Happy New Year, etc.

Round about these parts, we jump from Christmas, to New Year's, to a birthday, to undecorating and it's all rather a lot of whirlwind that leaves me breathless. (Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the point is, it's a lot all one after the other.)

This year was particularly whatever word I'm using to describe this time of year, because eldest turned 18 and has set his toe firmly into adulthood.

Or so one imagines.

In reality, not a lot has changed (because one doesn't instantly mature, for all parents might like that) (and honestly, the young man is not immature for his age - in fact, I'd say he's more mature than many of his peers. I'm not disappointed, is the point.) 

I guess that's not entirely correct: he's flexing his muscles some and asking for things like taking off the parental supervision on his phone (which isn't a big deal because we hadn't really been using any of it for the last year or so - he's a good kid. But I did say I was fine with it provided he considered sharing his location with me. I told him I'd be happy to reciprocate. I don't stalk his location like some helicopter moms, but he's not great about texting when he gets places, and sometimes around here ...you just want to be sure he got where he was headed. He was fine with that.)

Now that that's past, we're staring down younger boy's 14th birthday in a few short weeks and...why must they grow up so quickly? (On the flip side, this one could use a little of that overnight maturation.)

The building project for bringing Dad here is nearly finished. We've hooked up most of the sinks and such - the countertop guy will be out on Monday to do a field measurement and once we get the kitchenette finished we should be good to go with the final inspection. I think (touch wood) that we should be able to get Dad in by the end of January. That gives us a solid month to get all the junk out of his other house and get it prepped to be on the market.

Doable.

Probably.

What is it they say? God willing and the creek don't rise.

And that's our new year kickoff in a nutshell. I can't complain (well, I'm me. I totally can. But it's pretty unfounded in the overall scheme.) And I'm cautiously optimistic about the year ahead. (Check back soon for when depression comes back like a thick blanket full of lead. Although the meds are, I think, finally where they need to be. So that's something. I guess we'll see how the 2 year anniversary of my sister's death goes. Because that's coming up fast as well.)

Merry Christmas

Still here, just nothing exciting to report.

The stocking are hung. There are gifts yet to be wrapped. All that.

I believe I've settled on doing filet mignon this year, with mashed potatoes, rolls, and then some kind of veggie that we'll pretend people will eat. Maybe green beans? They'll eat those. Or just a big salad. Sometimes those go over. We shall see. Point being, a stripped down meal and just a quiet day with family.

Which, honestly, the older I get, feels like a better thing anyway.

Still, sending out wishes for you to have a fabulous Christmas with you and yours.

The Unmitigated Gall

Last Friday, as I was crawling into bed, I felt the stirrings of what I presumed would be another painful, but short-lived bout with my gallbladder. I think I reported here in May(ish?) when I had my first ER trip because of the dang thing.

Since then, I'd had an attack here and there - but not so many that it was impacting life overly and I learned what foods to avoid such that I was doing all right, by and large.

Of course, I had a pretty terrible attack whilst driving back from my weekend in South Carolina for a friend's daughter's wedding. Nothing quite more fun than having that occur while driving. And then, the following week another two, shorter, attacks.

But then Friday hit. And nothing worked. The meds that usually kept things at bay, did not. (Probably owing to the fact that I could keep zero things down. Within moments of anything hitting my stomach, the revolt began, and I was rushing for the nearest basin-shaped object to catch its volcanic expulsion.)

I white-knuckled it through the night, finally crawling back into bed around 5 a.m. Saturday exhausted enough to sleep despite the pain. And I tried to gut through the day when I awoke.

A three, I finally gave up and made the hubs take me to the ER.

Sweet, sweet pain relief.

And an ultrasound and some bloodwork and other tests and...oh hey, we're going to admit you for surgery tomorrow (Sunday.)

I'm sorry, what?

Yeah. Good stuff. 

At that point, I'd had enough pain meds that I seriously considered just heading home and calling it good. They did give that option, with the reminder that choosing it meant next time, I'd be starting over.

And there was no hesitation that there'd be a next time. In fact, they were reasonably confident "next time" would be on or before Thanksgiving.

So. I pondered. And they went to check on something. And it lasted long enough that the pain started to work its way back through the good drugs and I realized that the pain wasn't actually gone, it was just hidden. And I said, "Sign me up for gallbladder donation."

Hubby went home when I got to my room (shout out to the hospital for that not taking all night - honestly, I was very pleased with how fast things moved). They kept me happily drugged up and let me sleep (! I didn't know you were allowed to actually sleep more than two hours at a time in the hospital. I think they only woke me once?) And I dozed off and on most of Sunday as I waited for my sweet, sweet surgery.

And it pretty much says it all that the post-op pain is a laugh compared to the pain that sent me in in the first place.

Came home Monday mid-day. Friends showed up to take over Thanksgiving for us. So I have been parked on the couch watching everyone handle everything with aplomb and doing very little for myself. And really, I could get used to it. (No. No I could not. It's driving me mad. But I did NOT take it easy like I should have after my hysterectomy and I have learned my lesson.)

Fast-forwarding to today, I am feeling very well indeed. Down to Tylenol a couple times a day. Still resting quite a lot and listening to my body say when it's time (again, annoying, because the plan was to lay tile this weekend. But yeah, no.) And if I never have pain like the gallbladder attack again? It will be too soon.

It's beginning to look a lot like what now?

I suppose it really is a sign of age, but I can NOT grok the fact that Thanksgiving is next week and thereafter we are on the slippery slide into Christmas and 2026.

Where did 2025 go?

