Off the Deep End

 A lot happening at the moment. 

Dragging elder kicking and screaming through the adult processes involved with onboarding for a grown up job. Unfortunately, there are errors in his documentation that need correction (and I can't believe all the crap we need to correct for this kid. You would think the universe would try to make things a little less complicated for him, but no.)

Fortunately, there are lots of eyes on him, and I have his back. We'll make it work. 

Younger asked someone to the prom. 

I have an offer on the table. 

I am also having a procedure tomorrow. 

And....strange things happen when discrete areas of my life converge. I built firewalls for a reason, and sometimes even they get breached. That's another (exhausting) mess to clean up. I couldn't stop the tears if I wanted to yesterday (yeah, that was pretty obvious from my last post).  Today is a new day, and I am embracing it by helping elder through all his things and taking care of my own stuff. 

Agency.  Sometimes I forget I have that. 

And it's easy to let the stumbling blocks become blockades. I am doing my level best to help elder navigate and keep his cool, but his frustration is palpable when things don't go as planned.  This stuff, the stuff that goes sideways, is the best possible teacher for many reasons, and I am doing my best to practice what I preach.

He's gotten through a ton of things so far, and I am proud of him But we do have a little ways to go yet.

Skidamarinky Dink, skidamarinky do..........

 So, this was a favorite song of younger's, back in preschool. I can hear his voice, see his smile, see him do the motions that go with it, and the memory is melting me into puddle of tears. Because he is so not THAT anymore.

I'm reading about other people's recovery journeys and wondering if I've done enough on mine to protect my boys.

My older guy is rubber. My younger guy has always been more fragile. 

I feel like the universe is forcing me to take a harder look at my younger guy, and I'm having a hard time with what I see.

Just overwhelmed with the thought that my best here was never good enough.

All The Paperwork

 A lighter workweek for elder means digging into the pile of paperwork he needs to complete for the new gig. 

He sat with me in my office and completed all his background checks yesterday.  This morning, we printed out all the paper he needs to fill out, forms, signatures, affadavits, it seems endless. But the important thing is, he's doing it, he's getting through it, and we are down to less than a handful of items.  He needs to set and fulfill a couple more appointments, and then he is ready.

We're hoping he gets to shadow ahead of the new assignment, so he can understand what is expected.

As I sit here and watch my birds quietly chat with one another as they wander around the office floor, I'm amazed at the things that happened in a short period of time. I know we still have a lot to do and have a lot of ground to cover, but at least we seem to be moving forward.

Feeling hopeful.  At the moment. 

Of Mixology and Gowns

 So a friend posted a picture of an extra prom gown on her page. As a mom of two boys and someone who has worn a gown less than a handful of times, why would I even give such a thing a thought, let alone a glance?  I have worn a gown exactly four times: twice to my high school proms, both times my sister's dresses; a bridesmaid gown for the same sister's wedding; and my own wedding gown--and that was almost three decades ago. 

There was also a lot more material to any of those dresses than this one--deep V in front and backless save some criss-cross straps. But....it was also my favorite shade of blue. And....I have a gala coming up. I have worn the same little black dress to the same gala for almost two decades. I bought that dress for $43 and change when Strawbridges was closing down, both boys crawling around the dressing room and making noise while I wrestled my way in and out of that and two other dresses.

So a gown....had possibilties. Also, it's a deep blue, my favorite color. Also? My size. I message the friend who offers to drop it by.  And it's waiting for me in its bag when we pull up after errands yesterday. And I don't lose a minute getting it upstairs and trying it on. Hubby follows, because these moments are few and far between and provide him with infinite amusement. When I finally figure out the straps and wrestle it on, it's clear he is not impressed.

"Go look in G's mirror and see what you think," he tells me diplomatically.

I do and am disappointed. In my head, I'm still the size 4-6 I was into my early 40s, even though my actual extant wardrobe tells me otherwise. I look like someone going 55 in a 20 zone.

Still, I think, and say as I go back to our bedroom to hubby (who was ready with a tissue box), "I can work with this," I tell his skeptical face, "A jacket, something, let me see what I can come up with."

I summon G, who is on his computer, "Wanna go thrifting?"

Is the pope Catholic?

We head over to a place nearby with a crap parking lot and wait a few minutes while someone with a Suburban tries to figure out where to park it.  When we finally settle the car, G goes his way, and I go mine.

First order of business is finding a pair of coup or martini glasses and a mixing glass or a shaker.  As an adult, I know embarrassingly little about mixing drinks, having spent most of my life hiding behind my wine and beer snobbery because that was easier to maintain from a social standpoint. Dart club is teaching me all sorts of new things, especially that everyone is a beginner at some point. I find the glassware and the mixing glass with a strainer and move to my next conquest--something to add dignity to the dress now hanging in my closet.

