resembled words that night instead of mumbles. My suspicious nature in with an equally short comment. His reply was he was trying to be here, to interact while we were all home. Shortly after putting his chicken in the oven, a new friend showed up and they headed out to the garage. Most of the time these kids head straight for the garage, but this one came in first. Youngest introduced us, as his family, which hasn't happened in some time.

Today he sat at the kitchen table after work, logging his stock inventory. He's applying for an LLC. He asked a few questions regarding his product. I answered the best I could. I asked if he'd looked into the liabilities he would be responsible for. We discussed other options for sales and revenue than a full on start up right now. He clearly was thinking the process through. He wants a legitimate legal business venture, and I think he's starting to see why he needs an education, and why his original plan, while legal, could be problematic.

Our meeting with the college went well. He is registered for the fall, full time, 2 days a week, which leaves plenty of time for friends and work. He adamantly did not want to do a class in the summer, because he wants to enjoy his last summer. As if he hasn't had 6 summers already. Today I told him that while I heard him, I just wanted to show him something on paper. I explained that because of his 2 AP classes from high school, his fulltime status in the fall, and their 10 day course option for winter break, if he did the one English class, on Monday, from 9-1 for 6 weeks, by January he'd be half way through his associates degree. It would put him right back on track with all his friends, fast track his goals, and since his friends don't even get out of bed until 2 anyways, he'd miss out on nothing.

His eyes opened wide.

I'd like to say that he stayed sober the rest of the day, but he didn't. He did manage to get a night of jujitsu in and when he returned home I let him know that I sent his AP scores to the school. He thanked me before heading back out, took his meds, and assured me he'd be home before the door was locked.

My son is in there somewhere.

He can hear me.

We just have to keep going.

Nature VS Nurture...

 Oldest really wants a tattoo.  We spent an hour or so designing it the other night. He's loved turtles since he was born, so it's no surprise that the center of the design is a tribal turtle.  I believe he's using a graphic from a video game he's played since he was little, so it gives a nod to the gamer in him as well.  The background, layered underneath the turtle, is a compass rose with the words Love Me when I'm Gone arched along the outer edge of the round. His father's wishes were to have his ashes spread in the water, so they would never be tied to a grave stone to be near him.  Wherever they went in life, they could just find water and he would be there. We spread half the ashes at the beach up here, where they would play in the tide pools on his visits, and the rest were given to his mother to spread in Florida, his other home. The words are the title of a song that he and his dad loved, and he chose it at all of 9 years old, to play in his memorial video. 

One would think, with all this planning and thought he'd have booked the appointment all ready, but no. He's uploading it to a temporary tattoo company, so he can get it, live with it, make sure it's the right size, placement, colors, etc. before he has it permanently done. While super smart, I feel like most of us have a tattoo we look at and wish we'd done different, it's like a badge of adulthood we earn.  His extensive caution will spare him of that, and undoubtedly many other stupid lessons of early adulthood.

Part of his graduation requirement for college is that he does two co-ops, one second semester of Junior year and one Spring semester of his Senior year. He's thrown his resume out there this summer in the hopes of scoring something in his field this summer. Internships have been especially hard to come by due to COVID and shut downs, so we weren't hopeful. One of his professors recommended him to a structural engineering company close to the city and he was hired on Friday. We briefly discussed having him relocate closer to the job for the summer....

Um, it's only 10 minutes longer than what I commuted last summer.  And I'm just not ready to totally live on my own yet.

I'm not sure what I did right with him, or if anything I did raising him had any effect at all.  Maybe he would have been just fine even if I'd done nothing at all, who knows? 

Also on Friday, at 7 am, Youngest informed me he would "need to find an apartment, because he couldn't live here any more."

Intellectually I know these are just words from a frustrated and unhappy soul. But I'd be lying if I didn't say they stung a lot.  I've worked my whole life making a home for them.  Creating a safe landing pad, that they could always come home to, and now... he just can't live here any more.

Half hour later I headed down to his room to talk with him about a realistic budget since, as he informed me, he would be doing it without roommates, or any help. I laid out a realistic budget that he should plan on. He got frustrated.  He's not stupid, he knows there's substantial truth in what I was saying.  After I left for work, he broke down, punched the walls and slammed some stuff around in his room, waking up his brother. The reality of adulthood sucks a lot of the time. The tried to talk a bit about it, but Oldest knows the truth in what I told him, and he won't entertain his Mom hates me nonsense, and I just can't live in a dorm. 

Later in the day I found out that he had contacted his mentor and they had talked through some stuff. He's not reached out to him in months, so that was hopeful. Not sure how far they got, or even where they landed, but when I saw him later that night there was no talk of moving out, or anything uncivil really.  He was in a great mood, talkative, and thanked me for the cookies I brought him home.  He was himself for the first time in a while.  But, he wasn't stoned either. 

