Movie Time

This past weekend, all three boys went off on a backpacking/camping adventure, leaving me at home alone with Sleepy Pup.

I had grand plans of writing all the words and doing grownup things. In the end, I had dinner out with my dad and watched a lot of movies. (There were a few words written, but honestly, I'm tired of fighting grief to be productive. Especially when I'm not sure if my books matter in the larger scheme of things. But also that's probably depression speaking. Whatever.)

We kicked off the movie time with the Amazon Prime Original, Road House. Now, I probably lose some GenX cred when I say that I never saw the original. I know, I know. I mean I do like Patrick Swayze, so I probably would enjoy it? But it just never got watched. Point being, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. It looked light and also satisfyingly violent.

It was a win on both counts. 

Ryan Gosling (Is that his name? I think that's his name.) Has never been a particular heartthrob to me, but he seemed to do a good job with this. And he wasn't trying to be a swoony hero, which helped. It was amusing, good snappy and sassy dialog. Over the top dumb villains. Just a good popcorn action flick that seemed happy to know it wasn't going to be up for any awards but simply wanted to entertain.

Then, because I enjoyed it so much in the theater, I went ahead and bought us a copy of Wonka. It's a delightful little movie - and another focused on just being fun and entertaining and not seeming to take itself so seriously that you have to spend hours dissecting the cinematic masterpiece of it all. I'll enjoy tossing that into my rotation of movies to have on in the background while doing other things. Although I don't do that as often as I used to, and when I do, I do also tend to return to The Martian. But still. Options are good.

Next up was Dog. 

I'm not sure why I settled on this one. I don't particularly like Channing Tatum (he strikes me as a man who's entirely too full of himself to actually act, because we should just want to bask in the glow of Channing. I could be way off, but that's how he oozes for me.) I think maybe my dad watched it and recommended it?

Either way, it's charming. It's a former Army Ranger and a military war dog on road trip to a funeral, after which the dog is meant to be put down because she has PTSD. And, as you would hope, the dog and the man heal each other and all is right with the world. (And of course he rescues the dog.)

Yet again, a popcorn flick. Not an Oscar winner wannabe.

Finally, I watched Asteroid City. I was intrigued by the trailers when it was coming out. But I scoured the list of Wes Anderson movies and could only find one (The Royal Tannenbaums) that I had even tried to see (and tried to - because I did not understand or enjoy TRT.) So I didn't go to the theater to see it.

But! Several months ago, during a different campout, I stumbled across The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar on Netflix. And oh my. THAT is so worth everyone's time. Now maybe it's because it's a Roald Dahl story and Dahl stories lend themselves to the weird. And Wes Anderson knew just what to do to make it a story that had me enraptured from start to end.

Thus, when I saw that Asteroid City was free on Prime, I was in. And I loved it. Is it quirky? Yes. Weird? Definitely. The rapid fire almost monotone deliveries and deadpan interactions that just ooze kitsch. But also, a really good story with layers underneath.

I'm not sure if I'd say I would recommend it across the board, because I don't know that everyone everywhere would actually appreciate it. But for me at the time, it was perfect, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

I will likely watch it again.

Somedays, I swear.

(Hubby would say I swear most days. I'm working on it.)

Youngest has decided it's time to ramp up on all things puberty. In the case of ADHD, this means anything you thought you knew before no longer applies. And anything you think you might find out also does not apply.

Basically, it's even more chaos around here than usual. (Now with more chaos!)

Lawd help.

We did manage to get one med increased (did I say this already? I think maybe I did.) We're a few days in and I think, fingers crossed, touch wood, all that, we might be turning a corner? Except yesterday, he pulls out the "I don't have friends and it's not fair that elder brother does."

Sometimes, all you can do is close your eyes and put your head on the table.