As always, I won't know what I'm looking for until I find it. Fortunately, I know the numbers I need to hit to fit my wingspan and work my way through the racks. I'm about to give up hope when I see a rack I hadn't seen before--all the formal and higher end wear.  I know I'm going to succeed or fail on this rack, so move through the contents slowly. Most of the items are dresses or suits, but I see a few things that might work.

The first is XSP--which I have never been, not even in my thin days.

The second is SP--a size I could have gotten away with maybe 10 years ago, depending on what it was.

And the last is a solid 12.  With the tags still on. It's a simple white lacework jacket with a modest scoop neckline and hook and eye closures in the front and three quarter sleeves with a little ruffle at the ends. 

I try it on and...it fits. I take a picture of it and send it to hubby. He cautiously approves, since the thing is over a tee-shirt, and he doesn't necessarily see how I can make it work with the gown.

I look for G, who miraculously appears at my elbow and asks if I'm ready to go. We settle and head home. 

Back at home, I race back upstairs, hubby trailing behind, skeptical.  I put the dress on, and add the new jacket.  And his jaw drops.

"That....is elegant," is his observation. And it's clear, this time, he approves.

So if I don't get hit by a bus in the meantime, that is what I'm wearing to the gala.

Probably the last time I will ever wear a gown. And I'll be wearing it at the right speed. :)

There Be Birds

 So now my little corner of the house is semi complete.

The study has been cleared out, but now we deal with the larger clutter issue.  I need to spend a day with elder to sort his room out, and then some similar time with younger.  And hubby and I need to do a divide and conquer on the rest of it. 

We picked up our rescued cockatiels on Sunday. I've already made an emergency trip to the vet because Paulie (the one they told me was 30--is actually closer in reality to 15, but anyway), who is missing half his tail and all of his flight feathers on his right side, looked like he broke a wing when he fell for the 100th time.  ("He falls. He's old," was what I was told. The reality is that someone deprived him of half his tail, so he can't balance OR fly.) When I couldn't get George in the carrier, I decided Paulie and I were going without him....except that the two of them started flock-screaming for each other, so I had to circle back and collect (a much more willing) George.

Long story short, the wing is fine, and I'll bring them both for a well visit next week. I'm glad they are close in age, because when one dies, the other won't be far behind him. I was stressing about George, but I think they will have a few good years with us.  Already they are pretty settled in, but neither of them are Nugget.  George is not hand-trained, and Paulie is downright feral--he goes after my feet if he's walking around on the floor. I don't handle him without covering up first. 

They don't need much.  They are happy to hang out on top of their cage, and when they are out, my door is closed--we decided as a family that they belong in my office. Because I am here all day, it's not a big deal, and they get a lot of time out of the cage to stretch their wings.  I have jazz on the radio, which they seem to like, and they have each other for company.  They tolerate me.  And I enjoy watching them. 

I will not have the same relationship with either of them that I had with Nugget, but I am okay with that. I just wanted to give these guys a good home.  I think it's a good fit all around. 

Good Eats

 I'd be remiss if I didn't include a few lines about my girls weekend with my sister from another mister. 

We get together as often as schedules allow; she's in Southern Maryland and I am a Pennsy gurl, so whenever one of us is traveling, we meet up for a meal, and failing that, we meet up at a quasi equi-distant point for adventures.

These adventures once included epic (read 7-10 mile) hikes and explorations. Always, they include great food. It's really simple; I do a little research and pick where we're eating, and more often than not, I do the ordering, too. Neither of us are ever disappointed.

One exception, and it wasn't really, but I'll get there in a sec--when we were out in western PA to see Fallingwater and Polymath Park (and also the Flight 92 memorial--that was a packed day), we were looking for some place "local" to eat.  After white knuckling the turnpike in sleet coming back from the memorial, I was ready for food....

EXCEPT.  We drove around Uniontown for a good 45 minutes, looking first for an Asian restaurant that was apparently no longer there (and perhaps never was, we will never know), and then for a dive bar that appeared to be in a dead end in a trailer park on Google. When we pulled into a random driveway with nothing remotely looking like a bar in sight, we knew we had to give up the whole idea of "local color."

By this time, we were both raw, annoyed, pissed off and starving. We ended up at the Texas Roadhouse near our hotel and folks, I am here to tell you that there is NOTHING as good as their Roadkill special with a margarita the size of my head. (She took the keys and drove us back to the hotel).

