When it rains it pours...

You know the saying when it rains it pours?  Well, last week was definitely one for the record books.  I woke up Monday feeling like the raccoons normally running through my brains were set lose to escape the incoming bull that I was possessed by.  This was last Monday, of course, not today.  Because today, all things considering, I'm in a fairly good mood (the all things considering being the very segmented, maybe four hours of sleep that I have dealt with).  Last Monday?  Not so much.  

Last Monday when I got up I like one of those rage zombies.  I stormed through the house because the dogs somehow managed to get on my last nerves, letting them out and then very quickly letting them back in because our neighbors were going for their morning ride.  Not five minutes after I had let them in and had gone back to trying to get ready (we're talking I was mid-flat ironing my hair when all this was going down, not to mention applying makeup, etc.), I hear them back in the back yard thinking that Fiona had managed to open the sliding glass door (because she knows how to do that now) and both her and Kara had gotten out.   

So, once again, I stomped through the house.  Ace, not knowing that the neighbors were out on their ride and I had just let the dogs in, had let them out again because Fiona was whining.  I proceeded to yell at them that I just let them in, and Ace went out to fetch both dogs.  Not one of my finer moments by any stretch of the imagination.  It was followed by Kacy coming into the bathroom, looking incredibly fragile and me rolling my eyes. I don't know whether I vocalized it or not, but my face certainly had a look of "Now what?!" on it.  It was then when I noticed the fragility and stopped long enough to tell me that Jackson was home and that they had been "texting" back and forth since 5:30 in the morning.  

Jackson has always been this amazing kid, always so disciplined and responsible and I've always had this fear that we held him up too high.  We have always let him know that we are proud and one of my favorite stories to tell about him was when he was about 9 years old, Kacy and I overslept our alarm one morning and he got both him and Megan up and ready for the bus, to the bus stop (which was 2 houses away from ours), and on the bus.   Not only did he do that, but he also left us a note letting us know that they were okay and had gone to school.  He likes his routine, he has his certain way of doing things.  He's incredibly bright and he's incredibly empathetic.  He always has been. 

When he was 3, Kacy and I were watching Battlestar Galactica and there is a scene in the mini-series (the NBC/SYFY reboot run by Ronald Moore) where there is a child sitting on one of the spaceships that doesn't have faster-than-light capability and cannot escape an impending Cylon attack.  Jack was hanging out, about to take a nap next to me, when he stated very matter-of-factly that the girl wasn't going to escape and that the cylons were very very very bad.  This very much upset him.  When he would get upset, he would internalize and headbutt the floor (or whatever surface he could).  At the age of 8, he was listening to a Neil DeGrasse Tyson podcast about the universe and they were discussing what would happen when the sun went supernova.  Even though this is something that (hopefully) won't happen for billions of years, Jackson was extremely worried about this.  He has also always been worried about the planet.  He gets a double dose of anxiety from both me and Kacy but is so much more emotionally rigid than either I or Kacy ever was.  It's the kind of situation where you wonder if you're doing the right thing by your kid.  

My therapist told me that we just have to trust him to come to us with the big stuff and last week, he was dealing with some pretty big stuff.  It's not my story to tell, so I'm not going to.  I will let him do it when he's ready.  I am proud of him for talking to Kacy and telling her what was going on.  I understand why he wouldn't necessarily talk to me first - after all, I was the bull in a china shop when all of this was going down and not the best person to talk to.   I, unlike Jackson, am still working very hard on emotionally regulating myself when I get into those type of moods.  

I instantly felt bad and started trying to be helpful.  And then Kacy dropped the second bomb on me - we had to deal with a lice infestation.   It wasn't our first rodeo by any stretch of the imagination, but it meant that we had to instantly go into sanitizing mode and we have been taking the extra precaution of running everything through the sanitizing cycle on our washer several times over.  In fact, today, we are going to be doing it again, just to make sure...  Kacy and I have been dealing with the overwhelming feeling of being itchy despite both of us not having any sign of the vile parasites.  

I took my bull in china shop energy and channeled it into dealing with the situation at hand, getting the lice stuff, running point until I couldn't handle anything else and then collapsing on the couch that evening.  

Tuesday morning we were still dealing with stuff and I needed to set up a doctor appointment for Jackson because he had started swelling up and getting hives at some point on Monday.  I was in the middle of scheduling his appointment when the text came in from my cousin that my Uncle had passed away.  

