Ch-ch-ch-changes

Some big changes around here recently, as if we needed more of those! But that's life, right? Stuff keeps changing.

Let's start with the least problematic change. My niece Risa came to visit us September 13-15, and helped me do some cleaning, sorting, and furniture moving. The biggest thing we did was get rid of our old couch, which had been in Rocket Boy's family for at least 40 years, probably more, and whose springs were gone, and whose upholstery was disintegrating. I had been trying to get RB to get rid of it since we got married back in 2002. He had recently agreed to let it go, but we hadn't managed to do anything about it on his last visit and I knew it would be emotionally hard for him to take it to the dump. So Risa and I (with a little help from the twins) carried it outside and left it at the bottom of the driveway, where it stayed until Friday the 20th, when the garbage truck came and took it away (I had scheduled the pick-up). I figured the fact that no one lifted it for the five days that it sat out there is proof that no one would have wanted it if we'd posted it on craigslist, etc. I saw a few people stop, get out of their vehicle, and look at it, but they always drove away quickly. And with good reason -- it was junk. But still, hard to let go. Now we just have a bunch of cat-protected chairs where the couch was. The next time Rocket Boy visits, maybe we'll go couch-hunting or maybe we won't. No worries.

The next big change happened two days after Risa left, and I'm still processing this one. I quit my job. Yep, I did it. I'd been thinking about quitting for months and months -- almost since the job began. I wanted to quit last fall, and also last winter and also this summer. But each time I managed to pull myself together and not quit, mainly because we needed the money and the health insurance. I've experienced a lot of anxiety and misery related to this job and I guess I hit the breaking point on Tuesday, September 17th. Monday had been an extremely stressful day, following the previous Friday, which had also been bad. The tasks I'd been given that were worrying me were increasing in number, and my boss had informed us she was too busy to help with anything this semester. (But not too busy to continue doling out assignments and criticism.) I had decided to work at home on Tuesday, to avoid the high stress of the office, and when I looked at my email and saw a cluster of messages about something I'd done wrong, I just snapped.

We won't die: the kids and I are transitioning over to Rocket Boy's health insurance as of October 1st, and we still have his salary to live on. Fortunately, I hadn't made any major changes to our lifestyle -- there's no house cleaner I'll need to fire, no services I'll have to cancel. But we'll have to stop fixing things, and I won't be able to save as much money. I'll save as much as I can, but it will be less.

I'm trying to think about what to do next. Obviously I need another job, but what on earth could it be? Mainly, I want to retire. But 59 is too young, especially when you have 11-year-old twins. However, 59 is very old when you're job-hunting, and then there's my enormous weight, and the fact that I walked out of this job in the middle of a project, presumably alienating everyone who might have served as a reference. (I SO wish I had just quit on August 31st, as I had been planning to, instead of letting people convince me not to. It would have been a cleaner break.) On the plus side, I updated my resume this morning and it looks pretty good. Not necessarily the kind of resume anyone would want to see right now, but it makes me look like a competent person -- which is not how I feel.

I periodically think of something I'm not going to have to do now and I feel a weight lift off my chest. But I wouldn't say I'm happy. And I've still got all the single parent woes, and the depression, and the what are we going to have for dinner misery. So life is challenging. I have a to-do list each day and I try to work along and check things off. Yesterday I mended five pairs of Kid B's shorts. Of course, he's almost outgrown them, but they'll work for a little while longer.

And now the third big recent change. Our next door neighbor Eugene -- our tenant, along with his wife and kids -- is on hospice. This photo shows the view through our front door last Sunday afternoon.

Eugene, who is 86, had been behaving oddly a few days before this. In fact, it was the day before I quit my job, and may have contributed to my own anxiety. He came to our door that Monday morning, very upset, and asked how he could reach Rocket Boy. I explained that I can't reach RB during the day -- he can't bring his cell phone into his workplace and he doesn't have a secretary, etc. Eugene acted like he didn't believe me, but he left. Later, RB called me at work and said he'd gone to his car to check his phone on a break and found four voicemails from Eugene, all about how someone was trying to kill him and he needed RB's help. RB was very upset and didn't know what to do. After I got home from work I went over to their house and asked Aspen what was going on. She sighed and said they'd watched a scary movie the night before and apparently it had gotten wrapped into Eugene's dreams and when he woke he couldn't distinguish between the dream and reality. Later I saw a police car outside the house, and still later Eugene called me and apologized for his behavior, explaining that the police had very kindly managed to reassure him that he was not in danger. Throughout the evening, Rocket Boy kept calling me and calling me, trying to find out what was going on.

So then I quit my job and that absorbed me for several days, but on Sunday there were suddenly all those emergency vehicles. Eventually I saw Eugene going out to the ambulance in a chair and they drove away with him. I thought about going over to ask what was wrong, but I felt as though I would be intruding. Finally, last night Aspen came over and told me Eugene was on hospice, at the Longmont facility. He'd been going downhill for a few weeks, and apparently the delusion that his life was in danger was part of that. (Except, from this perspective, was it really a delusion?) Aspen looked sad and stressed. On top of everything else she now has to worry about money, because she's been his caregiver and those payments will be ending. I told her we hoped they would stay in the house and we'd figure something out.

So now we wait. Rocket Boy wondered if he should fly home this weekend, but Aspen said Eugene might live a month (or, of course, die tomorrow). They don't really know. RB has known Eugene a long time -- at least 30 years, maybe 40. I know Eugene wanted to live to see all his kids graduate from high school. The youngest is only in 7th grade.

I was wandering around in a daze last night, unable to concentrate on anything. Kid B said to me, "Mom, do you LIKE Eugene?" And I thought for a moment about all he has to learn in life, such as how whether you "like" someone becomes rather beside the point when they go on hospice.

