Because Why Not?

Thursday, youngest and I met up with his debate team (the 9th grade, i.e. Challenge 1, for Classical Conversations does debate - believe me, that is the only reason debate is a thing for us) at the little library near us. They needed to go over their cards and such and one mom is very much a Tiger Mom (though not Asian - so maybe one can't be a TM if not? I have no idea and don't care to research it.) so set up the meeting even though the kids are all "Meh. We're set."

Anyway, it's always nice to get out and about and said library is in a park so, when work was finished, the kids decided to do the trail (it was meant to be all of us, but one mom had a pulled muscle, so the other two of us decided it was nicer to hang back with her than to leave her alone.) 

When they returned, youngest held out his pinky finger to show where he had been stung by something. The stinger had been removed by one of the other kids (very nice of her) and it looked red and a little swollen but nothing to be overly concerned with. So we went home, I had him take an allergy pill and put ice on it.

All seemed well.

Until we got to co-op day on Friday and I look at his pinky and ring finger and half his hand are now ballooning up. I hied myself off to CVS to procure allergy meds (as I'd meant to, but forgot, give him one before we left home) and cortisone cream. Returned. Applied.

Not quite an hour later, the swelling was worse and it was somewhat streakily red. 

So yeah. We left co-op and went to urgent care, and we left some hours later with steroids and antibiotics and instructions for hot soaks/compresses not ice (because apparently for stings you want hot so that you get more blood to the site - I just think swelling equals ice, which is why I did that. But the more you know.)

This morning, 8 steroids and 2 antibiotics in, I'm not seeing a huge improvement. Maybe a little? I took pictures but they are not as useful for comparison as I hoped. And I couldn't get anything to mark on the boy's skin, so my attempts to outline the swelling/redness were useless. (I could have used sharpie, but I didn't really want to resort to that. I've never had trouble drawing with a ballpoint on my own skin, so I am unsure why he's ink-proof, but there we have it.)

We're supposed to go back for them to take a look this afternoon and...I just don't want to. I know I should. We more than likely will. But ugh.

Regardless, it was another delightful day in our string of ridiculous days of late (and the day got off to a wonderful start of some number of the three dogs having vomited/liquid poo'd during the night. Such a delightful way to being a morning.)

I'd say I'm ready for a vacation, except I really don't want to take this show on the road.

The Hits Just Keep On Coming

I mentioned t'other day that hubby hit a deer and gave the whole run down on the car situation here at the Sleepy abode.

Hubs spent a good hour on Saturday getting the deer hair (gak) out of the various crevices on the front bumper and grille and then popping the dent out (I will admit to being rather surprised at how well he was able to do with said dent with just a rubber mallet and some 2x4s.)

Then yesterday, for no discernable reason, he decides to drive the Chrysler to work. He couldn't explain why, but he just felt like taking it. And I mean, I don't care one way or t'other as long as I have some way to get to the varied appointments that we need to get to.

He got sideswiped (hit & run as a bonus) on I95 on the way to work.

He's fine, which is fantastic. But I can only give thanks to God that it was that car not the van and that he was able to get the license plate of the lady who smacked him.

On the not so grateful side, this will one hundred percent total that car, because the reality is, that car probably has negative value at this point (given that parts aren't available when things break.) So the insurance company came and collected it today to do an estimate but the woman on the phone was like, "So...I would probably go ahead and clean it out and take off the license plates before we get there." Cause yeah.

But I am definitely glad he's all right.

I'm also really okay if we can stop having car issues now.

Tidbits from Life

In no particular order:

Eldest is on his way home for fall break. He'll be here through Sunday and hubs and I have a little bet on regarding the number of hours we might actually get to see him. I don't think it'll be all that high given that the majority of his friends are still a year behind him and those his same age are also headed home for fall break.

But that's as it should be.

--

Youngest's next required book is Billy Bud by Melville. I am officially too old to care what it says about me that I've never read anything by Melville and having slogged through four chapters with the boy thus far, I am scratching my head that anyone - ANYONE - would ever think he was readable.

I like me some classics. I like the long sentences and big words and random wanderings around with neat turn of phrase.

Melville has none of this. Honestly, so far, it feels like some kind of drug-induced rambling.

