I got better...

In some ways, I regret it.

The big problem, you see, of coming out of a giant fog of depression is that it is then undeniably obvious just how much has been getting overlooked and let slide as you struggle to do the things that MUST be done to keep the ship from sinking.

The boys are supposed to clean their bathroom every week. The tasks are split in two and I have been taking them at their word that they are doing it as they check it off their list.

To be fair, in the back of my mind, I knew better.

At the same time? I didn't have it in me to face the inevitable argument that would come from checking on it and then the whip cracking involved in getting them to actually do it (correctly).

But today, youngest said, "My sink doesn't drain."

Ugh.

I went in to look and...honestly, I'm sort of (not sort of) surprised that they are even willing to go in that bathroom. Because just ugh.

I poked at the sink and got some drain cleaner working on the clog and then rolled up my metaphorical sleeves to scrub the other boy's side of the sink. And then I made the mistake of looking at the shower.

An hour later and half a bottle of soft scrub, it's a lot better. But I have learned several things:

1) Don't trust them when they say they have done something. Ever.

2) Dr. Squatch soap is from the devil. It's black and it dyes the tub and tiles. Oh, it'll come off with a lot of bleach and elbow grease but good gosh.

3) My children don't seem to throw away empty bottles. They just kind of ...toss them on the floor and walk around them? Like why? 

I know I have trained them better than this. But obviously it didn't stick and if mom's not riding their tail, it doesn't happen.

Yaaaay.

It's almost enough to get sucked back into the depression vortex.

General Malaise, Reporting for Duty

I keep popping into the dashboard and staring at the new post button and then asking myself, do I actually have anything worth rambling about?

The short answer is no.

But when has that stopped me?

(It actually stops me quite a lot. So I guess that's a dumb question. But it didn't stop me today.)

Both boys are done with school. I'm making youngest do math through the summer because he needs to solidify his facts still. He has them, he just has a hard time accessing them. So more drill. Whee.

Eldest was able to get his transcript shipped off to Liberty (his #1 choice for college.) (Also currently his only choice. I'm working on getting him to broaden those horizons a little just in case.) So his application is in progress. He's going to take the ACT in July (and then probably again in September). They don't require it, but they do have scholarships based on your scores available, so it's worth doing. Plus it's just worth him remembering how to do standardized tests. His test taking skills are not always amazing.

Eldest has also, possibly, landed a job lifeguarding. I'm cautiously optimistic. I need him to have more to do with himself. And also to be able to stop giving him money constantly. 

Youngest...is back on the struggle bus. We're switching his meds again (I feel like I've said all this already, but who knows?) and that's always less fun than it seems like it should be. (And it doesn't seem like it should be fun at all. So yeah.) It's been a rough two weeks. Three? Who even remembers?

We might actually be making progress on getting the permits for the addition now. Hubby has resumed his optimism. I...have not.

I had a really deep funk of missing Mom and my sister. It's easing some, but it's not gone. The biggest impact with these is in my writing. I just...can't seem to make myself open the document. And I find myself wondering if it's time to hang up the keyboard. Because really, who would care? 

I don't know. I guess we'll see what happens. The boys are off on a camping trip this weekend and I ought to spend a good bit of time writing. I even sort of *want* to do that. We'll see if it actually happens.

Valentine's Day and Anniversaries

Last year, when my sister went into the hospital in January and it was clear that she'd not be coming home except on Hospice, I joked (at the time we were both joking as everyone assured us that she'd be renewing Hospice at least twice) that I'd rather she not die on youngest's birthday (early Feb) or mine (end of Feb.)

She assured me she'd do her best.

Then, when she did in fact come home on hospice, it was the day before youngest's birthday. But she was still hale and hearty (or as hale and hearty as one is with terminal cancer) and up to her usual bossy shenanigans. 

On the evening of the 13th, Daddy and I had to call the fire department in the evening to move her from the recliner (that she'd moved to of her own volition earlier that day to visit with a friend) to her bed. She was...not herself. And I drove home once she was settled sobbing in a way I thought only happened in badly acted movies as half-wail, half-screams tore from my soul involuntarily.

Because I knew it wouldn't be long. Couldn't be.