I mean, he's not wrong. (Ish. He has a few friends, but we don't get to see them much because everyone is busy all of the time around here.) He won't go to Sunday school because of how last year worked out, so he's not making friends there. He does go to youth group and Trail Life, but both of those are in the evening and while we give him a medicine boost prior, he just isn't ever at his best in the evenings. So, unsurprisingly, he is not rolling around in friendships.

So I have spent the past day and a half descending into the madness of, "Should I put him in school?"

I mean, not public. I know that would be a bad plan. (Okay, to be fair, I don't know. Because we haven't done it, so I can't know. However, I have very high suspicions that our overcrowded, understaffed public schools would not be thrilled with the addition of my hyperactive, inattentive, and hugely disruptive child. Especially when he's mostly there because he wants to be around people and not because he has any interest at all in learning things.)

Private school? Maybe.

Pushing aside the gasping intake of breath when looking at tuition for same (because holy wow), would it honestly be any better? Or would the private school teachers (who I'm reasonably sure are paid even worse than the public ones -- that was certainly the case when I worked for a small private school in Georgia in the 90s.) just toss their hands in the air and say, "Nope!"

I just don't know.

And again, academically at least, I know at home is better suited. He's learning. He's in an environment where it's tailored to him and he can get in and get out in short time. But if he really wants those social experiences (although I also worry - and HUGELY worry - that he'd simply become the whipping boy for all the local bullies. Because he is...very bullyable. He's just...innocent and sweet  and honestly not a genius and I know life will kick it out of him at some point, but I would rather it was when he was older and less likely to get life-long scars from it. But maybe that's not a thing.)

Which just serves to send the spiral round again.

This parenting gig isn't for the faint of heart.

Wednesday, With a Side of the Mondays

Y'all.

I don't know what today's problem is, but it seriously has one. And apparently it has that problem with me.

Last night, feeling virtuous, I prepped sourdough sandwich bread (because eldest has decreed that he doesn't like the more artisanal version - I suspect because it has a lovely, chewy crust and elder detests crusts of all kinds. Side note: I have never served him something sans crust or suggested that it was okay to skip it. So this isn't a result of coddling. It's just him and his weird texture preferences. So fine.) The sandwich bread is still tasty and, honestly, probably more useful (because it does make slightly nicer grilled cheese for example, because it's a better shape and has more consistent slice sizes.

But then, as I eyed Pedro (my starter) in preparation for sticking him back into the fridge, I thought to myself, "Self, there's still quite a lot of happy, bubbling starter there. Why not make something else, too?"

As I had no good rebuttal for said question, I spent a little time considering options and finally settled on cinnamon rolls (having discarded several focaccia options that I will want to try eventually.) 

So I prepped that dough. And both rose happily overnight on my counter.

This morning, I prepped the sandwich loaf for baking and then moved on to the cinnamon rolls. At first, it looked like they were going to work a treat.

But yeah, an hour (90 minutes?) later, when the loaf had happily risen an inch over the top of its pan, the cinnamon rolls still looked mostly the same as they had when I cut them and put them in theirs.

I baked the loaf.

No change in the rolls. 

So okay, fine. Whatever. I baked them.

They are, to quote Mr. Darcy, "tolerable, I suppose."

I mean, I ate one. The boys each ate one. 

We all agree they're fine.

We'll have to see what hubby has to say, but I hope he likes them because I have many left and I neither want nor need to be the one who sends them out to the universe.

In addition to baking woes, the beginning strains of puberty continue to harass youngest, making his ADHD even more fun than it was before (self-regulation of emotions was already a huge challenge? Now? Hulk Rage reigns supreme. And not Smart Hulk. Animal Raging Hulk. Hulk Smash Hulk.) So statements like, "Let's get our school taken care of" are met with...rage. Often with a side of rage.

We saw his psych yesterday, so are upping one dose in hopes that with his recent growth, the new level will help re-shackle Mr. Hyde.