For example, chapter 2 (was it 3? I think it was 2) is about 4 pages (small type, old size paperback) and the TL;DR of the matter? Billy was a perfect physical specimen except he stuttered when nervous.

Chapter 3 was letting us know that gunpowder changed how people fought.

Chapter 4 was basically letting us know that Melville liked Admiral Nelson.

That's the first 20ish pages of the book, by the by. I'll save you some torment.

Do we care about any of this? I can tell you two people who don't. 

It's a shortish book, but it's going to be a loooong slog.

--

Hubs hit a deer on the way to work this morning. In my van. Because the van is the only car we currently possess that is good for longer distances. He said he was basically able to stop but not quite and the deer ran off, so I am guessing that the car is fine. I'm a little disappointed (because it's 14 years old and I wouldn't mind changing it up) but I am also relieved (because we just poured about 7K into the thing under the plan that it would get us through the last of the high school years. Just four more years to go.) It's a Toyota, so there shouldn't be any reason it doesn't make it. And now I shall knock on various wooden items.

Why is hubby's car not long distance driveable? Because we gave eldest the Prius to take to school (the prior commuting car) and Dad gave us his 2002 Chrysler that still has under 100K on it (or it's probably a little over now, but when he gave it to us, it was very low mileage.) But, being a 2002, they no longer make parts for it. So the time before last when it was in, our mechanic was able to find one to part out for us to solve some leak problems. This time though? They could work no magic. They offered to custom machine some parts for us, but we're hesitant to spend that kind of cash on a 24 year old car. Because every time it goes in, there's something new leaking or broken. So for now, I drive it around town as needed if hubby is in the office and it hasn't given me any issues. 

It works well enough.

--

It's awfully warm out today, so youngest and I thought to swim. But alas, as they've still not hooked up the heat pump to the pool, it is not warm enough to have naturally heated the water. We both made it about waist deep for five minutes before declaring that neither of us were going to be joining the polar bear club anytime soon. (Or doing cold plunges. Nope.) Of course, the one warm day is short-lived and we're back to cool and fall this weekend. 

Octo-brrr

Most of the time here around the DeeCee area, September and October come around with no respite from the summer temperatures and humidity. (Sometimes there'll be a week here or there where things get lovely and fall-ish, but then you're right back into the heat, albeit with slightly less humidity.)

This year?

The solstice came and suddenly we're having an autumn like they do in New England. Crisp, cool days and cooler (I can't quite call it cold) nights.

Which follows, in my mind, because here at the Sleepy home, we live in Murphy-land.

Why do I say this?

Oh, because our pool is finally finished.

Right when it's legitimately too cool to want to swim. (Arguably, there may yet be time to swim. One, they haven't hooked up the heat pump yet - so when we can artificially heat the water, we can probably make it work. And two, I'm not ruling out whatever we're supposed to call indian summer these days. (Because I'm sure there's a more politically correct term than that. I just don't know what it is.))

So yeah.

Instead of glorious days of swimming and avoiding the heat, I am instead spending my life skimming the metric-ton of leaves that are falling into the pool that is absolutely a white elephant if one goes by the original definition thereof.

I know summer will come around again. And the pool cover is meant to get installed this week as well, which will help with the incessant need to skim. But right now, it's just a lot of grr.

So. Where were we?

A list of random inevitably feels like a cop out. Which is ridiculous as I do realize that 1) I don't owe anyone anything here and 2) there are like four of you who actually come read here. And 3) See 1.

And so, despite the fact that I feel like I ought to do better, we're going with general randomness in paragraph, not bullet list, form.

Eldest seems to be continuing to do well at college. I say "seems to be" because in true boy-child form, he is...less than communicative. He texts occasionally when he needs me to send him something via Amazon. Or money. Generically speaking, I'm embracing this as him doing exactly as he should be doing and learning to thrive. Are my feelings somewhat hurt that he can't be arsed to send me the photo of his dorm room I asked for or a picture of him and his friends on their weekend jaunt to freaking Ohio (because what could be more college than randomly road tripping to Ohio for the weekend?) But whatever. I want him to fly and he seems to be doing so. I just hadn't expected that he'd forget we existed quite so quickly. 