And no matter how ready I thought I was, it turns out that I was not.

The next day, Valentine's day, Daddy called around dinner time asking me to come because the Hospice nurse was there and wanted to talk to us about transferring her to a Hospice facility where she'd have stronger round the clock care than we could do even with the private nursing we were hiring.

So I went. I listened to her explanation and agreed it was best. So she got on the phone to arrange medical transport and I went in to hold my sister's hand and talk to her. No dramatic wailing this time, just tears that I only noticed because I had to keep wiping them away. I told her I loved her. I told her about the boys and reminded her that they loved her.

And I told her that if it was time for her to go, that she could go.

Less than five minutes later, she did, while Daddy and I held her hands.

Nothing prepares you for watching someone die. Nothing can erase the image of life there one moment and gone the next. It haunts me sometimes. And yet I'm glad I was there for her. I know it's what she would have wanted, though at the time she was well past knowing what was happening around her. I'm glad she didn't linger or suffer.

And yet I wish I had my sister.

I don't know why losing her was harder than losing my mom. Maybe losing Mom made losing someone else harder? I just don't know.

What I do know is that you need to tell the people you love that you love them. Family. Friends. Doesn't matter. Make sure they know.

Valentine's Day is as good a day to do it as any other. But if you can't get a hold of them today, do it tomorrow. Or next week. Do it every day. Every week.

Because even if you do, when they're gone, you're going to wish you could say it one more time.

Fa-rah-rah-rah-rah

When I was trying to figure out what to make for our Christmas dinner, I polled my kids and my dad. Other than Dad, no one had an opinion. Dad wanted baby back ribs. That was easy enough and we hadn't had them for a while so easy peasy.

I picked up the ribs while at Wegmans - taking care to check the use by date to ensure they'd be fine for Christmas. They were.

If you've been following along at all with my 2024, you know that there's a big ol "except" coming.

Yesterday morning, in between throwing waffles on the iron, I opened up the ribs to peel off the back membrane and...they did not smell right. But maybe I was over reacting. So I called hubby over - "Smell these. Do they smell right?"

He sniffed. "I'm sure it's fine."

I hesitated, but it was Christmas and we needed food and...okay fine. So he seasoned them up and threw them on the smoker.

We went about the rest of our festive breakfast and present opening.

And then, it was time to pull the ribs off, sauce, and wrap them. And hubby brought them in and waved me over. "Do these smell right?"

No. No they did not.

Not being fans of food poisoning, we wrapped them up and into to the trash can they went. Hubby and I looked at each other and burst into song, a la the Chinese servers in A Christmas Story, "Fa-rah-rah-rah-rah."

That left the question...what would Christmas dinner be?

Digging through the freezer, the option became hot dogs or chicken breasts.

Shockingly (ha, not so), no one wanted hot dogs for Christmas.

In the end, we were able to thaw the chicken and season it up in time to grill them and have our late lunch/early dinner as previously planned. And the chicken tasted good, even if it was a little more boring than we wanted for said festive meal. 

I'm ready for 2024 to end. Obviously, on one can promise 25 will be any better, but at this point, even if not, I'll be glad to see the back side of this year.

Six Years

Mom died six years ago today.

I'm trying to decide if it's fitting that it's a dreary day around here. Mom enjoyed the rain. And the clouds. Although it's warmer that she would prefer for the weather (me, too, for that matter.)

I don't really understand how it can feel like a lifetime ago at the same time as it feels like yesterday.

And I'm struggling to decide if it's a good or bad thing to remember the day. 

I used to get so mad at my sister for all of her "bad thing X happened to me today" memorials throughout the year. "Just move on!" I thought. "Stop dwelling on it."

And while it's a little different - the loss of a Mom is definitely a bad thing, but it's not like the memorial of when a friendship imploded - I still wonder if not marking the day isn't the better choice.

I just don't know.

Not that I've done a ton of marking, mind you. It's been a full and busy day and I'm only just now getting a moment to sit and take a breath. But still, even as I ran around playing Mom Taxi, the "mom's gone" reminder has been just a little more evident in the back of my mind.

Not sure if I would be able to make that not the case if I tried, so maybe all of this is moot.