Without prompting, he's looked into a few jobs out of his comfort zone.  We meet with the Dean Monday at 9am, he has a med check at 4, and he's headed for his COVID shot at two tomorrow. All things I did not see getting done without apprehension, and yet for now, he's mostly on board, gathering his transcripts from high school, checking in with his appointment times so he doesn't miss them, and swinging in tonight for example, to take his meds since he wasn't coming home. 

He's just stuck.  Torn between the easy choices and the hard truth that this person he's become is not who he wants to be.   Watching his brother's success and contentment at home just adds insult to the injury. I heard from his therapist the other day because he missed his appointment.  She's seeing small marks of improvement in his emotional development, and he did reimburse me for the missed appointment fees. Meanwhile two more "water pipes" arrived in the mail from China for resale, he's learning excel so he can keep track of inventory, and profit and loss margins for his online smoke shop. Making a legitimate company, creating an LLC, getting an EIN, ensuring it's all legal and trackable, reportable income.  All in an effort to get out of here. 

And just like Oldest, I wonder what I did wrong. If I did anything right? If anything I did ever made a difference to begin with. How much of who they are becoming is the world they were raised in, and how much is embedded in their DNA?

I guess I'll never know.

And Yet, I Digress....

 It was the kind of week where I swore way more than I should have, and hugged much less than I wanted to. Between heated conversations with my boss out on the acoustically enhanced loading dock, to understaffing so horrendous I found myself stepping in for overtime multiple times. One of my favorite coworkers is grieving the loss of a good friend, who also happens to be my customer as well, and I can't even give her a completely non-covid-approved deep felt hug of sympathy.

These Covid cooties suck. 

I have been finding projects to fill my time when the talk in my head gets to loud. I've had this coffee table in the basement for the better part of ten years. My cousin gave it to me, as she was getting remarried and it had been a wedding gift from her first marriage in 1993-ish. I used it for a bit, but when Oldest was around five he wanted to fix it, and tapped it with a hammer. Needless to say, the glass insert didn't survive his Bob The Builder phase. 

So, it's been in the basement, waiting until it could become one of my projects.  First thing that had to go was the 90's style golden oak finish. 

Paint stripping is not for sissies my friends.  It is hard work. What didn't come off with the stripper my sander made quick work of.  Once stripped down to bare wood, I started with the stain...

The gray stain gives it a more casual look, which is what I was going for.  The Hubs of course didn't like the lighter color, and insisted we do another coat. Three coats later, we ended up with a fairly consistent gray stain, with only nuisances of wood grain coming through.  At this point, I decided to get risky, and add some black accents and a pop of color for the inside.

It took a few tries, and several swatches of colors against the gray to decide on an ultra matte baby blue. 

I spent a few days scrolling through pages and pages of drawer pulls to find the right ones.  It seems I have every expensive taste.  Eventually I settled on this art deco style, rustic, but not too harsh against the gray wash. I also wanted to add small casters to the bottom to make it easier to move since this sucker is hea-vy. But that didn't quite work out.

I ordered the glass from a local company downtown. The fit was perfect and they had it ready in a day for me. 

And as luck would have it, my newest blog books arrived right on time to be the showcase inside the shadow box along with my scrapbooks of our adventures with the boys. It's a coffee table of coffee table books! Win, Win.

I should be happy, right?  Another piece saved from the basement. 

But now we really have no space in the living room.  I mean, like where is the dog going to roll around scratching her back like a lunatic? As luck would have it, the neighbor has been watching my progress and loves the table, apparently it's just her style.  And, she's moving in with her fiancé on the 7th and has no furniture.

I hope she likes double chocolate chip cookies.

**** Ed Note: My blog books have all been done by Blog to Print in the past.  For the "new" blog I decided to go with Pixxibooks and I could not be happier!  The price was in line with other companies and it came in a week.  I receive no compensation for mentioning them, this isn't that type of blog. ****

White Noise...

Returning home from walking the dog, I left the windows open, no one's home. The tiny nuance of traffic on the main drag is far overshadowed by the cheeps of tiny birds, cackles of crows, and falcons crying in the breeze; sounds only interrupted by an occasional child's voice. The dog's already snoring in the corner, sleeping it off until her Dad comes home. Perfect end to an imperfect day, uninterrupted by the chaos of white noise.

The peace will not last of course, as the husband will be home soon. White noise seems to follow him, the television mysteriously left on, relentless ads playing on his opened face book feed, tiny Vegas like sounds of coins being added from his cell phone games. Youngest is just as bad. We listened for days to incessant buzzing as his old phone, screen shattered and unreadable, slowly died on the kitchen table. Funny, for two people so adamant to not be technologically connected, they certainly live with their head in the password protected cloud.