Hoping against hope with that, I was poking about at horse riding camps for July (because elder has two week-long activities in July and I'd like to have younger gainfully employed during same so I don't have to hear about how unfaiiiiirrrrr it all is.) And of course, the stable I was hoping for (because it's near and we've been there before and they seemed to get ADHD) is doing every-other-week camps in July. 

On the opposite schedule that I need.

I mean, compared to children dying of famine or testicular cancer, these are all minor issues. But yeah. On a day when I started things out with an email from my sister (hahahaaaaaa...her 401(k) company sent the information I need to her, so Dad (who possesses her phone) forwarded it to me. Really not the jab of grief I wanted to use to motivate me in the a.m.) it all just kind of feels like piling on.

April Showers

April round these parts is living up to the old joke. I expect to see buckets of Mayflowers (and pilgrims!) any day now.

Since my attention span for reading is zero right now (and I don't know if you have any idea how painful that is for me. But it's excruciating.) curling up with a good book and lazing the dreary days away isn't on the menu.

Which means vacation dreaming is the next best thing.

Hubby might go to Germany for work in June. 

For about two seconds, I was all excited that we'd go as a fam and spend time seeing castles! Then reality started to creep in.

First off, "might go" is a thing. And it's the government. So while he may end up buying tickets (well, his company will buy them), he won't know if he's actually USING said tickets until probably a week, maybe two, prior to take off.

Which would mean it was possible that we'd be scrambling to buy our own ticket for him with a week, maybe two, lead time. 

Or the boys and I would be solo vacationing overseas. 

(Go ahead and laugh. I'll wait. Because the hysterical laughter is totally legit.)

Second, I started to really think about what Germany with my kids would be. Now, it's really possible that the teenager would have a wonderful time once he was there, but the attitude that came on strong at the first mention of maybe going? Yeah, I'm not playing.

And youngest is...well, he's him. And I don't happen to know how tolerant Germans are of ADHD. Thinking of my (German) grandmother, I can imagine the tolerance level would be high. Obviously it would vary by person and maybe we get some leeway for obviously being tourists, but just thinking about it is so exhausting and overwhelming that...yeah no.

Then you throw in that hubby's sister is due in "early June" and it's still even odds about who is ending up raising said baby (just...don't even get me started. I basically have hit the "don't think about it" stage because it's not being handled...you know what? I'm going to stop there. It's just not being handled. It's as if everyone is pretending that nothing is happening and there's nothing to see and ...I don't really believe denial is the best course of action here. Like I said, don't get me started.)

So yeah.

It's rainy. Depression and anxiety are at all time highs. And also pollen. Just for a little icing on the top.

The first thing we do*

Probate is a special kind of hell.

We met with the lawyer Dad used when Mom passed (and I think he had, previous to that, helped Dad set up their estate in a trust) and he got us squared away with an appointment at the probate office.

Said appointment was yesterday.

It was an easy enough appointment. I came home with an inch of paperwork and instructions that are almost easy to read. 

But honestly. There has to be an easier way to do this.

Also? It's almost ridiculously comical how the fees work. It's "Oh, hey, give all the heirs this form. Then get this form notarized saying you gave the heirs the form and send it in. But with a filing fee."

Everything has a filing fee. 

Pretty sure there's a fee for breathing the rarified air in the courthouse. I'm just not sure where I go to pay it.

They'll probably bill me.

I emailed the lawyer to say thanks, I got the forms and had he already registered the estate with an EIN? He replied no, but he can walk me through it, just make an appointment.

People? Don't do this. The IRS website is clear and easy. Also the probate office gave me step-by-step instructions just in case. I'm not saying I won't need another appointment with him at some point, but I am saying I'm going to exhaust all my other options first, since the time he spent getting me the appointment with the probate office cost me almost $700.

*spot the quote, Shakespeare edition

This 'n That - Home Edition

When we moved in, the very first undertaking was "paint the house." Because the previous owners had done (as we had to do in our previous house) as relators recommend and painted the whole shebang grey.