Anyway, life moves on, will you nill you. And honestly, that's probably a good thing.

On Paucity and Malaise*

Robbo pointed out that there was a dearth of posting on blogs he reads and I felt a little called out. Not unreasonably, mind you. Because there has definitely been both around these parts. And, as to the malaise, I'm so tired of me, I couldn't fathom that the rest of y'all weren't even more so.

(Ha. "The rest of y'all." As though there was a teeming horde of readers of this little pocket on the back side of the Internet.)

Regardless, Daddy and I flew out to Austin on Friday and then traveled south to San Antonio to inter my sister's cremains in the family plot. All but one of Dad's siblings joined us, and it was good to see them. I don't believe I'd seen any of them since we were in the same place to inter Mom's cremains.

My therapist (yes, because it's really that bad - which is not to say it has to be bad to go to therapy. I'm definitely pro therapy. For everyone else, ha. It took a lot to get myself there. And I can't say that I think it's doing more than eating away money, but supposedly it's a process.) asked if the service helped. I can see that it helped Dad. But me?

No idea.

I'm still generally numb and yet so overwhelmed by everything that I live life on the edge of some kind of breakdown (screaming rage? inconsolable sobbing? both together? no one knows - it's emotional tempest roulette around here.)

Like I said, even I'm sick of me.

Anyway, I did get to see my friend (I hesitate to use such fun terms as BFF, but if ever I had one, she would be it) who's hubby recently was stationed in Abilene. She and her fam were in Waco for the Baylor game and she and the kids stayed after so we could meet up without me driving 4+ hours to Abilene. (I would have, in a heartbeat, but 90 minutes from Austin to Waco was much nicer.) THAT was a delight and refreshing to my soul. It was one of those things that I wish could just go on forever.

We saw the Silos (because Waco. Can you go to Waco and not?) We toured the Dr. Pepper museum. (Super fun!) and then we spent the better part of the day talking and playing cards in the hotel lobby.

Then I came home to a filthy kitchen, over tired kids, an irritated husband, and...yeah, I wondered briefly why I returned.

Yesterday, things evened out some, but I can't say I'm enjoying the return to reality all that much.

Thus, for me at least, malaise is the defining reason for the paucity of posting round these parts. But I'll endeavor to do better.

Ish.

*HT to Robbo for the fun phrasing.

There Are Probably Things to Say

I have started and stopped and started and stopped a post many times since last I rambled here. I have thoughts. They might even be interesting. I just can't seem to drum up the umph to put them into words. (And, shockingly, they aren't even the sort that would get my betters on my case or send me into the first against the wall camp. Of course, I'm probably already in that camp, but whatever.)

Although, I guess I will say this: I would like a candidate younger than retirement age. Honestly at this point, that might just be enough to get my vote. Are you under 65? Sweet. Where do I sign?

I could recap, but really, why?

Sufficient to say, I'm not dead yet. Nor am I pining for the fjords. (Well, maybe I pine a little. Fjords are awfully nice. Slartiblartifast won an award, after all.)

Life keeps trucking along, without really taking into account your preferences on the matter.

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.

Now We're Doing the Cha-Cha*

Grief is fascinating to me.

I had a hard time with grief for Mom in the late fall - probably, if I want to sit and stare at my navel for a bit, I can deduce it was because things with my sister were getting harder. And in the throes of it, I thought, "Ohmygosh this is awful. Why isn't it any easier?!"

And now, with new grief, I realize that oh, no no, that was easier.

That resurgence of grief was nothing compared to the fresh, open wound of new grief.

It's a step forward, then another back. Maybe another back after that. Then a creep forward.

And you get the idea.

Today, I was doing well (after being an absolute basketcase yesterday) and managed to clean two bathrooms and was heading up to embark on a third, when the attorney called.

For whatever reason, my sister didn't have a beneficiary on her money market account. The one that holds the money for the debt she owes Dad. So we have no choice but to probate the will so we can get said money.

Anyway, there I was, whistling a happy tune (or as much as one does when scrubbing a toilet) and the next minute? Ready to just give up on it all.