And the peace did not last as they both came home at the same time. Youngest was only here for a few minutes, and his quick exit just adds to the palatable stress between him and the husband. I can see the tiny steps forward, while the husband only sees the bigger picture.

I continue to hold my ground, speaking up when I see something unacceptable. One would not think I would have to remind him that civilized people say hello and goodbye to each other, but here we are. When I said I would not leave the door open for him the other night, he said he'd sleep down at the pond. I reminded him he could sleep in the driveway to avoid randos and wildlife. He miraculously made it home on time instead. Last night he was home 3 hours early.

I find him reading in his car often, deeply lost in a book, enveloped in the warm coma inducing sun shining through the windows, cracked ever so slightly, to venting the permanent smell of marijuana. He's re-registered himself at the local Community College for a start in September. The irony is that he's been registered for months now, but since he did it then because he was bored, he didn't remember. We are scheduling an appointment to sit down with a live person to ensure he's on track and properly registered, so they'll be no misunderstanding of what's expected come fall. I can see all the tiny steps and changes. Hubs can only smell the pot and see and the friendly hooligans coming in and out of the garage.

Oldest will be home for the summer on Monday. A welcome distraction from our regular chaos, but he will be another voice breaking the peace and quiet I so relish in the afternoon. At least until he finds a job to fill his days.

And despite all this late afternoon white noise, I know the evening is coming. The television and computers clicked into sleep mode, and I can leave the windows open. The bullfrogs will soon be filing the night air with their twangy sounds, punctuated by crickets, and the occasional coyote scoring a fresh meal. Shadows of late night dog walkers spread across the quiet side street outside, setting off a few motion sensors as they stroll by. A restorative peace in darkness, before the blue light starts up again along side the morning sun.

I've Been Shot...

 We are perpetually understaffed at work.  If you'd indulge me in some math, there are 30 routes in our office that need 2 days off per week. S0, 60 days per week need to be covered, half of them are Sunday which only needs about 15 people to cover.  So roughly we need 45 days covered a week.  We have 7 substitute carriers to cover them. If each of the subs worked 6 days a week, this would mean at best, 3 people would need to be in on overtime each week.  Currently we have one regular on vacation, and 2 more out with COVID. So, using basic math, this means we need, as an example, this week 21 of us to work our day off to cover everything. 

Twenty one of us, out of 30, more or less every week. And it has been like this for at least the last 6 months.

So, knowing I have 4 auto immunes and that my second COVID shot was coming up, I put in for a sick day afterwards.  It was denied. So I put it in as a vacation day and it was approved.  Not a big deal, but just a pain to backtrack and recode it after the fact. But, if you were management wouldn't you want to know ahead of the game that you were going to be short staffed?

Apparently, not.  Management is adamantly denying that there will be any people out sick afterward the second shot.  Despite that towns have had to close school from lack of teachers, or that we have actual federal policy to protect our jobs from this exact scenario. So when my shot got pushed up a day ahead of schedule, there was no pre-emptive coverage for my being out, as I was expected to be there.

I was not in fact, at work on Friday.  By Thursday night I had the basic overall yuck that everyone else gets, but by morning I was so dizzy I could barely stand up.  I also was having trouble breathing and swallowing because my chest was tight and my lymph nodes were swollen.  It also triggered my digestive auto immunes, leaving me in substantial pain most of the day. 

23 hours post shot I had 102 fever, chills, and could barely walk to the back door to let the dog out. With meds I was able to get it down to 101, and overnight my body was able to sweat it out, just short of changing clothes for a third time.  Gross.

Saturday was my original recovery day, so I am scheduled off already.  Which is good because now the other two auto immunes have left me extremely dehydrated and tired. Monday is my day off, and Tuesday I took a personal day to take my niece to see a college. Hubs is home today so he'll do the driving and light grocery shopping that needs to be done.

My point, if you're still here, is that I KNEW I would have an issue and management adamantly said I was wrong.  That I had no idea how I'd be feeling afterwards.

Okay *Karen* because I haven't lived in this body for 46 years or anything.  

I'll see you on Wednesday. 

Only 10 years, 6 months and 2 days until retirement...

It Started Off So Good...

It was the first really nice day of the season. Seventy degrees, perfect shorts weather. In an effort to heal a jean inflicted abrasion across my belly, I've been donning sweatpants lately, and I was happy at the possibility of wearing something that resembled more of a casual outfit to work, rather than the completely given up on life look I've had for the last 3 weeks. 

I gave myself enough time to shave my legs, an all important detail when sporting the first shorts of the season.  When subjecting my coworkers with the neon whiteness of my winter legs, it's important to not add to their trauma. I found my most comfy jean shorts. They felt a bit off, but that was to be expected, right?  I mean they'd been in the back of the closet for 6 months now. 

