At long last, I think I have figured out the cause of the weekend meltdowns that M has been having almost every Sunday. I couldn’t figure it out – we’ll get to some point in Sunday, usually early afternoon, and he will go into a decline. He starts worrying about both of us or just him being thrown out of the house and telling me he doesn’t know what he’s doing “here.” I can never tell if “here” means in our house, in this situation, in this room or exactly what he’s talking about. And, of course, he can’t tell me either.
But he never does it during the week. Every weeknight is just fine – until last night.
Last night, I spent some time picking up around the house and going through some files from a filing cabinet I’m trying to clean out. Chores that I usually put off for the weekend, but I decided to spend an hour or so working on during Monday evening. When I started cleaning and straightening up the house, then M started getting agitated and upset.
Well, that’s an easy fix – I’ll just stop cleaning.
Except our house already looks like a pig sty and I can’t stand it another minute! I’ve already made arrangements for a woman and her crew to come to the house Saturday and help me get a head start on cleaning and painting. I hadn’t thought that much about what M was going to do while work was being done Saturday, but one of my brothers suggested that I find something else for M to do that day.
I think that’s a very good idea. The Sunday meltdowns are already bad enough.