Youngest is, slowly, adjusting to his brother being gone. There are still moments when he breaks down saying he misses his brother. I occasionally consider asking if he'd like me to be mean to him so he remembers what it's like when his brother is around. So far, I've managed to not do that - I realize it's not the correct response - but it's a strong temptation. There is considerably more peace in the house with the eldest gone and on one hand, the peace is nice, and on the other, I am frustrated and sad that my kids are not friends. I pray that eventually they at least move closer to appreciative enjoyment of one another when in the same orbit.

It is what it is.

The new school choice for youngest is going...well-ish. It's a lot more work than we had been doing - ever. So I'm gradually figuring out where to scale things and where to push. (Would I love him to annotate and summarize the US Constitution in writing? Absolutely. Am I content that we have a conversation about the major points and that he pipes up with comments that are relevant when he overhears a snippet of the Law & Order re-runs that have become part of my evening Netflix viewing? Yes. I am.)

We're meant to be learning Latin as part of it. So far, that has been the final subject of every school day and, as such, as been getting skipped because we're both just over it all. Will we get to it? Eh. I'm unsure. It's another of those "I'd love for him to learn it, but I'm not going to stress out about it either." In the overall scheme of things, I don't think he's college bound and I'm not sure how important it is for a mechanic or builder (his two current aspirations) to know Latin. (Of course if he suddenly decides he really wants to do it, we absolutely will. I always chase the subjects that intrigue him.)

Dad's house has yet to sell. The market is stupid and there's so much new construction that many would rather pay the same amount for a smaller house on a smaller lot that's brand new. Which I kind of get - we bought new when we first moved to the area (granted, that was in 2000 so it's been a minute) and there is something lovely about having new construction. On the other hand, our current home is not new and there's something lovely about having a house where a lot of the new construction kinks are already worked out. (Did I know about new construction kinks when we bought new? No. No I did not. I think that's probably the case for many new construction buyers. Ah well. Live and learn.) There is maybe an offer right now (it's a bizarre circumstance - they made a ridiculous lowball that our relator was actually embarrassed to tell us about - he prefaced it saying that he'd already replied with comps etc to let them know they were dreaming. Dad countered with his two price points that he'll accept (one with standard conditions is higher, one a bit lower that's as is. Neither anywhere near what was offered.) But then our relator came back asking for any receipts we had for the roof, A/C etc (to show when they were new) so we think maybe they're considering the "as is" price. None of us would be sad to just have the thing sold. (That said, none of us are willing to take a ridiculous offer just to be done. We've been kicking around the idea of making it a rental if it doesn't sell before much longer, but we also don't really want to be landlords, even with a management company doing the heavy lifting.)

And that's life in a nutshell. And it likely explains the large gap between posts. Because it's not scintillating. It's just...life.

Fly, little birdie. Fly.

And just like that, eldest is off to Liberty University to continue his pursuit of higher education with an aim toward some sort of pastoral ministry or missions (or, tertiary consideration and the subject of his second major, psychology in some manner or other.) The trip down was...fraught. But it all worked out in the end.

The plan was to leave on Tuesday, around 1 or so, so that we could get to the hotel and settle a bit before heading to supper and just making it an easy evening. Now, I had been gently suggesting (with varying interpretations of the word "gently") that he begin packing for roughly 80 million days only to be told that he had it under control and it wasn't going to be an issue. Despite, of course, nothing having actually been packed.

But whatever. He's an adult. College is for him to figure out. It's time for me to step back and breathe.

Monday night, he asks if his friends can come over. I casually remind him that we want to leave at 1 and he's yet to pack and his response is that he's going to do it in the morning. When I asked when he usually got up and moving, his response was that he was setting an alarm and getting up early. So okay. Sure. I trust you.

(Narrator: I did not trust him. I knew it was going to end badly. But it allowed me to begin resetting my own expectations a little early. So win?)

Friends, that boy did not get up until noon. 

We did not leave at 1. Or 2. Or even 3.

No, it was fully 4 o'clock when we finally pulled out of the garage to embark on the three and a half hour drive.

You can then imagine that we did not have a laid back and relaxing evening, as we all arrived in Lynchburg teetering on the edge of hangry and generally annoyed.

