Relentless.

I've never been great at making New Year's resolutions. I mean I've had good intentions and thought about making them, but it just didn't make sense for me to make resolutions for specific goals I had in mind. Life in our house isn't necessarily conducive to keeping a list of  individual goals in the forefront of my mind. Too many things/illnesses/surgeries/doctors' appointments/etc. eventually nudge out any thought of resolutions, and things go back to they way they always are before too long. While I do consider what I would like to change the following year, I don't write it down and don't make a commitment that I can't keep. I don't need the extra pressure. I've got enough pressure without adding an extra helping, because it's tradition.

Last week, a friend asked me, if I'd ever chosen a word to represent a year instead of resolutions. I hadn't , but I was intrigued. My thoughts over the last several days have continually drifted to her question. I really like the concept of a single word to represent the whole year to call on for motivation. It's a lot easier to remember a single word than it is a long list of things you want to change. I like that I can have one word represent how I want to tackle things in my life. 

So for 2019, I've chosen the word 'Relentless'. 

I will be relentless in my quest to tackle the hoard and continue to make good decisions to get rid of things. I will be relentless in my pursuit of personal growth. I will be relentlessly loving my family. 

These I can do. They might not look like a specific goal on a piece of paper, but I will accomplish much, and I will be able to motivate myself with a single word. 

I. Will. Be. Relentless.

Not much to report.

The anxiety meds are doing their job, and I'm feeling much less anxious and better able to cope with all that's going on.


However, we've been sick with the crud, which has kept my progress at, well, under ideal. I'm not sure, if this is the flu or not. We've been totally exhausted. Absolutely no energy at all makes it more than difficult to accomplish a single thing. We haven't had high fevers, but we have been feverish. Then again, we didn't get high fevers when we had the swine flu a couple years ago, either. :::shrug::: It's enough that we're miserable. I guess we don't need a name for it. 


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To top things off, my extended family has been going through an awfully lot lately, and my heart hurts for all of them.


In the last 6 weeks or so a sister in law lost both her parents, a niece lost a pregnancy, 2 different cousins lost their husbands, and a brother in law lost his brother. And while none of it directly affected me, thoughts for my loved ones weigh heavy.


We've been a bit nervous for Bugster. She quit her job a few weeks ago, because her paychecks were bouncing. Job + bouncing payroll checks is not a good combination. One employee was behind 4 paychecks. Another was behind 6. I just can't imagine working for 8 and 12 weeks without pay. Bugster stayed longer and more loyal than either Hubster or I would have, but she's just can't stand the thought of someone else being put in a bind. We're glad she's out of there, but we can't help but worry for the kids a bit. It's a parent's job, right?


I did get back in touch with a friend I'd lost touch with about 8 years ago. It was wonderful getting caught up, but she's had it really rough. Just a lot of family problems in that period of time, including losing her fiance just weeks before their wedding. My friend doesn't have computer skills and is totally intimidated by them, so she took his daughter's word for it that her fiance had died out of state. Except that he hadn't. He's alive.


I would want to know under the same circumstances. And I would want a friend to tell me, rather than finding out from someone else, so I felt like I had to say something. It was one of the most difficult calls I've ever had to make, and I hope I never had to break news like that again. As hard as it was to hear, my friend was thankful I cared enough to tell her. I just hope she heals quickly. 


I debated long and hard before telling her. I polled a few friends and family about whether or not they would want to know. Everyone I asked said they would want to know, if they were in her shoes, but some would not have told her to spare her feelings. How about you? Would you have wanted to know?


On a different note I've made a little bit of progress. I've finally frozen all but the last cookie sheet of tomatoes. I'm just waiting for them to ripen, although I may try my hand at fried green tomatoes. I haven't had the energy to try them just yet. At this point, they'll just be fried green tomato chips, since the tomatoes that are left are just tiny. Still. They'd probably be good along with some fried zucchini as a snack or on spaghetti. 


No word yet on the guardianship front. I'll be calling the attorney this week to see where we are in the process. 


And once again I'm so very thankful for the anxiety meds, since just writing the above sentence made my stomach start with the flips again. 


