Thomas turns 18 in early July. On his 18th birthday he plans to move to Wisconsin to work on his long time best friend, new girlfriend’s farm. Until that point he is living with his grandmother.
Thomas has become a difficult person to live with. He’d say the same about me. I won’t publically speak ill of my kid, but we have major personality clashes tearing us apart. I think we’ll get along a lot better now that there is distance between us. I sure hope so.
I do, of course, miss my kid. But with him turning 18, his destiny is out of my hands.
Pain pills don’t work. Muscle relaxers don’t work unless I’m given enough to keep them in my system at all times. My doctors will only agree to 15 a month to use once the (daily) headaches start. They do nothing once the headaches start but they do work to prevent them. The doctors are worried I’ll become dependent and won’t enable me to live pain-free.
We disagree on whether or not dependence is a bad thing.
These days the bulk of my pain is in my shoulders and neck which then leads to tension headaches. Loosening those muscles and keeping them loose makes the headaches nonexistent.
One thing they were willing to do for me is to get me in Physical Therapy which is doing wonders. But only gets me through part of the week. I need to be doing those exercises twice a week, but the set up on the home front makes that hard as there really isn’t a place to tie a therapy band down.
In unrelated news that is going somewhere, Thomas is currently going through pre-season workouts with intent to join the football team in the coming fall. He work-outs with the team Monday-Thursday but goes back over the weekend to work out some more with a buddy.
Yesterday he needed to blow off some steam and asked if I could drive him to the school so he could work out. I threw on some clothes and grabbed my keys and a book, fully intending to read while he worked out.
Then I smelled the smell of a weight room. And I’m telling you, that smell turns me jock every time.
I hate sports and I hate working out, but for some reason, I love to weight lift. I’m not interested in finding the max I can lift. I like a reasonable weight with a few sets of 10. Long and slow. I honestly crave regular access to this type of workout.
So I entered the weight room and immediately forgot about my book. With Thomas’s approval that I lift with him and a promise that I’d ask for help if needed, I started working out alongside him.
Chronic pain means I need to respect my limits. I can lift higher, but I went to a happy medium so I didn’t hurt myself further. I was able to really work my muscles and help take control of my health.
Of course, I woke up Sunday morning regretting life, but it was still a good type of pain. I’d earned the right to hurt like that by actually using my body.
We went back to the gym a few hours after I woke up, and picked up a friend and teammate of Thomas’s. They worked together spotting each other and trying to increase their maximums in various lifts. I tied my therapy band to a solid post and worked out my sore shoulder muscles. It did wonders in relieving the pain in them.
So I think that’s the plan. Saturdays we’ll go and we’ll lift together. Sundays we’ll go and I’ll work on my therapy bands. His friends are invited along so long as there is no fighting and no one makes fun of me for how I exercise.
Thomas assured me he’d punch anyone who did.
And I informed him that broke the no fighting rule.
As of this past Wednesday, my baby sister is officially on the list for a liver transplant. Which, when I heard the news I broke out sobbing and my husband thought it was bad news until I could choke the words out.
She is at the very top of the list for her blood type meaning it can all go fast. In fact, and this is the horrible side of it, this weekend is one of the highest when it comes to mortality rates. Meaning my sister very well could get her new liver this weekend.
Which is good because she’s going downhill fast. Her kidneys are failing, she’s having trouble breathing, and she’s losing a lot of blood. They are fighting to keep her going but she needs a liver asap or she won’t live long enough to get a transplant.
If you pray, please pray that the liver comes NOW and please also pray for the donor family. They are losing someone they love, and that someone is giving my sister life.
Also, please be safe this holiday weekend. I don’t want any of you to be the donor.
This week in my store:
Cute But Psycho T Shirt by Wearables4Edibles
Make your own custom tshirts online at Zazzle
Profits from my store go towards supporting my family.
Speaking of my store, you can find a link to the WTBL new items up along the top. It’ll take you here. I actually own the pink shirt. No joke, I love it! All items in the WTBL store are great ways to support the blog and my family at the same time!
In closing, this cute moment:
We can’t watch Netflix on our TV because we have no means, but our tv is tiny anyway, so it’s no big deal to just watch on the computer. This becomes complicated, however, when the entire family wants to watch something.
So our solution last night was to pull a couch around to face my computer, pull my monitor to the edge of my desk, and snuggle close to watch. This is how the boys and I watch Galaxy Quest last night. It was the best way ever to watch a horribly cheesy movie.
I try to go for a walk every day. Usually, it’s at night, as late as the middle of the night. Last Tuesday I took my walk at about 8:30PM and I invited my oldest with me. There is a lot on his plate and I wanted him to have the chance to talk, which he did.
One of the first things that came up was girls,
It turns out there is a girl on his bus that he has his eye on and another girl in his class figured it out and told bus girl and basically asked her out for my boy without consulting if my boy actually wanted to go out with her.
Follow all that?
Ok. The hitch of for the feminine plotting is that at almost 12, he has no interest in dating anyone. Which thank you whatever power is watching over me.
So I taught him the first white lie of the night: “My mom won’t let me.”
In this case it’s, “My mom won’t let me date yet, but you can come over to my house and play sometimes if you want.”
He is out of the dating hot seat without hurting her feelings and without feeling pressure to be older than his 12 years. Because dear God what the hell are 12-year-olds doing dating?
As the conversation continued I basically gave him the thumbs up to blame me saying no on any situation he didn’t want involved in.
That white lie becomes truth and changes to “My mom will kill me, have you MET her.” when it comes to drugs and alcohol.
Then I, of course, told him I’d rather have him be truthful to be when he’s older and experimenting with beer at parties. As long as he drinks responsibly, I’ll be far happier over the “I need a ride home” phone call than the “He should have gotten a ride home” house call.
I’d say he’s years away from there, but apparently not. I’m just lucky (is this lucky?) that the situation with his aunt has taught him to be respectful of alcohol. I don’t want him to fear it, I just need him to drink responsibly.