I made the calls I needed to make to the bank (fun fact: the estate services people actually answer the phone and are very nice and you don't have any robotic operators to fuss with. I guess it's nice that they realize how well that would not go over) to get exact(ish) amounts so the lawyer can put it on the request for a probate appointment - or whatever it's called that he's doing so we can get that legal ball rolling. Called him back, reviewed the document he sent over, pointed out that he left off my first name in one place.

And now, I'm exhausted and overwhelmed thinking of the things I had been excited to do just moments ago, that now feel like monumental tasks.

*spot the quote

(It's okay. It's obscure. It's from Real Genius.)

Because Why Not?

So, round about the time my sister was finishing up her stay in the hospital and transitioning home, the magnesium supplement I've been taking for a while now reformulated.

I didn't think anything about it. People reformulate all the time and it's just kind of like, "Okay?" Mostly a justification to charge more, honestly.

Regardless, I dismissed it and continued to take said supplement.

A few days later, I developed a rash on my neck.

I thought shingles because stress and awfulness.

But people who've had shingles said I wasn't in enough pain for it to be shingles. And I won't diminish their experiences, but my little bout with chicken pox as a child was minor and unremarkable (I had six whole pox and they didn't really itch.) so maybe I just do shingles weird?

But said rash didn't clear up and didn't clear up and yesterday I finally had the chance to go to the urgent care.

And they believe firmly it's an allergy.

So I spent most of yesterday wracking my brain to figure out what might have changed. Last night, as I was getting ready to take my after dinner pills (because I'm old now and have pills for different times of day), I spied the magnesium bottle and thought, "Hm."

One quick google later and did you know you can be allergic to some of the different kinds of magnesium and it causes a rash?

Apparently this time, the reformulation was actually a change.

So yeah. I won't be taking that anymore. And I'm going to go magnesium free for a month or so just to give my body time to recuperate before I poke around for another supplement. And even then, I'm going to make sure it's as close to the original I'd taken for years with no issues before diving in.

I'm not sure I know how to do this.

I had begun to get an inkling of how much I chatted with my sister while she was in the hospital, because she was sleeping often and didn't reply right away when I texted.

But now I keep reaching for my phone to text and...she's not there.

She'll never be there.

And as complicated as it can be with a sister -- because I'm not going to lie and say it was sunshine and roses every day of our lives, it wasn't -- I miss her. I miss her more than I miss mom.

This is horrible.

And hard.

Insert Maniacal Laughter Here

This is going to be scattered and ridiculous. Much like my brain these days. You've been warned.

Well, sometime over last weekend, sister took a rather dramatic dip and now spends the bulk of her time sleeping. In all, this is good, but I do wish Jesus would hurry up and take her home. Now more than ever. She is clearly uncomfortable, even in sleep, and Dad and I are both not sure what to do about that. When she's conscious, we encourage more pain meds, but what do you do when she's asleep? 

Beyond that, I got a random wild hair the other day (and it had been coming and going for a while, but I guess my impulse control is shot to heck right now) to buy organic, stone ground wheat from a small farm. So none of the bad fertilizers and such and back to good grain and yadda yadda. And so last week - week before? I have no concept of time - I gave sourdough a whirl with the new flour and hahahahaha. I did not read up on just how different this acts.

So today, we finally made it through all of the very, very dense first effort and I am trying again - now with much more hydration! - and we'll see what we see.

I might have over hydrated it now? I don't know.

A friend said, "Why not just use a tiny bit of the organic and mix with your regular bread flour" and like...that defeats the whole point? The brain goal for down the road is to buy wheat berries and grind them at home as needed. But yeah, I'm glad right now that I went this intermediate route first because I'm not sure I have it in me to keep going. Healthier is good, but not when it means life is miserable trying to make it work.

Youngest is loving my preoccupation and general inability to do anything because it means his school has been slapdash at best lately. We spent a whole day last week building lego. And I can make a case for motor skills and engineering and so forth if I cared to. The reality is, he's not going to fall behind. It's going to be fine. But yeah, I feel the mom guilt.

Eldest is trucking along with his, which is good. And I am even managing to stay on top of making sure he's doing well (vs phoning it in). So gold star?