Have I mentioned we're ready for 2012 to make its entrance?

Immobilization. It's not as fun as it sounds.

What I didn't mention in my last post from a couple of weeks ago is that I've really been struggling lately. I said that we had a really long and stressful day getting state IDs and flu shot and all the week before and made 7 pints of salsa. And I mentioned that I was still getting things done.

However, my effectiveness as a person slowed to almost a complete halt during the days after that outing. Dehoarding stopped. Most house work and laundry came to a screeching halt. Yep. I have been pretty worthless.

The night before we spent the day getting the documentation for the girls that was needed my stomach started churning. Flipping. Rolling, if you will. Nonstop. Like I had a hamster on a wheel in the pit of my gut. It didn't stop at all for over 2 weeks.

You know how your stomach jumps when you see a baby almost fall headfirst down the stairs? Or you see a ball roll out in front of you in the street while you're driving, and you notice a small child in your periphery? Or you witness an accident caused by an erratic driver? 

Yeah. That kind of flipping.

When my stomach did finally stop flipping it was short lived. As in about 18 hours or so. And then it started up again. I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin. Even when I was expecting a call, I'd nearly jump out of my skin when the phone actually rang. I felt like I was trembling all the time, but when I would hold my hand up to check to see, if it was shaking, it wasn't. I was just shaking on the inside. 

I made an appointment to see my doctor, but I had to cancel the first one due to bad roads. The last thing I needed to do is get in a car and drive on ice in the condition I was in. I knew I needed help, and that I was having a problem with anxiety. I also knew that I didn't know how to make it stop on my own. That I needed help. Because when your stomach is flipping and turning all the time like that, it's hard to concentrate. To eat. To sleep. To function.

The doctor confirmed that I was suffering from anxiety. The only other time I've had anything even close to this happen was when I had a reaction to a medication a few years ago. I have to wonder, if that reaction made my body more susceptible to anxiety. I guess it doesn't matter. I have it now. 

We met with the attorney on Monday. Plunked down the $500 for the court costs, but we won't actually have to pay the attorney's fees. Hubster signed up for some sort of legal plan through the company he works for last year, and it pays the attorney. And although we could technically do this on our own, we'd much rather have the expertise a lawyer can lend to the situation. I shudder at the thought of what the anxiety would be like, if we weren't going through an attorney!

I have no doubt that the stress is due to the whole guardianship thing, and I believe it will go away once everything is completed. I am thinking I'll likely start 2012 in a totally different state than I'm in right now, but until then I'll stay on the meds the doctor prescribed. They've already helped tremendously, and it's been less than a week.

Thursday, Bugster came over, and we made salsa together. Once we tasted the salsa I'd made awhile back, we realized that it wasn't going to be enough to get us all through the winter. So we made a day of it and canned 14 pints and 1 quart, since we couldn't find the last of the pint jars. We're set until next Fall when we'll likely make more from the tomatoes, peppers and onions we'll hopefully have in our gardens. 

I'm still behind on housework, but I know I'll be able to get it done in plenty of time for the home visit. I won't have all the dehoarding done, but I'm confident that we'll pass with flying colors. I'm sure we'll be granted guardianship, because the best place for the girls to be is with us. In their own home. With their family. And when I look at each part of the guardianship process individually, I know we'll do fine. But the whole of it is more than overwhelming.

Hubster asked me out on a date the other night. We need time to reconnect and get away from the stress of it all, so I jumped at the chance. Hopper and Scooter are going to spend the day with Bugster, Hubster and Frank after we all do a little shopping together.  We haven't all been out together in months. In fact, Scooter just started back to school this past week after the whole fiasco of the hospitalization, head-to-toe rash, and weeks of steroids to get the allergic reaction under control. So we need this as a family. All of us.

I'm ready for some decompression. 

Swirling thoughts aren't necessarily rambling.

I sit here tonight with words swirling in my head not knowing where to start. I want to be able to talk about how I was affected by hoarding growing up, but I want to do it with respect for those in my life who have tendencies towards hoarding. So I'll work on it when I can and probably think about it for awhile before I push the publish button.

