Not From Around Here

Things on my windowsill

Dahlia’s I grew from seeds I saved last year.

A cup from a local flower store owned by a very sweet friend.

A coffee mug wrap that was on a cup of coffee I bought outside the hospital during my son’s testicle removal surgery. (Left side only. Not elective surgery)

Caulking for an unfinished project

Stone from the river where I spread my mom’s ashes

Plant propagation.

Glass cardinal found where I spread my grandmothers ashes.

Permit for our lake dock from the 80s.

Venus fly trap my son got me for Mother’s Day that I’m struggling to keep alive.

Im in a hotel for work. Drove 5 hours last night. In the room for 7 hours. Not enough of them sleeping. I have a 730 am appt then a 5 hour drive home. Then more work there. And driving. Ugh Today is going to suck.

A riveting Friday night around here.

A busy work day. A kitchen remodel we are doing is progressing well. We start another big job next week. So glad things have picked up.

My son is slowly healing from his one testy removal surgery. Poor fucking kid. It’s been rough on him mentally and physically but hes almost there.

My husband is still out of town. Has to be close to a month now. He’s miserable there. But he’s miserable anywhere. He’s staying with his mom which gets old. Getting all the business shit starting is slow going but it’s close now. I can tell he’s trying. But it feels like barely controlled rage against a life he doesn’t want anymore. Gross.

It has been far too long since I walked in the woods. That has to happen soon. But there’s so much yard work to do. So hiking takes a back seat. The rocks around my blueberry bushes have to come out. They need pine straw. They are cuts from my grandmothers plants and they are struggling with stupid weed fabric and rocks. The weekend is suppose to be cooler so maybe I’ll knock some of that out. Maybe.

First sleep.

Then yard sales.

18 turned 19 yesterday. Ugh my sweet kid. That age is so damn hard. And you can’t see that it’s hard for everyone because oh the masks we wear. He has tried counselors before, but Just has not find one with the right fit. He went today for a guy that I got him on a waitlist for. Three months later he got in. He came home and said he had a lot to think about, and that he really liked the guy. So that seems like a win. I got my Mail son to go to try Therapy again after he did not like the first lady he was matched with. I do think he would do much better with a man. 

My husband is still gone. The mood swings are still evident. Though being across the country helps. Money is non existent. We own a fuck ton of shit that could be sold. A 2000 mustang. A street bike and dirt bike that haven’t been ridden in a decade. But my husband was raised by harder and so he forms emotional attachments to things.

He spent the holiday weekend at a friend’s cabin in the city where he is working. Most of those random conversations were very positive. In seeing that life is just life. That all couples/families/kids struggle with their own shit. Those seemed like hopeful conversation conversations. Then today he realizes that we have no money. We’re at the point of pulling money out of our retirement to survive. related: fuck Donald Trump. What a glorious piece of shit he is.

Well I managed a third of the bottle of wine while writing this. Now I don’t know where I was or what I was even talking about. I just need less drama in my life. I don’t care about all this stuff in big houses and Fucking boats. I just want… NEED… peace.

I took my wine and walked the flowers. I grew these from seeds!!!

Sneak attack!! tag your favourite blogs/mutuals and ask them to share one nice thing (big or small) they’re looking forward to in the coming week(s) ✨️☺️

All three of my sons have birthdays in the next four weeks. I love their birthdays even if the back to back can be rough. Cooking their fav things and celebrating them is my love language. I’m not big on Christmas but I have to try there too with my mom gone. She loved Christmas the most.

Gave it two hours. I Called back. Why you ask? Yeah I’m asking the same. He said something about how I am at a place where I just say this is how I am and you have to accept it. And I said yeah, that is pretty true yeah. He mostly says that about sex. Cancer drugs are really doing a number on my sex life. It was clearly nonexistent during the heavy chemo/radiation year. Add the death of my mom in there and yeah, sex was the last thing I was thinking about.

Now I’m on hormone suppression, and an infusion to keep me in chemical menopause. The desire to have sex is for sure there. But I just am physically not able. I’m on a waitlist to get in with my gyno. Waiting on her July schedule. The issue with hormone positive breast cancer is that most things that relieve menopause symptoms I can’t use. So anything she suggests I then have to run by the oncologist. So I just have sort of accepted that sex may not be part of my life for a while. But I can’t really ask that of him. Sex was a huge part of his life. A very large part of how he feels loved. And I just physically can’t. We have tried a couple times. It ends with me in tears every single time.

I told him that I can absolutely respect, and would never want, him to live his life without sex. But I need him to understand that I am unwilling to live a life that doesn’t involve peace. I’m not gonna be screamed at anymore. I will never convince him that screaming is abuse. He feels that’s just what passionate people do. Ugh no. I feel like I’m finally drawing a line in the sand.

My son is healing remarkably well. He said today that it was pretty itchy which I’m taking as a good sign. He said every day it looks less swollen and red. Every day he heals more and more. I’m so damn proud of him.

I feel like watching some of the women I have followed for years here live happy, strong, beautiful, mostly solitary lives has really inspired me.

Blah

Things are changing.

My son had a rough ride home. Puked at least 20 times. Which he doesn’t even remember. Wild. He slept a few hours once he was in bed. Then got up and ate a ton. Pain has been manageable. Hoping for more on the same tomorrow. He did have a huge meltdown when he saw them for the first time. It’s so swollen from the surgery. And two 2/3” long openings. One on each side. Ugh my poor babe.