Last week, rather than being in Hawaii (which was originally scheduled before everything with my sister went sideways), hubby was home at his boss's insistence. I appreciated that. But he was still in the office every day for 14 hour days. And really at the end of it all, I have realized I am incredibly spoiled and like having him at home. I don't know how we could go back to a full time in the office job at this point. Thankfully it doesn't seem like that's anywhere on the horizon, but yeah. It'd suck.

There was more to say when I started this but it's gone now. So probably super interesting. Or not.

Most likely not.

Ups and Downs

My sister had a PET scan today. She struggled with the contrast this time, losing most of it when it came back up. Her kidney function is so low they wouldn't do it via IV. So I wonder how much help the PET scan will actually be.

The kidney function is concerning. She'll see a specialist there at the end of the month, but she's down to right around or just under 30%, so the failure is pretty bad and increasing. She's in constant abdominal pain that her strong pain meds don't really touch - her oncologist says the pain is definitely related to her kidneys.

She's still in the clinical trial right now, but she might drop out. She says she isnt' likely to be kicked out because in a phase 1 they want all the data they can get. And she's more and more tired of playing guinea pig.

In all, she sounds as though she has given up and as understandable as it is, it makes the reality of her dying sink in just a bit more and...I am not ready.

I don't think it's possible to be ready to lose a sister.

With Mom, it was somewhat easier because of her age and how long she fought and in many ways it just felt better. I probably can't quantify that. And I know I had moments where I prayed for her to go quickly because it was so clear that she wanted to and was suffering.

I don't like it.

I guess maybe you're not supposed to.

Neurodivergence and Hoarding

Since both boys have ADHD (well, elder isn't diagnosed, yet, but if he doesn't have it, I'll eat an opossum), one of the "fun" things I keep running into is their inability to get rid of anything. 

Apparently, hoarding and ADHD is a thing. (Who knew? Not I.)

So the fight of cleaning rooms is ongoing and terrible, because they have all the scraps and broken things making messes, but they are unwilling or unable to just let them go.

We finally reached the tipping point with youngest (and we are getting there with eldest, I just have to gird my mental loins a bit because I know I'm going to get attitude) and I cleaned his room for him. And the next step is for me to grab allllll the bins out of his room and sort them. I will get rid of random McDonald's toys and scraps of paper and broken things. I will sort things by type. And then he will be given access to a fraction of them at a time.

I feel like I should add that this is something I've been lobbying for for years. But hubby insists that they can handle it. Or they should be involved in the process because they need to learn how. And while, sure, okay, for a neurotypical kid maybe? (But even then honestly I hesitate.) But for ours? That way lies madness.

As we have now seen for long enough that he grudgingly agrees.

Victory! Heh.

I know it's not going to go over with celebrations and cheers, but also? I don't care at this point. All the clutter in his room is hard for him, whether or not he recognizes it.

And elder boy is on notice that if he can't do it himself (he's been given tips and a step-by-step plan for how to accomplish it), then I'm going to help.

I am thankful for several things in the face of this though:

1. They are older and aren't getting a quantity for Christmas, because they have expensive taste

2. Their interests have narrowed, so there really isn't as big a need for a broad spectrum of things.

And then she ran screaming

I think we got the social skills group/ABA thing handled. Maybe. Not that we have insurance covering it, but the out of pocket rate will be less than originally quoted, so it's doable. So we'll just truck along.

Of course, now the psychiatrist who handles both boys' meds wants youngest to also possibly do CBT with a regular therapist. And she gave me a recommendation. Who's in Fairfax. And whose website scares me a little because it's just full of gender stuff. And...I don't know. I guess I need to see if I can find someone closer (because honestly, driving all over creation grows old. Especially when it takes longer to drive there and back than the actual appointments.) who maybe doesn't look like they're going to say, "Yes! We can help with the behaviors and also, this is your daughter not your son."

Everyone is done with school. I've submitted our proof to the county. I really thought things might just ease up when that happened. But ha. HA. 

HAHAHAHAA.

It did not.

Hubby's mom is (finally) getting moved into memory care today. By hospice. Because hospice doesn't think she has more than six months because she's basically malnourished. I suspect her intestines have stopped absorbing completely (it's been an issue they've been dealing with for years, and it seems to have just crashed of late.)

