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.

More than two months have passed. Ready to exhale.

Friday, January 3, 2014: the second day of the rest of my life.  

The job change has come.  I almost didn't make it to the end, but it in order to claim unemployment, I had to work as long as the job was available.

The boys and I have been in our jammies all day, keeping warm and doing indoor activities.  There's tortilla soup on the stove, cats freaking out with catnip toys in the dining room, and kids playing Minecraft, too. Our Christmas tree stands in a corner of our living room, unlit.  I think we'll put it away tomorrow.

Hero has just arrived home.  I kissed him hello.  He promptly changed out of his work clothes and into flannel pajama pants, slippers, hoodie, hat, and thick insulated vest.  That's how we roll.  A cold snap is heading our way. We may not venture out all weekend.  Due to a forecast with dangerous wind chills, school has already been cancelled for Monday.

I've tried to make a habit of not expecting much out of life, especially not expecting happiness.  When I received the layoff notice, I went into a period of very low self-esteem and high-energy job searching.  It wasn't a very nice time to live through.  Then, as I settled in to the reality of being forced to make a much-needed career change, my spirit rallied a bit.  I'd hate to say that I started 'leaning in,' because I'm not fond of that term.  But I did start daring to hope.

Since having children and getting Primo's autism diagnosis, I've tended to be a keep-your-head down, keep-working-to-support-your-family kind of person when it comes to work.  I know what I'm good at, and though I've built up new skills over time, I tend to do the same kind of work wherever I go.  Even when a job gets boring, tiresome, and lacks challenges or interesting people, I tend to stick to it loyally.  But then things start to change, and the boredom starts to show my productivity.  I lose focus.  If the management style of the next-higher-up isn't proactive, I find it difficult to not go into something of a stasis, if not a tailspin.  And then it's time to change.

It seems that the life cycle for my jobs is between two and five years.

October 25 evening

Spark is laying out the four pairs of mittens and gloves.  He's preparing for the winter cold.  The end of October here means an opportunity to trick-or-treat in freezing rain and/or snow; I can think of many childhood Halloweens where I had to design a costume that would fit over my winter coat.

I'm on the couch with the laptop, looking for new jobs.

The kittens, Hazel and Mabel, are hiding in the folds of five layers of blankets on Primo's bed.  Our house is uninsulated, yet we find ways of keeping warm.

When I'm stressed out, I tend to write less and less.  I eat less. I sleep more. In the last three months, we've had one cat go missing, one cat need to be put down, my parents moved across the country, and I received official notice that my employment will end by December 31.  It's been a bit of a hard go for my emotions.

Primo's voice is changing.  Spark is getting taller and skinnier and sweeter by the moment.  We filled the kitty void with two seven-month-old female kittens.  Hero is playing more music with friends. Maybe we're finding some balance of the difficult with the joyous. 

A family with new twin babies. What would you tell the parents?

I had a delicious and delightful, yet long overdue tea time with a dear friend and my sons yesterday.  We went to a tea house that I'd never visited before.  Each one of us feasted on banana-coconut-chocolate cake, the colors of the walls and pillows in our tea room, and the presence of those we love.

This morning, my friend sent me a message about some friends she has, who have just become first-time parents to a boy-and-girl pair of twins.  The mother asks, "How can I do this?"  We are gathering love and strengthening words for them.  Feel free to add yours to mine:

Keep them alive, minute to minute.  Yourself, too.

Drink lots and lots of water.  Eat everything your body tells you to.

Ask for help for the things you don't feel you can get to.  Ask often and with force, if necessary (just like the babies do).

Sleep when they sleep.  

Do not wake sleeping babies on purpose, if you can possibly help it.

Invite people to come and hold the babies while you take a shower, feed yourself, etc.

Let you mind be blown by the amazingness of new life.  Boom. Pow. And go back to bed.

It's all right to be afraid.  Just push through it.  

There's going to be the next nursing, the next diaper change, the next bath, the next and next and next . . . you'll find your rhythm.

Overthinking in the first few months of their lives is a first-world problem.

There is evening, there is morning, and each day is good.

Looking up into blue eyes

In the quiet of the upstairs hallway this week, the family going through our morning routines, Primo came upstairs to say Hi. I was freshly dressed, putting on makeup in the bathroom, getting my hair in some proximity of rightness. He stood in the hallway, wearing his size 13 shoes for the first time. It was the last hot day of a long hot spell; we were looking forward to wearing pants and sweaters after a rainy day.

I asked him how the shoes felt.  He said they were a little tight.  I looked down at those big feet of his, and assured him that he'd find the shoes comfortable pretty soon.  He sighed and shifted his weight.

I then realized that, as he was facing me, his nose was above mine.

For the first time, in his shoes, this boy is taller than me. I told him this, and we and laughed a little. I hugged him tight and kissed his cheek, telling him I love him. 

There is only one moment like this in our lives.

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. 

Two times twice exceptional (aka, We Hit the Jackpot!)

As I wrote to a dear friend today,

Now I've been drinking some gin + lime + soda, trying to recover from an empowering but emotionally draining day at the therapist's office with the youngest son, who is getting through the process of being diagnosed as twice-exceptional: gifted to the point of genius in certain ways, and also having dyslexia and dysgraphia.  

Another Saturday gone, hours upon hours spent with therapists.  Finding out that Spark ranks in the exceptional/genius range for some innate skills, and he's at kindergarten level for what his teachers have been trying to help him learn for the last three years.  What a mixed blessing.

Spark is gifted in some of the same areas that Primo is, which will be a great help as we try to build on their shared interests.  But where Primo taught himself to read at age 6, and read Rowling's complete Harry Potter series TWICE over the summer when he was 9, Spark is still trying to keep his lower and uppercase letters straight.

We're also looking at moderate to severe depression in Spark.  My mother heart aches for him, knowing that this kind, creative, spunky, imaginative kiddo thinks of himself as one of the 'dumb' kids.  Can't keep his days straight.  Never knows how long a minute or an hour feels.  Can hear everything that's going on in a room, but can't focus on what one person is saying.  We're all going to learn how to support him in this.

So, this family is blessed with two healthy, amazing sons.  One may be going to the university at age 15, and one may turn out to be an engineer who can't spell.  

Like many special-needs parents, I'm in it for the long haul.  I might have to pull over and cry every now and then, but I know these guys are worth every bit of effort we exert on their behalf.