That hangry incited a meltdown by his college-ness about how this was stupid and he didn't even want to do this and he wasn't going to make friends and it was awful and...panic. It was change-induced panic.

Food helped. So did sleep. But the next morning, move-in day, he was still not completely embracing the grand adventure of it all and I was metaphorically biting my nails about the whole experience while trying to be outwardly jovial and encouraging (not my normal go-tos, as you can imagine.)

Thankfully - and seriously, it could only be God - as the day progressed, we had more and more interactions that confirmed for all of us that this was exactly where he was meant to be. And after a time of prayer on the lawn (put on by the college and really just a fabulous experience), we left him to finish setting up his room and settle in and returned to the hotel with a hysterical younger brother who just had it hit home that his brother was not coming with us.

In the morning on Thursday, I texted that we were up and would like to hang out for a few minutes before we headed home and how was he doing? And he texted back that he'd made like ten new friends, they already had a group chat going and lots of plans for the day but that if we could bring him some hangars, he'd meet us in between all the fun he had planned to say goodbye.

Which is exactly as it should be.

I haven't cried. I'm not sure I will. It is oddly quiet and the house feels just a little...off now. But the new normal will settle in and we'll go down for parent's weekend in September and he'll be home for fall break in October. So it's really not all that bad. And I am grateful to see him flapping his wings and praying that he will catch an air current and soar into all that God has for his future.

The Call of the Wild

This year for schooling of youngest, we've decided to give Classical Conversations a try (have I mentioned this? I can't recall and I'm too lazy to look.) I have numerous reservations about this, but he's a little extrovert in a family of introverts so I really just want him to have more peers in his life (which is not to say he doesn't already - because he does - but more is always better, according to him.)

We recently received the book list for what he'll need to read for English, along with indications as to whether or not it's an essay book or just discussion, with the encouragement to read the discussion books during the summer so as to get ahead because the reading pace is fast. (This is a massive understatement. And it's definitely one of my reservations. Youngest is not the world's best or fastest reader by any stretch. He's improving every day, but he hates it and I still think there are ocular issues be it with focus or motor skills or both, but nothing we do seems to help so yeah. Good times.) (Point being, it's a concern.)

The first two books are The Sign of the Beaver - an essay book, so he's reading that a chapter a day, because the essay is part of week one?! And then week two is a discussion of The Call of the Wild. So I got the audiobook for that from the library and we're listening to it together.

I have never read TCOTW. I have never, to my knowledge, read anything by Jack London. And I wish, most heartily, that this state was not changing. Because OH. MY. FREAKING. WORD. 

This book is horrible.

Not the writing. That's fine. But the story. Whyyyyy do people insist on making children read books wherein dogs are mistreated and killed? What is the possible redeeming value of this???

I am STILL traumatized by Where the Red Fern Grows and that was read to me in elementary school which was eleventy billion years ago. When I started homeschooling, I very vocally asserted that I would NOT make my kids read that book, or any that has passed on lingering trauma to me even to this day.

And yet here we are, reading about a whole team of sled dogs (who are not actually sled dogs - just dogs that were bought or stolen and conscripted) being beaten with straps and clubs, starved, overworked, encouraged to fight one another, abandoned on the frozen track, and then forced to cross thin ice wherein they fall into said frozen water when the ice breaks underneath them.

What, I ask you, is my tenderhearted boy supposed to learn from this? What am I supposed to learn from this? And how am I supposed to respond when he looks at me with tears streaming down his cheeks and begs me not to make him read the rest of it.

Because I'm with him one hundred percent. I don't want to listen to any more either. I just don't. It's horrifying. And there is no possible ending that's going to make the journey okay. There just isn't. (I guess maybe if Buck breaks free of his harness and goes on a brutal mauling spree, leaving every human who he encounters bleeding out slowly and painfully on the frozen tundra it might--might--be acceptable. But even then I don't think I'd be satisfied.

We're up to chapter 7 of the 9 (66%) per my Libby app and I'm not sure we're going to make it through those last three chapters. (I mean, we will, because we have to. But OMG. It's horrifying.) All I am learning, honestly, is that I'm grateful London died at 40 before he could inflict more of this hideousness on the unsuspecting youth of our world and that maybe miserable alcoholics shouldn't be allowed to get published.