Life changes when one's work changes.

Six weeks in to the new schedule, and new job. I think that, as a family, we may be slowly growing and sending out strengthened roots, enduring this winter, getting ready to bloom. 

Working just 19 hours a week (automatic benefits kick in at 20 hours, and I'm a provisional employee at this point), there is time for me in the mornings and afternoons just to be by myself. I can think. I can breathe. I can eat breakfast and have coffee at home. I sit in front of the HappyLight for at least 15 minutes every morning.

The place I work for now is a non-profit that serves children and young adults with mental health issues, and their families. 

At the agency, I have my own office. It's quiet. It's got a translucent 6 x 7-foot window that would otherwise look into the ground-level parking lot and train tracks. I will soon be moving a slightly different office, and I have my choice of paint colors and a new desk. The people are so deeply kind there. I don't really know how to open up to that yet. Years of work-related sarcasm and management-by-neglect feel like a too-tight shell around me.

It's hard for me, being the new kid in a role for which I'm mostly perfectly prepared. I'm used to being able to do anything and everything required by almost anyone in my business. I don't fully understand all of the processes and reasons behind them, and I don't always get all the details of a task on the first time around. Oh, and I'm a perfectionist!

One of my goals during this time of transition is to support my family more. In one way, I'm doing that by cooking dinner for the family every night. I was shooting for a goal of ten nights in a row without resorting to take-out or frozen pizza. We've gotten to six nights for a few weeks so far; I'm pretty happy with that.

So far, some of the dinners have been raving successes, and some have been real learning experiences. Three out of four of us usually like meal as it is served; there's usually one person who doesn't care for it. Last night was an exception. Primo has strong preferences regarding food textures, and I thought I was going to get to a good place with our main dish --lentil and sausage soup -- by making the texture consistent. I blended the soup into a thick, pasty mix and served it with hot cornbread. While the texture was a bit grainy, the I thought flavor was wonderful, especially with fresh sweet cornbread.

The boys did not agree. And I've been a bit testy lately about some of their responses to my cooking. We've always been an eat-it-or-make-your-own kind of family when it comes to dinnertimes . . . so the kids usually make an effort to try the meal before they choose to go hungry or make a sandwich.

Well, this time, I saw the boys were really trying to eat the soup, taking a hunk of cornbread and quickly spooning a small bit of soup in with it. No dice. We started laughing. There was a brief mention of Utah Phillips' Moose turd pie. (Listen to it!!)

True to that story's form, no one complained! So I let the kids fill up on cornbread, got out some veggies and hummus, cheese and crackers, and we called it a night.

An adult child, letting go

I knew when I started this blog that I would eventually need to write about my parents.  I'm just now starting to be well and truly honest about my feelings regarding my relationship with them.  I need a safe place to work through the emotions and ask for advice from peers.

The main reason this blog is anonymous-ish is that I want to keep it from being easily found by my parents.  They would, of course, recognize my family and me from the content right away.  I firmly believe in owning one's truth.  The conundrum is being willing to write it out, knowing that if my dad finds this, I'll have to deal with the consequences.  So be it.

Six days ago, we had a fantastic Sunday. It was one of the best days our family has had all summer!  We'd been to a local town fair and parade, had a cookout with Hero's family, relaxed with cousins, remarked on the beautiful blue sky, and left before there were any meltdowns from the kids.  I went to work, had a successful and productive shift, and came home to Hero just getting a meal on the table and kids running to hug me at the door.

Then my dad called in the middle of dinner.  He's got great timing.

A little background: This year, my dad turned 70.  He and my mom know that they may not have many more good and healthy years left.  To celebrate the summer and his seventieth year, they decided to take an around-the-country tour of his brothers and sisters, and some of their friends.  The trip ended up with them visiting my own brother in Pennsylvania.  They'd been thinking about the fact that my brother is their designated medical power of attorney person, and that it could be good to be nearer to that person, should health concerns become an issue.

My Dad said that he and my mother will be moving halfway across the U.S. to live near my brother and his family.  He told me that they had found a condo just minutes away from my brother's house, made an offer the same day they saw the condo, and that their offer was accepted. 

Tuesday afternoon

Thoughts going through my head late at night, ideas for writing posts. Not falling asleep.


Did Hero know what he was suggesting when he said I should have a blog?  Thinking of setting up categories, organizing ideas.  But I should also get the laundry up into the bedrooms and make some dinner and scoop the cat boxes.  Then back to work for the evening shift.  Then home to bed and not sleeping because I'm thinking about writing.


Sigh.


Now, in the early evening, Primo sits at the table, crunching on cereal and trying to do his math homework.  Spark is silently playing a builders game on the computer. It's snowed for half the day and now the temperature is dropping to the coldest yet of this season.  Drafts move through the house, swirling, making our little cat pester me to hold her for warmth.  She hides near a heat vent, waiting for the furnace. I've got a hat and vest on.


Hot dogs?  Soup?  Dinner. The boys have gotten picky about food lately.


Dinner was left to Hero last night when I left for work in a huff.  After the Christmas break, he didn't remember I usually work on Monday nights.  They all set a place for me: pork chops and green beans.  And I stayed away until my shift was over.  There were hugs and kisses and I'm sorrys when I returned.