I was able to be a bit productive today in spite of the back spasms that have been bothering me for the last several days. I was able to get 2 full coats of paint on the cubbies that will go above the stove and refrigerator in the kitchen. I'm using latex paint on them, so it dries much more quickly than the oil based paint does. I think I may still need to paint one final coat tomorrow, but I'm thrilled that they'll be done, and I'll be able to get stuff put where it goes very soon.

I'm not really satisfied with how the baskets we bought last year to go in the cubbies fit, but we'll use them for now. Eventually, I'll likely replace them with something that fits better and use the baskets I currently have elsewhere. In the post I linked to above, I commented about how it's harder to build a box than it may seem. At least for us. And there really were only two ways we could build this. They both had their downfalls. We had to choose one and get started on it, so I didn't take the opportunity to really think it through like I should have before we started.

We could either put the back on in between the top and bottom boards, or we could put it in behind them. We put it in between. However, the back takes up about 3/4" of space that the baskets needed to fit properly front to back this way. As a result, the larger baskets hang over the edge of the cubbies about 1/2". If we'd have done it the other way, it would have taken space out of the height of the cubbies. If I'd have thought about it a little more clearly, I would have done it the later way, so the baskets would fit more properly, but we can live with it like this for awhile.

We didn't do a perfect job on the cubbies, but we did well enough that we'll be able to live with it. Up close, I can see all the imperfections that would normally drive me insane. But we won't be up close to these on a regular basis, because they will hang above the stove and refrigerator in place of the cabinets we tore down. They won't be viewed up close, and they'll likely look just fine from a distance. I can live with that.

The Hubster took care of some problems we were having with the tarps on the back porch, today, too. The strings and duct tape weren't holding them at the top quite as securely as we were hoping, so they allow for a lot of leaves to blow in when the wind picks up. He put some hooks through the grommets and attached them to the metal awning of the porch. It made all the difference in the world. I'm feel so fortunate to have a workshop I can use to finish up on projects over the next few months!

I was able to get a couple loads of laundry done today, too, so I feel satisfied to have accomplished as much as I did today. Often, when my back is spasming like it was today, I can't seem to get anything done. So I won't complain about today's accomplishments.

I'll take what I can get.

It's all in the genes?

I know it's been said there might be a genetic component to hoarding. That at the very least, it does appear to run in some families. Whether it be a learned behavior, it's in the DNA, or it's a combination of the two, there is definitely hoarding in my family. But just because a person has a predisposition to alcoholism, drug addiction, hoarding or the like, it doesn't mean a person should just surrender and say, "There's nothing I can do about it, so I'm not going to fight the urge, and I'm just going to allow it to control me and use it as an excuse for everything that's wrong in my life." So I will continue to fight with every breath that is within me to get through this dehoarding process. I don't want to leave a mess for my husband and children to have to deal with and fight their way through when I am someday gone.

My grandmother was a hoarder. She was an antique dealer, and she owned gorgeous pieces over the years. But she also had a difficult time getting rid of useless things and often lumped some of her best pieces in boxes that also contained clothes, both dirty and clean, dirty dishes, newspapers, brand new towels, mail, jewelry and curlers as well as the occasional dried out piece of dog poop. Each box seemed more horrifying than the next, and we would literally just shake our heads in disbelief, as we'd try to make sense of her thought process as we filled trash bags and sorted through boxes of stuff.

Several of us, usually aunts, cousins, my mom and I would get together and go as fast as we could to clean as thoroughly as we could, so she could have people over for the holidays. We would spend several days cleaning, sorting, and purging as much as we could get through before her out of town company would show up for the holidays. We would do what we could to make her guests feel comfortable, but we were in it alone. She would sit in her chair with a cup of coffee often looking off into space, sometimes engaging some of us in conversation or answering the occasional question.

She would have bags upon bags of unopened things that she'd gotten for gifts for her kids, grandchildren or great grandchildren that sat waiting to be wrapped and sent off to her loved ones. There were scores of items she'd picked up at garage sales or thrift stores and lots of gift wrap that never seemed to be put away. There was just tons of stuff everywhere.