As one who already battles fiercely with depression, living in Eeyore's fur was not working for me.

We did all the big areas and then it kind of settled. But recently, the grey of the master bath was wearing on me. And I'd finally chosen the color, so we took care of that one weekend. (Did I already mention that here? I feel like I did, but maybe I just thought about doing so.)

Then last weekend, I attacked the main floor powder room. Eldest was out camping with his friends that weekend, and it wasn't until yesterday that he noticed. He came storming out, "When did this get painted?!" I might have laughed too hard, but honestly most laughing these days borders on hysteria.

I'm fine.

Really.

When we were buying the paint for said powder room, I also talked hubs into new faucets for the bathroom in his office and our master bath. He installed those this weekend.

I don't know why it makes such a big difference, but it does.

All that's really left now is the boys' bathroom (and they say they like the incredibly tacky and peeling wallpaper that's in there. I don't know if I should push it or let it ride.) and the dining room. I may do above the chair rail in there first and live with it a bit. Under the chair rail is a blue that's not bad (other than being flat and I'm a satin gal when it comes to paint finishes). So I'll do a brite-ish almost white above and then see what we see. (brightish? I can't be bothered to figure out what I'm doing wrong with that spelling right now. I assume you can figure out what I mean.)

And then, of course, getting rid of all the dreadful carpet upstairs and putting in hardwood. But that'll be one room at a time. And there's not a big rush.

Sitting in the Shade

So if you're keeping up, you'll recall that at the end of last school year, I stepped down from heading up Awana at our church owing to many factors, but the primary ones being the treatment of youngest by the children's pastor and then subsequent treatment of me after having objected to said treatment of youngest. It had become a considerably hostile environment, and while it was hard to walk away after ten years (and I enjoyed the bulk of those ten years), it was necessary.

And now, it seems as though the new director takes great joy in tossing some shade into her emails whenever she can. (I only get these emails because eldest really wanted to continue doing Awana and I wasn't going to tell him he couldn't. Even though I really REALLY wanted to. Because I knew this would happen, but I'd hoped I could pretend ignorance to it.)

Today's example was a gloating email about how for "the first time ever!" they were sending a team (of three kids and two adults, but I digress) to the regional competitions.

Y'all.

I tried for ten years with varying degrees of fervor to get us to take teams to these things. The first, say, five years, of my tenure as director were very fervent. I focused on the challenge games, and only the challenge games, during game time. I tried to rally up a quiz team. You know what I never got?

Leader involvement.

And I just didn't have the ability to be the only one dragging people to these activities. (If only because it's not a one-person job.) 

After the first big push, I transitioned to a more laid-back, "Hey. This is happening. It'd be so cool if we could participate! Let me know if you want to help!" 

Crickets.

But oh yes, this is the first year they're sending a team.

(And okay, sure, it is. But not for freaking want of trying. It's also the first year any leaders have been willing to get off their duffs and help so that a team was possible. Let's phrase it that way, shall we?)

The second little bit of shade is "Our Grand Prix is returning this year!"

Like yes. Okay that's a true statement. You know how found the new people to head up the GP? Me. I did that. I had it on the calendar for this year BEFORE I decided to step out. 

And the reason we hadn't had one the past two years (when we'd faithfully had one every year prior?) because it had turned into another "The Beth Show." And I could not continue to carry every single responsibility for the club. I begged for help. 

People even said, "What can I do to help?" But when I told them what I needed, it was too much. I guess they wanted to look good by offering and were hoping I'd say, "Oh I've got it." 

But whatever. I am not in charge any longer. And I am glad that for whatever reason people seem to like this new director better. (This is not a surprise. People generally hate me. Sometimes it takes longer for them to figure out, but it's basically inevitable. I realize I'm the problem. I don't know really how to fix it. I mean I do. But when you start making those kinds of plans, other people decide you need an involuntary medical hold.)

I really, really wish I could convince my family that we needed to find a new church.