The sunshine was slow to come, but once it broke through the clouds it distracted me enough to make several delivery mistakes.  Round and round I went delivering missed packages, picking up hold mail I'd accidently delivered, forgetting newspapers that the same customers have gotten twice a week for the last 4 years. It was embarrassing really, I am better than this.  If someone had pulled my GPS tracked line of travel it would have looked like a schizophrenic squirrel was driving. 

Somewhere between looping around and the detailed family feud of one customer about her dead mother's estate, I noticed a weird breeze and chafing feeling. Upon further nonchalant inspection, I discovered a large rip, leaving the upper backside of my thigh exposed for all the world to see. There was a choice to be made.  Have the Hubs run me pants, or pretend it's the style and carry on.

I carried on.

Determined not to derail the plans for the other half of the day, once back at the office, I headed to the bathroom, duct tape in hand, and fixed the problem from the inside out. Sadly, this is not the first time I've done this. I finished up, headed out, and onto Walmart to pick up some paint for a new project I'm working on.  And that's when I felt it.  The side of the duct tape had started to roll.  It was sticking to the inside of my leg, dangerously close to areas unshaved. What to do? I'm in the parking lot, walking slowly towards the door, trying to casually unstick my leg from my shorts without it looking like I'm picking a front wedgie. Standing in line at customer service I must have looked pained, making tiny steps shifting my hips and butt in an attempt to unstick myself. I was getting weird looks from the other customers.

Shorts stuck to me, dangerously close to giving myself an unwanted wax, legs as white as beacons in the storm, visibly uncomfortable and mentally exhausted, I was a person of Walmart now.  

No going back.

So how is your weekend going?

Filling The Bucket...

April, 2019...

Me: "Eventually you limit your inner circle of people to only those who fill your bucket. Remember "fill your bucket" from Elementary School?" 

Youngest: "Yup" 

Me: "Basically the only people I have now that don't fill my bucket are you guys." 

Y: "Wait. You're saying *I* don't fill your bucket?" 

Me: " DUDE...You don't even clean your own mess up in the kitchen." 

Y: "That's fair. I can't even argue that."

Two years later, here we are. Oldest has, since living and sharing a kitchen with 8 other guys, started to see what he had at home. I get occasional appreciative texts, or impromptu rants about roommates who don't know how to wash a dish.  Do you know how frustrating that is?  Yes, buddy, yes I do.... Oh yeah....

But Youngest, has still a long way to go. To say he's not filling the bucket is an understatement. He's run it dry, and poked a hole in it. Exhausted, Saturday night I told him the door would be locked from now on from 11:30 to 5:30 am.  If he wanted to sleep here, he'd need to make it home before 11:30, otherwise he'd have to find a place to sleep for the night.  It's two fold really, as we have a small house and he's LOUD when he comes in.  I need to sleep, as my auto immunes are in high gear post COVID shot, and I need sleep to recoup. He also needs to regroup and appreciate what he has here, weather he knows it or not. We don't run a hotel.  I am not a maid, or short order cook who leaves food in the fridge for consumption later.  You want dinner?  Be home for it. 

The first night, he was home at 8:30, spent a lot of time upstairs semi engaged.  He headed out around 10pm. There were texts back and forth, assuming there would be a gold star of some sort for being home earlier, until he finally just said ok.  I have no idea where he slept, but he rolled in around 6:30 am and crashed hard in his bed. 

The second night he begged and begged for 12:30.  Not acceptable, but since I didn't have to work in the morning, I acquiesced to midnight. He was silent coming in. 

Third night he left the downstairs door unlocked for himself.  Of course I caught it, and as he walked in at 11:25, we had words. 

Tonight he's thinking he'll be home.  The verdict is still out, but the door will be locked at 11:30.  And I've already checked the downstairs door, so that's not an option. He did however, change his plans and came home for dinner. There was a clear look of relief on his face when he found there was still some left.

And because parenting is freaking hard, setting ground rules comes additional stress, stomach issues and a lack of sleep. I know that this needs to be done. Intellectually I know I need to do this for all of us, for my health, and ultimately for Youngest. I also know that this will likely shift and change when his brother returns home from the city in 3 weeks.  But emotionally I feel terrible.  After everything I've done, there are nights he'd rather be homeless, sleeping in his car, than in his warm bed. That, if given a feasible option, he'd be out of here in a heartbeat, never looking back.  And worse, that he's making choices that he knows stress me out and cause me to get sick, and he does them anyways. 

And then, there's the guilt. The guilt of letting him fail.  The guilt of not doing this sooner. The guilt of not doing more, and the guilt of not doing less. What if something happens to him?  What if nothing happens to him, and he's fine with living in his car eating cheap take out that has no mom love cooked in? What if I really am insignificant to him? What if all the effort over the last 19 years of my life was completely unnecessary?

And what do I have to show for all of this gut wrenching Momma turmoil? 

An empty bucket, with duct tape where the hole used to be.

I have to start somewhere, no?