My sister's cancer is living la vida loca in her body. She's potentially going to do a new clinical trial, but also maybe not because it's phase one (which is basically "Hey, the monkeys stopped dying, let's try people now!" level.) I don't blame her for not being excited. I won't blame her if she doesn't do it. It has zero guarantees and is, essentially, a way for people who are dying anyway to potentially help future people maybe not die, but also a tiny percentile might benefit now. Seems unlikely that she would fall into that tiny percentile. That's just not how anything in my family works.

My dad is old. And tired of living without mom. And ready to be done with it all.

We'd been doing Hungryroot for a while. I loved the fact that someone else thought up recipes and then shipped me all the ingredients and recipes and so I didn't have to fight with children about what to make, what to shop for, and whether or not they would eat it. It made saying, "This is what it is" so much easier. And it was tasty and so many more veggies than I would normally manage to squeeze into people. Except hubby is like "It's really expensive." And...yeah okay. It is. But we could afford it. Except he doesn't want us to afford it. Because he'd rather put the money somewhere else. And like okay, fine, but it makes my life so much harder. And it was the one thing I'd done to actually IMPROVE something and fix one of my pain points and now it's gone, too. And just...blergh.

I sometimes find myself wondering just how much more a person can take and what, exactly happens, when that line is crossed.

Watching "Monk" Did Not Prepare Me for a Child with OCD

It's not a big surprise, really, but goodness. I know I've been guilty of a little teasing fun about OCD and let me just say, that's stopped.

Eldest doesn't have the germaphobe kind (turns out there are 4 major types of OCD. Who knew? I mean, psychiatrists, I guess, but it's not what I would have ever considered "common knowledge.") He's a "checking" and "intrusive thoughts" guy, mainly -- although I see some hoarding tendencies with certain things.

It feels like germaphobia would be easier to deal with, but I imagine I'm wrong in reality with that.

I just know that these two kinds are absolutely miserable to watch your child battle.

And what's funny (not in a haha kind of way, really), is that the checking has been present for most of his life. He always needs to know where everyone in the family is. The first words out of his mouth in the morning tend to be, "Where's SleepyPup?" And I tell him. Then it's, "Where's Dad?" I tell him. "Where's brother?" I tell him. He just needs to know.

Then we move onto "What are we doing today?" Even though our schedule is pretty consistent and I have a big whiteboard calendar in the breakfast room (which I started because I was tired of reiterating our schedule ten or twelve - or more - times a day. Now he just goes to look. But I still have to say it at least once.)

We go through the "Where's X" routine at least two more times during the day.

Before bed, it's "What are we doing tomorrow?" And another run through of where everyone is. And he checks the locks on all the doors. And makes sure lights are in his preferred on/off state. 

I'm pretty sure he adjusts three-way switches so that they're all in the same position on the wall plates. (To be fair, when they aren't, it bothers me, but I generally don't fix them. I just try not to look at them or dwell on it.)

When we're out and about, the checking is amplified. Where's his brother? Then there's a lot of anxiety about brother's behavior. (And yeah, I mean, I have that anxiety too. Because ADHD is hard, too.) But eldest checks and corrects -- and I assumed for a long time that was just overbearing older brother.

Nope.

But it's more than that. Do I have my purse? My phone? My keys? The shopping list? He carries a backpack full of essentials (like a first aid kit and pocket knife) at all times. 

I've begun to wonder if the Boy Scouts' "Be prepared" motto stems from someone with OCD.

And it all teeters precariously and spirals into out of control panic when checking doesn't result in the order he needs.

Is it amusing (it sort of is. But also not really) that for all of that, his room is consistently an absolute disaster?

With the swirling panic that's been amplified lately, I've just begun to see how much of my day is actually devoted to reassuring him that all's well in the world. 

And that doesn't even touch on the intrusive thoughts. Which in his case are simply devastating. And overwhelming. And seemingly insurmountable.

We're getting help, but nothing is immediately effective (because of course it isn't) and for now, things seem to just get worse and worse with each passing day.