So this go-round, back in January I scanned options and alit on a townhouse suite.  OOOH.  Beds were upstairs with a balcony, and downstairs was a kitchenette and sitting area. 

Generally speaking, we just do a room. Because we don't spend much time in it. 

But....I saw possiblities. Cooking!  I do love to cook; I find it relaxing and it's right there now with darts, sudoku and crosswords in helping my backend processing. Boom.  Booked.

As it happens, the world ended, weatherwise, but we were prepared.  We're both iron chefs in the "we will make whatever we have work" tradition and turned out some stellar dishes with our glass two-burner stove top.  I cooked pad Thai on Friday night and sauteed some shrimp in sesame oil and garlic for spring rolls for Saturday lunch. While the wind howled and snow and sleet fell, we went to the indoor pool and hot tub and spent the afternoon paddling and going back and forth from pool to tub.

Back at the room, we showered, chilled (I took a nap), and K cooked a killer meal of mussels, shrimp and asparagus in butter and garlic over linguini.  OMG. 

Never one to let anything go to waste, I packed up the rest of the sauce to use over lobster ravioli this week. And it was heavenly.

Moral?  Nothing beats good food and good company.

Cleaning Out

 Damn, we did save everything. 

I'm attending to the backlog of stuff that needs to get seen to, one way or another. Happened upon a box of preschool art (among other things) for both boys.

Anything clearly not done by either kid got tossed out of hand.

And there was a pretty fair amount of that. I don't need to hang onto every scrap to remember what either kid has been through. Once upon a time, I couldn't even look at any of this stuff without bursting into tears. There are tears, though standing largely unshed. I just marched a bunch of stuff out. The triage will happen in fits and starts over the next few days as I need time to walk away from screens and try to get our analog lives in order. 

Dinner with friends reminded us both that we are largely unskilled at practical, house stuff, and maybe I need to clear out enough stuff so I can concentrate on learning the things so I can teach the boys.  There's a lot they don't know because we've been too harried/stressed/burned out to teach them ourselves. And I legit can't expect anyone else to do that kind of lift. 

I managed to clear through a bunch of nonpreferred activities this week, and now I'm triaging the next bunch, which includes getting the guy downstairs acclimated to the idea that he needs to be throwing as many irons into the fire as possible and have all the professional accoutrement at the ready for anything. Also means scaffolding for independence and all that it entails.

It also means not conflating my idea of happiness with his.

It also means not bending to his every whim because at some point, he needs to make his own way.

Thinking on some conversations during the week, I had someone do a little Monday morning quarterbacking with me that I've been chewing on. We all know what a disadvantage people with something extra are at: 75% of all people on the autism spectrum are either unemployed or underemployed.  The underemployed are "lucky" that some one has even given them a chance, and it's a good bet that they are paid lower salaries despite however more attentive to the thing they are than their neurotypical counterparts.

Often, there are more hoops to jump through; more disparities, more inequities, because the individual doesn't know any better, and people prey on that kind of ignorance, whether they realize it or not. 

When I look at my older guy and the World of Work, I see many things are much, much more complicated than when I was starting out, and while I have decades of experience, there are things that I am still learning this late in the game.  While I need to teach him to advocate for himself, I also need to educate him on the snares and tripwires that are hidden in a curriculum he was never taught--nor does he have the native knowledge.

Most people don't see this part--all the pregaming that needs to go into the most basic of things for people with differences. It's disheartening and exhausting, but it needs to be done. 

SO.  Be kind. To everyone. You have no idea what people are recovering from. 

....And yet........

 I should be taking a moment right about now. 

• Elder got the (switched out) job
• Younger got his learner's permit
• I pick up my birds (!!) Sunday
• I was accepted into the Rookie program of our local Dragon Boat team

There's a fifth thing that I'm keeping shtum on until it happens; this way, if it doesn't, no harm, no foul.

Hubby set up the dart board in my office, and I cleared it out over the last few days to make way for my feathered friends.  The cleared up space is doing me a hecking delight for my mental state, but now to the business of going through the stuff, which will happen over the next week or so.  Keeping busy will keep the demons at bay, and there is still a lot to do; these things I am grateful for. 

Also am grateful for the sunlight and the birds outside. 

Meanwhile, elder is downstairs in the dark mancave.  I am leaving him to that for right now, since we have a little time to get his paperwork together. 

I think I'd be wise to celebrate these small wins; bad stuff happens whether or not you celebrate the good stuff. And I have plenty of experience with both things.

So yeah. Enjoying the sun, the birds, and warm breezes. Grateful for all the good things. 