Postscript: Eugene died this afternoon. So it's over.

Back to school again

I just realized it's been more than three weeks since I last wrote a post. I guess we've been busy. After our vacation, we had just a few days until middle school began, and that was a very exciting time. I remember how huge the transition to junior high school was, back in the day. I remember sitting around with my friends, talking and talking and talking, and every so often someone would scream, "gym suits!" or "lockers!" and we would all scream too. After seven years of elementary school, it was such a huge change.

The boys only went to elementary school for six years, since middle school begins in 6th grade and they didn't go to preschool. But still, such a long time of walking down our street to and from school. Kid A asserted his independence early, and would zoom off on his bike by himself. But Kid B liked having one of us walk him to school and he also liked being picked up at the end of the day, so we kept doing that through the end of 5th grade. Often we would just walk quietly, but sometimes he liked to talk, and it was nice to be there when that happened.

Now it's all different, though they still walk down our street to get to school. But now they turn off at the creek path and walk to their bus stop on Martin Drive -- and I am not allowed to accompany them. I went with them on the first day of school, and a few other days early on, but after that they laid down the law. Other kids wait at the bus stop too, and nobody's parents are there. Way too embarrassing. So I stay home. I am not allowed to meet their bus in the late afternoon, either. It's nice, not having to interrupt what I'm doing, but I'm also getting less exercise. It's kind of like when they got too big for their stroller. Pushing the stroller I could go anywhere, long lovely walks. But once they were out and running around, I stopped walking nearly so much.

Adjusting to middle school is full of challenges. For instance, that bus! For the first two weeks the bus was late every day -- scheduled to leave their stop at 8:21, it wasn't getting there until 8:30 or later, and the kids would get to school (which starts at 8:40) after the bell rang. A couple of times they were marked absent in their 1st period class. I called the Transportation department repeatedly and eventually they got the problem fixed. But now the bus comes early! On Friday the kids actually missed the bus, even though I'm sure they were there before 8:15 (its new departure time), and they had to run home and have me drive them. So now we've decided they'll leave to walk to the bus at 8, which should solve the problem.

Another middle school issue involves Kid B's hair, which he's worn long for a few years. In P.E. class he was told he'd have to tie it back, so we experimented with scrunchies, but he had a hard time doing it himself. Each day another kid would have to help him, and he didn't like that. "I want to get my hair cut," he told me. I was shocked, but hey, maybe he was ready for a change. So I took him to my stylist, who's cut his hair before, and she did a quick and dirty layered cut that had kind of a long feel but was much shorter than it had been (see photo). He went back to P.E. class the next day -- and was told to tie it back! This is when I freaked out and started writing emails. A few days later, after involving the counselor, the assistant principal, and the gym teacher, I learned that the real issue was hair getting in his eyes, which the gym teacher feels is a safety issue. My stylist had cut his bangs a little too long. So I took out my sewing scissors and hacked away at it, and now he's "legal" for P.E. It looks pretty bad, though. We need to go back for a repair trim. But he doesn't seem terribly concerned about it. I guess middle school boys don't care that much about their looks -- or maybe not yet?

We've also been having cat problems -- sweet Chester has a bladder infection, a drug-resistant bug that requires treatment with Clindamycin (the other choices have worse side effects). I paid an enormous amount of money to have the drug formulated into soft chicken-flavored chews, and the medicine took a long time to arrive, but Chester likes it, so maybe he'll get better. Silly Fluff, thinks he's getting special treats twice a day. Pie Bear soldiers on, despite his oral tumor -- which can't feel good, but he doesn't complain. He likes to spend a lot of time outdoors, mostly observing the world from the soft chair on our front porch. He's also my alarm clock -- sleeps on Rocket Boy's empty side of the bed and begins walking on me and purring a few minutes before my real alarm goes off. This is helpful on weekdays and very very sad on Saturdays and Sundays, when there is no real alarm.

Rocket Boy came for another visit over Labor Day (see photo up above -- everyone in a warm-toned shirt except the unseen Mom, who was wearing blue and white stripes). It wasn't one of our better visits. He flew in late Saturday afternoon, after I had spent six hours cleaning the house. But he's forgotten what our house looks like. Sometimes I wonder if he's remembering when his mother was alive and it was spotless. I don't know. Anyway, when he walked in the door he started talking about the mess. And all weekend he kept going on and on about it. He seemed to be in a critical mood just in general -- in the McGuckin's parking lot he yelled at me for being too timid, and later for not parking in the space he thought was best. On the plus side, he fixed some things (such as our back door which wouldn't open -- a real safety hazard) and cleaned some things, such as the horrid shower curtain. I appreciated the help and told him so. I'm not, after all, the maid -- we both have jobs, we co-own this house, and it's his responsibility too.

After he left, or actually while he was packing to go, I fell into a depression from which I have not yet emerged. It will get better, I think -- it doesn't feel like the beginning of something really serious -- but it's so hard to function when I feel like this. Work is hard. Cooking is hard (cooking is always hard). Cleaning is hard.

Fortunately, today is Saturday and it is a lovely day. Supposed to get to 87 -- better than the 90s we've been having, but not by much -- but there's a nice breeze. I did my laundry and have several things hanging out on the porch, waving in the wind. The neighborhood pancake breakfast was this morning, so of course we went. I ate one pancake with delicious fresh peach compote and an odd vegetarian sausage. After the kids finished eating they asked if they could go to the library by themselves and of course I said yes. They go in order to play games on the computers there, but I still love it that they're spending so much time at the library, which seems a very safe place for them to be. And I walked home in the warm breezy weather, feeling not too bad at all.