It's hard. For him, most of all, absolutely. But for the rest of us, too. Because I find myself stepping into the role of She Who Manages and Regulates Everyone's Emotions. Which leaves me ridiculously few resources to manage and regulate my own. 

Baby Steps

As of yesterday, we are officially under contract on the old house. I would be happier about it if the market hadn't shifted so much lately that we're well under what we should have been able to sell for if we'd had a decent realtor in the summer. 

But whatever.

I'll breathe easier when it's closed in 30 days.

Yesterday, I had the joy of ordering the HOA docs for the new owners and it was just one more big middle finger from the HOA people to us. $322. For a link to download the manual.

Three hundred twenty two dollars.

For a download link.

I'm so glad we're out of the world of HOAs and I have no intention of ever being part of them again.

I also had the "parent onboarding" zoom with the therapist for eldest. She seems competent and able to hopefully give some good coping mechanisms for the OCD. (Have I mentioned when all was said and done he got an OCD diagnosis? I don't know what I did and didn't put here.) We'll be working out meds as well, but everyone/everything I've read suggests a two-pronged approach is needed. So that's what we'll do as it's really reached a point of impacting his life negatively.

Of course, both she and the psychiatrist (who we also see for younger's meds) have to probe about our homeschooling decision and act as though that's solely responsible for his problems. And the social anxiety part (because he also got that diagnosis) would just be so much better if he was in public school. Oh wait. Regardless, with eldest, I just told him look, if she asks about it, be honest. He's like "I don't want to go to public school. All my friends who go hate it." I just smiled.

I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and give her a little shake though and just say, "Can we treat the problem and not look for other things to blame?" 

Anyway.

Here's hoping for a little bit of a breakthrough on this front as well.

In the meantime, I went to my doctor and got my meds increased. Because I joked to hubby that my meds weren't strong enough for my life currently and he just kind of looked at me, eyebrows raised. And I was like right. I can fix that.

So I did.

I guess this is just my life now?

I keep thinking after X thing happens, then surely it'll calm down and go back to "normal." And then, not only does X not happen, but other things that weren't even on my radar crash and burn and it's just like wait, what?

The house hasn't sold. The realtor is stymied. I mean, yay? We've stumped the experts? He's going to do another open house this weekend (he did two this past weekend and no one came. Because of course they didn't.) But we're in the process of moving money out of retirement accounts to pay off the bridge loan and at that point, I think we may just pull it off the market and rent it instead.

We do not want to be landlords.

But, my sister and cousin are talking seriously about moving out this way. (We won't even get into those details. It's...like I'm glad she's still alive, because the doctors didn't think she would be. But what's the thing about the best laid plans?)

So maybe they will rent the house? We'd be happier renting to them than randos. Other than the whole "we don't want to be landlords" thing.

But, as in the Ginsu knife commercials of old, wait! There's more!

Eldest has always struggled with anxiety. We've managed it with breathing and talking up til now, but last week he spent the bulk of the week either fully in a panic attack or teetering on the edge of one. So that was fun. Having already run the gamut of trying to find mental health help for youngest (ADHD meds), I knew it wasn't going to be fun or easy, but I think I finally have some leads that may turn into actual assistance. Because I'm pretty sure the kid needs anxiety meds. Because of course he does.

There is a small part of me (maybe not so small) that wonders if I triggered this with the stress of his more rigorous high school program. But...I mean, this is more like real life, so if I did, I guess it's better to know now? I don't know.

I have a friend who won't get her son evaluated and medicated for his very obvious ADHD because she doesn't want him not to be able to be an Air Force pilot (not sure if he actually wants to be an AF pilot, but that's her plan for him) and I'm just like...get the kid help now so he can have a future maybe? So that's our plan here for our kid at least. Even though I don't love the idea of an anxiety diagnosis, having seen untreated/unrecognized mental illness left to worsen in my immediate family, I definitely don't want to choose that route.