He had been at our house for Thanksgiving and it had been so great.  My Dad was here, my Uncle was here... Last year we didn't think my Dad was going to make it and here we were blessed to have him with us.  My Uncle brought his girlfriend Joann.  It was really nice.  We have been doing this since we moved to Florida, inviting to our home for Thanksgiving and Christmas... I haven't been able to spend time with my family in Chicago because I haven't wanted to miss spending anytime with my Dad and getting to know my Uncle was an absolute bonus.  

I say getting to know my Uncle, but I should clarify - getting to know my Uncle as an adult.  Getting to hear all the stories that he wouldn't share with the kid version of me.   He was quite the character, he had his quirks, hearing Dad tell stories and hearing my Uncle tell stories... that has always been special to me.  I kick myself for not taking pictures again, but honestly there's something to be said for not being in my phone camera all the time.  Not everything needs to be documented even if I want to.  Sometimes, I feel like I have this pathological need to document everything.  Whether it's a phone call to someone specific or something as benign as taking a picture of something I'm eating at a restaurant.  The funny thing is, my Instagram feed is filled with more pics of my pets than anything.  The past couple of years I haven't been "documenting" as much as I had in the past.  Although, I do find myself writing more and more these days.  

The world came to a stretching halt on Tuesday with his passing.  My cousin texted me first... I asked if my Dad had been informed.  He told me no.  I said I would talk with him.  For someone who hates to disappoint their Dad, I volunteered myself to make him cry fairly easily.   I also knew this news needed to come from me.   I told Kacy and then I steeled myself and headed over to the Casita to tell Dad.  

It went how you'd expect.  Tears, talking, hugs.  We didn't know what was going on quite yet, so Dad started making his phone calls and then I started making mine.  Both my Dad and I went into shut down mode and while I kept checking on him, both of us were overwhelmed and we slept a lot of Tuesday.  

Wednesday was management mode.  Rescheduling appointments, find out what was going on with various things, crunching numbers, Jackson doctor stuff... By that point Jackson was rather quasimodo-ish and it wasn't pretty by any stretch of the imagination.  Anxiety ran high for the rest of the week until Friday when everything just seemed to stop and we were able to enjoy the day.  I don't know what happened, but Friday was a great day and we were able to breathe and stretch.  

Saturday, my cousin and his wife drove over from where they had been staying in Winter Haven and we all went out to eat with Debbie and Charlie.  It was nice.  My cousin brought the kids McDonald's gift cards.  They were a hit.  But they're also all teenagers and weren't into being very social - the 'tism runs high in the family and we tend to be a feral bunch.  

Sunday, yesterday, Kacy and I had made plans to see Wicked and do our Christmas shopping.  While we did see Wicked, which made me cry and miss my Mom (it was the last musical we saw together), the movie was phenomenal and I'm somewhat annoyed that I can't talk to Kacy about it because while I have read the book and seen the musical, she has not and does not want any spoilers.  So, I have to head in the sand it for the next year.   

I'm ready for some normalcy.  I'm ready for not doing anything.  I'm exhausted already and the year hasn't even begun.  Is that how things go once you're an adult?  Has this always been happening? Have I always been behind the 8 ball, I just wasn't aware?   And why do I have the feeling like I'm just now joining the adult table when I know that I've been there for years already...

Younger generations take heed- they didn't tell us about any of this.  Well, maybe they did and I just wasn't paying attention?  I don't know.  Either way, I don't feel that I was prepared for this by any stretch of the imagination.  I have always said that I thrive in chaos - throw more stuff on my plate and I'll slowly chew my way through it.  But now, for the first time in my life, I'm realizing that I actually do have limitations.  I can't thrive on chaos as I once did.  I can't have too many things on my plate because I will get overwhelmed.   

You take on so many things when you're young.  The whole saying that God only gives you what you can handle?  NO, it's not God doing that.  It's you.  You're taking on as much as you can handle.  And if you can't handle something, it's okay to take a step back and re-evaluate.  Or hell, it's even okay to fail.  Failure did not seem like it was an option when I was a kid.  I never really saw or heard about my parents failing until I was a teenager and then, I felt like I had to be the emotionally strong one (and it was for the most part something I did for my Mom without realizing it).  I was the comic relief that kept everyone smiling through the most difficult parts.  I played my part well, too.  Now, at 46 I can't necessarily do that anymore.   I'm coming to terms with the fact that is okay.  If only my Dad would realize that at 83.   He knows his limitations, he just doesn't accept them.  This is where I step up and help as much as I can... 

I am the parent now.  I've been a parent since I was 21 and I've learned a lot in those 25 years.  I keep learning.  Maybe I can help my Dad learn some new tricks, too.