On Pause

 A few updates:

So the application for one job became a recommendation for another. While I am not surprised, we're doing a little re-framing and looking to make lemonade from lemons. Since we do this anyway, it's not much of a stretch.

My to do list is a little overwhelming, some grant stuff, some work stuff, some younger stuff, but I will do the best I can with all of it (as per usual). I threw my best darts ever a couple minutes ago--two triple 20s and a triple 18.  The 180 might not be out of my reach, after all. 

I need to do that when I have an audience. I will let you know how that works out for me. 

In addition to the bird applications (I need to clean my room---literally), I floated a request to join a dragon boat squad. I'm not optimistic about my chances, but I'd figured float it and see where it takes me. 

Need to follow up on elder's medical stuff. That will take a number for now. Lots of other things to chase with both kids. Clearing the decks for change. Of course the world could end in the meantime, but at least I have distraction from keeping me from going fetal under my desk and staying there. 

I have good peeps in my life. That's a good place to end this entry. 

Juggling

 So there are a few balls in the air at the moment.  Besides waiting on tenterhooks for the job outcome, I'm awaiting my own offer (which, it occurs to me, I am creating transferrable skills to both kids with my shenanigans), finishing out the last obligations to the grant, helping younger guy navigate his next steps (TBD, even though there's a rough road map), and oh yeah, I'm looking to adopt a pair of cockatiels.

I'm now well into year 2 of Life Without Nugget and decided that I'm safely beyond rebound territory. We tried the provisional quadruped, and younger found that overwhelming to the point where he doesn't go say hi to dogs anymore. He looks, says awww, but doesn't stalk them, which I guess is a good thing. 

I hopped on my local rescue sites and found two gentlemen that may have my name on them. I applied, and now I wait. 

Today I have earmarked time to help elder do some follow up work and get younger to do his learner's permit. I'm also doing some of my own tying up of loose ends.  Hubby is clearing out the study for our next chapter of things. I kind of feel like we are staging for a lot of change.  We've been here before, and sometimes the change is sudden. 

More often, it's slow and imperceptible.  The clearing out exposes what would otherwise be hidden. 

UPDATED TO ADD: Application for job and birds still in play. Yay. We have left nothing on the table. 

Visualization

 I'm of a couple minds on the whole "manifestation" concept.

There is a proponent who think if you dream it, you can be it. You are what you think, if you will. Then you have people like me who catastrophize every damn thing because that's the only way we know to ward off imminent disaster.  I calculate dozens of possible outcomes, and 99% of the time, those calculations come to naught.

I may be conflating things again. I've spent a lifetime picturing things, moments, outcomes--I've forgotten the substance of a vast majority of them, honestly.  But I'm writing because I have a picture in my head--one that could either manifest, or not.

The picture:  elder, in shirtsleeves, maybe a tie, maybe not, slacks, shoes, and a lanyard. Smiling.

This picture rose up in my  mind while I waited outside in the car for him to interview. There's a part of me that thinks I have lost my mind for entertaining such a thing.  And there's another part that is LIVID that this is even a question--why does he not have as much right to do the thing as any other person?

Because of the fucking label, that's why.  It's not like he CAN'T. It's more like people see his difference and can't see past it.

It's more about prejudice.

This is the acid test;  whatever way this goes will tell me exactly what we need to do and where we need to go next.

One mom asked me rather snidely a few years ago whether we were trying to "pass for normal." I was caught up short, but said, "No, we are not." I must have had some look on my face, because she then tried to walk it back.

The reality is this:  he has two jobs he's had for 5 years.  He doesn't need support so much as just knowing who to go to when things go sideways (and really, don't we all, if we're honest?). To coin a phrase, "he can do things."

So for God's sake, let him. 

Stepping Into His Future

 So remember when I wrote about the battle royale waged over filling out an online job application?

Recall Monday evening last when I denied Our Hero adventures because he didn't do the thing I asked him to do. He did it. Kicking and screaming the whole damn time, but he did it. 

Imagine my surprise when the place he applied to called the house this afternoon--the landline, the remnant of times past that has been overtaken by scam calls and extended warranty offers. I picked up, and elder was requested. He scowled at me when I handed him the phone, but he smiled when he started talking. He's smart enough to know that the expression translates to the unseen person on the other end. 

The bigger surprise is that they want to see him tomorrow. And he's going, has his clothes picked out, and he and I are going to drill on the interview basics again. It's been a while, and he might be a little rusty. 

And of course this whole thing wouldn't be complete without me putting a carrot in place to guarantee success. Nothing is guaranteed, but I give him a fair shot. 