In more lighthearted, but still in the vein of Really? Really?? We bought deck stain from Sherwin Williams a few weeks ago. Just in time for it to rain and rain and rain. Now that this past weekend was dry, we took the opportunity to get out and apply it and...we had not gotten enough. So hubs went back to SW yesterday to get more, and they closed five minutes before he arrived. So he went back AGAIN today, and they were out of the base they needed to make more. Also I had planned to get paint from there to do his office, so I have been there twice to get it and they've been out of the base for IT both times. They were still out of said base. So hubs went to yet another SW store (because he loves spending his holiday driving around town I guess) and this time, at least, they were able to actually get what he needed. So...yay?

The Pit of Despair

Honestly. Selling a house is for the birds.

Although, maybe we could sell a birdhouse, I don't know.

What I do know, right now, is that our other house has yet to sell and so hubby and I are contemplating the options of "what the heck do we do if we can't sell the place?"

We have a plan. I don't like it. I don't want to execute it. But there is a plan.

I guess that's good.

Sometimes I wonder if there's a larger lesson here that I'm meant to be learning but am, instead, just missing. Like trust God. Got it. Check. Totally trusting.

But also? If He wanted to hurry things up a little? I'd be okay with that.

Probably not how I'm supposed to be thinking.

The new house was painted the ridiculous agreeable grey that we went through and painted the old house to try and get it to sell (narrator: it did not, in fact, help the house sell) (I guess I should add yet. There's always the possibility that tomorrow will be the day!) (But also, yeah, I don't know if I can actually drum up the faith to believe that at this point.)

ANYWAY. 

Gray walls suck when you are prone to depression. Ask me how I know.

So as much as I really don't want to paint anything. (Gosh how I don't want to paint right now.) I think we might need to start doing something, if only for my mental health. Because it's like we're fleas on Eeyore's back here and, well, that's not super positive and cheerful. 

As you'd imagine.

Shoes, falling from the sky

Y'all.

First up, Easter dinner was fine. There was a whole thing in picking up the dinner box from Cracker Barrel, but they actually sent a very nice apology email with a gift card, so I won't belabor that other than to say that Saturday afternoon I was ready to jump off a very high cliff and call it a day.

Anyway.

We went back to the podiatrist yesterday for a follow up on youngest's custom orthotics. Because why shouldn't he be the one with the majority of the problems? Anyway, they help but they're not the magic bullet we were all hoping they'd be. Doctor looked, watched him walk, hmmed quietly, and loaded us up with referrals to pediatric orthopedist and physical therapy.

Yay.

Or something.

He (doctor) feels the problem is going to be in the ankle, knee, or hip joint. So it's a bigger issue than what he can help with.

Of course, when I made the appointment with the recommended orthopedic they said he's a foot and ankle guy and...I mean I guess he can also look at the whole leg or will talk to someone who can. It's a big practice, so surely I'm not hosing us? (Insert hysterical laughter here. You and I both know if there's a way for this to go wrong, I'm going to find it.)

Hubby is on his "we need to move" kick again. This time with a vengeance. Like maybe it'll actually happen. Of course no one knows where we need to move. We now have a list of options and he's supposed to look at the sorts of jobs available in said locations. But to say I am unenthused about this possibility is to understate the issue mightily. 

Dad will have to move with us. Dad, who lives in a massive home full of things. Things that need not be moved with us. In a perfect world, we'll find a home that has an on-property but separate (attached by a breezeway even better) in law cottage. Or we'll end up having to build something like that. Which is fine, I'm open to that. But it means moving takes on strains of "where do we want to retire" and...I've got nothing.

In all of this, I'm making plans to enroll eldest in an online homeschool academy for high school. It seems like the best choice right now. And so when I was getting things set up yesterday and claiming his account, etc. I set a password, got distracted by sixteen different things, and closed the password safe without saving it. So I had to call their tech support like a moron and explain what I did. Thankfully, they appear used to frazzled moms and just kindly reset it without laughing while I was on the phone. I'm sure I was someone's dinnertime story though.

I am woefully behind--to the tune of if I don't get on the ball soon I'll miss my deadlines behind--on my current book. It is not writing itself, which is frustrating. I'll live, but it's just one more annoyance, because it adds this level of "you should be writing" to every moment I take for myself to try and breathe out stress.

So. There we are. If you're the praying sort, prayers for sanity and peace are greatly appreciated. Because I don't know if I'm coming or going right now.