It is entirely possible that some of the year zooming by is brought to you by GriefFog* because that's still very much a thing. And when I sat down to write this year's Christmas letter I had to really think hard to figure out what happened from January until ...August? Because it was just kind of vaguely gone.

I'm sure I missed something monumental in the letter, but I can't as yet figure out what that might be. Hubs will be reading it over, so it's possible he'll clue me in, but let's be real. He doesn't pay attention on a good day. So unless it's truly monumental, it's gone for all time.

I suppose one could argue that means it wasn't all that monumental to begin with.

I'm working to figure out gift-buying. The kids are dang near impossible these days and I'm tempted to just throw a wad of cash at them (well, really, it'd be a visa gift card, because who even knows what cash is anymore) and be done with it. Except eldest would spend it before he'd finished unwrapping it and then start looking around for more, and youngest would lose the card and then wonder why he didn't get any gifts.

So, yeah. That won't work.

I find myself for the first time ever pondering the "something to read, something to wear, something they want and something...I forget what the fourth thing was meant to be." It was, theoretically, a useful rhyme to help you keep it straight, but I think we can all see that I've lost the plot there, as well.

I miss my brain.

Not enough to go see Wicked part 2 tho. (Follow the train of thought - it's not hard.)

Oh, hey, look. The pit of despair after all.

Whelp.

There were elections.

People are...sheep? Stupid? Horrifying? Maybe all of that.

How did Virginia elect a man who thinks killing people who believe differently than him is a good idea? How did we elect a white woman running on a platform of killing babies and crying about misogyny while running against an amazing black woman who personifies the American dream in action? 

I am trying to simply rest in the knowledge that God has this all in His hand. None of it is a surprise and, ultimately, He wins.

But still.

I weep for the future. 

Napoleon, but with Dragons

Last week was the birthday of one of my best friends' son. He's newly minted 13 and very into dragon books. Knowing this ahead of time, I started digging about looking for acceptable dragon books for a 13 year old boy.

This was a lot harder than seems necessary.

So much of the fiction with dragons these days is...smut. Really, that's the word for it. I would say likely not appropriate for the women who read it, let alone a 13 year old boy.

After a bit of back and forth with my friend, I ended up sending him the Harper Hall Trilogy from Anne McCaffrey's Pern books. Those are some of my favorites and they are geared to be middle grade, as opposed to the bulk of Pern which is definitely adult. (Super tame by today's standards, but as this family likes to avoid sexual themes and LGBTQ+ stuff (which works itself into all the MG and YA these days), Pern is still out for a while. Though I do plan to re-read The White Dragon. If I recall correctly, it should be acceptable, and given that the hero is a young teen, I think the son might really enjoy it, too.)

But in my searching, I also stumbled upon His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik and I was intrigued enough to grab it, thinking I'd read through it myself first to see if it would pass and then ship one off as a bonus gift if it passed.

It did.

It was also wonderful.

It centers around a Navy man aboard a frigate during the Napoleonic Wars -- except that this alternate world has dragons as air ships that are part of the fight. So, his frigate catches a French ship and a big part of their prize is a dragon egg. One that hatches before they reach a good port, and so the captain ends up becoming the dragon's captain. (There's more to it than that, but it's a bond between man and dragon that is reminiscent of Pern. Except these dragons speak aloud.)

Honestly, it's been so long since a new-to-me book brought such joy.

I also loved that the writing itself has the flavor and language of sea-faring books. In fact, it reminded me quite a bit of reading Master and Commander and others of that ilk. Just with the additional fun of dragons. Because really, who doesn't want a dragon?

I've already picked up book two of the nine in the series and am hopeful that the whole series will prove appropriate for my friend's son in addition to me.

As for historical correctness, I don't know enough about the history to say if it's accurate or not. Obviously, any battles where the dragons cinch a win are not historically accurate, but did Napoleon try to cross the channel and land on the shores of Great Britain? I know not. But I enjoyed reading about it as a possibility.

With dragons.

So, where were we?

Not, in fact, the pit of despair.

I have, of late, been thinking "Oh, I should blog about that." And then, when I finally have a moment with my laptop, I either can't remember what it was or I have eleventy one other things that need doing and so don't get to the blog.

None of it, of course, is earth shattering.

Youngest is actually doing amazingly well without meds. Now that the adderall is completely out of his system? He's much less angry. Is he still easily distracted? Yes. Is school still a little hard? Also yes. But I like this version of him a lot and I'm pleased that he's figuring out ways to control himself without needing the meds.

To be clear, I am 100% pro-meds if they are doing what you need them to do. They were a HUGE help for us for a long time. This is not me saying not to use meds. Ever. Take alllll the meds if they help.

I have also returned to progressives. I gave them a whack two years ago and ended up getting carsick while driving wearing them. Not super bueno, especially when you live off a windy, two-lane road. This time round, I went to Costco instead of using my eye dr. I don't know if it's that I'm older or if Costco just makes their progressives differently/better, but it's been a dream. And I love not spending my life moving glasses off and on (and even when off I was starting to not be able to read as well as I would have liked. Age is fun!)

Eldest is killing his senior year. He's finished the first of his four 8-week terms and is now on to his second. He's also working as a lifeguard (indoor pool, obviously) and we seem to have a gaggle of teens over here every time I turn around. 

Finally, we're talking about having younger boy try wrestling. We have a family friend whose son (who has similar struggles as younger boy) who says wrestling has been a lifesaver for him. So...I'm going to see if I can sell him on it. Maybe lacrosse in the spring? We shall see. But the boy needs more activity outlets than he manages on his own volition.