If this works out, it could be a game changer. 

Ash Wednesday

 I'm grateful some things aren't a fight.

I'm an old school (recovering) Catholic; I don't buy everything the church is selling, but I like Pope Francis and a lot of the rites and rituals are muscle memory. And it's funny how quickly we revert to that when the world is falling apart (whatever THAT is or looks like to a person).

Catholic school was not going to ever be a thing for my kids; too much extra. Where elder had to learn a lot of it by osmosis, G did the whole 9 yards of PREP.  To me, it was a huge accomplishment to get both kids all their sacraments.  It's one of the things that falls by the wayside if you have something extra, but our church and parish community made a lot of things possible for us.

That didn't last forever. 

Fortunately, I didn't need it to. 

So when I reminded both kids that we needed to be up early to go to mass (the only mass to accommodate ALL of our schedules was at 6:30 am) and that we are doing fish today and every Friday until late April, I didn't hear a peep of complaint. 

(My kids are very vocal on all points of dissent. I am just saying.)

The fact that they are both very matter of fact about Lent and all the obligations and rituals around it make me think I did something right. Right now, everything is hard.  

But this isn't.

Blessings.

Distant Boom

 I'd be remiss if I didn't give a little air time to this.....

So.  As a young person of the 1980s (generation of imminent nuclear war), I spent some time worrying about whether or not I'd see adulthood.  Global warming wasn't a thing yet, but Al Gore would be talking about that in a few years yet. A lot of that was buried until last week. Now with Putin storming Ukraine, he is all about putting his nukes on high alert.

Which woke up all kinds of sleeping fears.

About noon yesterday, under a clear blue sky, I heard a distant boom. I stopped still.  Elder yelled from the man cave, "Did you hear that? Was that thunder?"

I looked up at the cloudless sky. "Yes.  And......no."

I waited. I heard it again. 

And all I could think was "Shitfuck."

Elder came in and saw my face. "What's wrong?"

I hugged him. And then I showed him the latest headlines in the newspaper. 

He sat down and read it. I ran upstairs to bring my work computer down.  He hugged me. And we waited. 

And....nothing. The radio continued its usual broadcast. My phone didn't go off.

"I remembered where I heard that before," Elder said. "That's what it sounds like when you are emptying a dumpster."

I sighed. He went back to the man cave.  And I listened to the latest reports on climate change.

My kids have a two-fer.

I stayed downstairs. And prayed.

Breaking the seal

 How much of life's difficulties is tied to taking the first step?

Any of us with initiating issues could write a book on the subject. But of course that would involve starting with (and staring at) a blank page for a few hours.  And then doing something to avoid it, like getting snacks, binge-watching something or cleaning out the sink and drying rack or something equally less daunting.

Anyway, the bete noire facing elder was (note past tense here) filling out an application for his first full time job.  He doesn't get the whole idea that applying for a job doesn't mean he will get it (especially since he is 4 for 4 in the job derby and has been with two of them for 5 years each--the other two were finite, paid internships.) So yeah, the real world has not yet come calling for him. 

Boredom ensues. I give him a very short to do list yesterday at noon and told his we would go for an adventure when they were done. One of those things was filling out an online job application.  I reminded him pretty much every hour on the hour that he needed to get that done.  He "yeah, mom"med me from the man cave, and I went about my business.

Getting to the end of the work day, made a couple calls, had a laugh with my partner in crime, and got dinner going.  Took younger to his rehearsal. Finished up dinner, and sat down with elder to eat.  He cleared his spot (just as dad was coming home) and announced we were going now to do the thing. 

"No, we aren't," I replied. "Not until you fill out that application. The one I have been asking you to fill out this entire month, and the one I tasked you to do 8 hours ago. If you did it, we'd be out the door by now."

He roared with frustration and went to retrieve his laptop while dad got himself a plate and joined us at the dining room table. He sat and did the thing, and was annoyed that he also needed to update his resume (something else I've been nagging at him to do for at least a month) and write a cover letter.  It was too late for adventures by the time he was done, but at least he knows I'm serious about making sure he does the thing. 

And I told him it's normal to be anxious about that "what's next?"  This is one place in my history that he and I are almost on exactly the same page. Between undergrad and grad school, I did my own stumbling around. I don't even remember how I hit on where I ended up going for grad school; as far as I remember, I applied for one place and got in and got a TA.

Anyway.  Maybe this is the stumbling around he needs to do to figure out what next. Breaking the seal, getting started, all these things get easier the more you do it. And as you get older and more experienced, getting things right the first time is less important than getting started.

So let's get started.