So yeah a panic attack in the hospital basement cafeteria while your son is in surgery. What a fun Thursday.

Related I’m here by myself for my side. His dad and his step mom are here. I adore them. But it’s not the same. Anyways I need to make some serious changes in my life. Pin that for another day.

He is in recovery but we can’t see him because he turned 18 a few months ago. The fuckery is that. He is my baby!! Just breathing through it. He’s gonna be fine. He’s strong and maybe will learn to believe that through this. So an hour and a half in this waiting room feels like torture. But my pacing was making people nervous.

Kudos to the hospital for all their hidden little nooks to sit in. And a coffee truck.

But the biggest and best kudos goes to Mary Jane. She calms the most nerves. 🍃 🙏

1.5 hours for surgery. Feels like it’s been a couple days since they took him 20 mins ago. This kid is my copy. I have three sons and they are all so damn amazing and unique. This one is the middle. He’s 18 and we are sooo close. We are similar enough to be able to be very open with each other. Ugh I hate thinking of him in there. I need a better distraction.

Money is so incredibly bad right now. We are absolutely drowning. We have shit we could sell but nothing that’s easy to dump. Ie old Mustang, crotch rocket, dirt bike etc. all big dumb shit my husband had to have. But also he works for all this. And we do a fuck ton for other people. Ugh I should unpack that.

I lost my mom three days after cancer surgery to a blood clot. No warning. No goodbye. Here one night gone the next morning. She lived less than two years longer than my 95 year old grandmother. Three weeks later I started daily radiation treatment in the same hospital where my mom died. The only thing I found that my mom has written as a death letter was a letter from a year before. She was having surgery and wrote a what if letter. She said to please take care of Rob. They have been together for 22 years. He has taken care of her financially and emotionally and while her health has rough years. So I said I would pay his mortgage. That was three years ago. He spent about a year of that working on my kitchen remodel after a garbage disposal leak. So the mortgage payment felt more like payment for that. He gets very little social security. Zero retirement. A life full of bad financial decisions and I feel like I pay part of that price. But he truly can’t work much. He has two extra room now so I asked about a roommate. He was open to that.

I have got to do something about the finances. It’s rough.

And his isn’t the only mortgage I’m paying right now. Jesus what a deep hole we have dug here. Blah.

But this is what I mentally call new poor. Because old poor involved shelters and food banks. I have been in far more unstable situation financially. Right now I still have investments. And extra vehicles. So a back leg so to speak.

I have been an independent insurance adjuster for about 15 years. No hurricane on us soil last year and Helene hitting such a rural area (mostly) following two years of heavy cancer treatment. We just haven’t been able to recover. We have drastically adjusted our lifestyle but I am afraid we did it too late. Add in a maga economy and we are barely making it. Not true. We aren’t making it. We are burying ourselves in debt. There is no quick way out. Blah

What a list of complaints.

The weather was stunning today and the yards are looking incredible. I saved dahlia seeds last year on a whim and ended up with over 500 starts. They are all in the ground at my house and my neighbors now. Gave some away on fb to some local moms. I can’t wait to see the unique mystery color of each. Ugh I can’t sell this house. But I don’t know how to keep it alone.

Messy messy.

My 18 year old son has to have his left testicle removed on Thursday because the ER missed testicular torsion he had in December. I thought about that ER room so much. I can’t stand it. I go back and wanna scream at myself to do more. Same more. Demand more test. He was obviously an extreme pain and they sent us someone Fucking antibiotics. I feel like I failed him. He’s really struggling with it this week. It’s the first surgery he’s ever had. 18 years old and losing a fucking testicle. A man’s worst nightmare. Ugh my poor babe. 

16 year old son B just found a fresh obsession this month with cleaning his car. He struggled socially, and I’m not sure how to help him make new friends at this point. I was starting treatment for breast cancer when he went into high school. So he didn’t do a single club, sport, anything social like that. He has a job now, but he works at Walmart so it’s a very vast range of age of people. He has a small group of guy friends. I just wish I knew how to help him branch out. He says he’s really trying to make new friends, but he is struggling to get any traction.

 Work continues to be very slow. I am running a pretty big kitchen remodel all that’ll make decent money. So that helps a little. But that’s not gonna get us through very long. We have a plan to get our business on some insurance referral lists. But the better ones have some pretty good requirements so we need to rent a bigger flex space Office and get our van fully wrapped. So we are working on those items. 

My three sons made me feel so loved on Mother’s Day. It was unbelievable. Flowers and notes and a clean kitchen. Plus brunch at a local brewery. They’re all fantastic humans and I’m so damn lucky to be their mom.

 It’s 4:33 AM and I should really be asleep. I thought maybe writing this get it out of my head would help.

There’s got to be a connection to those fun impulsive things and depression.

Also my husband is out of town for at least two weeks. It’s the wildest weight lifted. From having to walk on egg shells. From any minor inconvenience being enough to explode a bomb over. To peaceful.

Peace. So lovely.

Even he sounds happier not being here.

This is my view from the chair in the back yard. My 17 yo son called to tell me to get outside and see it. That feels like a huge win.