I wasn't there for any of the last holiday scrambles where we'd gather to clean, as we lived several states away, but I'll never forget what it was like. It was hard to catch your breath, because the air was always thick with the smell of rotting food, dog poop and urine, since the dogs had free reign of the house and frequently used the floor as their personal restroom. We'd occasionally find maggots and mold in the rotting food in the kitchen, and there were always moths of some sort in the canisters of flour or in the tins of cookies.

Needless to say, we didn't eat anything at her house unless we brought it or prepared it from fresh food we opened ourselves. We went through the cupboards each and every time and emptied out all the old food and the bulging cans. And we thoroughly washed and dried every canister in the house before replacing the flour, sugar and other baking goods. We cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer, bleached all of it out, so it was nice and clean, and then went shopping to get fresh groceries, so she'd have something to eat.

Once all the major cleaning was done, and we'd vacuumed as well as possible, we'd shampoo the carpet. At some point, someone talked her into getting a carpet cleaner. We'd scrub the carpet until the water came out as clear as possible. We'd use a commercial carpet shampoo like are used in restaurants to get some really heavy duty stains out, and it helped tremendously. I don't think we ever cleaned the carpet with fewer than 5 passes per section, and even though we would try to get to the point that the water that we were extracting from the carpet came out clear, a dull gray was as close as we ever got.

I know that toward the end, many of her issues stemmed from her age. She was over 100 years old when she died, and she lived alone well into her 90s. She'd had several mini strokes over the years, so it was harder for her to keep things up, and she probably should have been in a home years before she was. But the hoarding started decades before the incidents which I write about happened. Horrific and indescribably atrocious things happened to her when she was a little girl, and I'm sure much of her mental illnesses stemmed from those things. I don't feel at liberty to discuss them here, but I honestly don't know how anyone could be 'normal' after going through what she endured.

I have no doubt that my grandmother's house would look like those on the hoarding shows, if we didn't intervene on occasion. It still took no time at all for things to pile back up and for the carpet to need to be scrubbed again. I'm in no way condoning the way she kept house, but knowing some of the things that happened to her as a child I can understand where the mental illness began and that this was her way of somehow trying to maintain control over her life. It was a coping mechanism that failed her.

I'm hoping that by recognizing the tendencies I have to hoard, like my grandmother did, and consciously choosing to address those tendencies on a daily basis, that I'll never fall into the trap that so tightly ensnared my grandmother.

Which came first? The chicken or the egg?

Mom said that when I was a kid I was fastidious at keeping my room clean. Everything had a place, and everything was where it should be. I was a neat freak. I would apparently get very frustrated with my sister who was more lax in her efforts to keep the room clean. Now, however, it would appear as though my sister and I have changed places. She is the neat freak, and I am...well...not.

What's funny is that I remember having problems with keeping things well before I even made it into my teens. One of my brothers had won a 6ft long stuffed snake at the fair for me. Actually, we had two of these snakes. He gave one to me and one to my sister. Mine had yellow and light green spots on it, so of course it was the one he picked out for me given my affinity for yellow. I remember having a love/hate relationship with it. I loved the fact that my brother had thought of me when he won it, but I never really knew what to do with the thing.

I believe I hung it from the ceiling at one point, because it didn't take up as much room up there as it did on my bed. I'd try to get creative with it and coil it up, but the thing was so stiff it didn't coil. . And it was so full of stuffing that it didn't even bend in half unless forced. When I finally got a toy net, it hung along the back of the toy net so it's head hung out the one side with it's tongue sticking out, and that was as close as I ever came to having a permanent place for it. As a toy the snake was rather useless. I couldn't cuddle with it, because it smelled dusty. It always made me want to cough, which I'm sure is because of the asthma I've had my entire life. We'd hang it outside on the clothesline to try to air it out, but even that didn't help much. It didn't really work as a weapon, although it may have, if Mom hadn't put an end to our attempts at battery. It was simply a thing to display.

The thing is...I think I may still have it. I think it's out in the storage pod in a box of things I didn't know what to do with that I packed up several years ago. If it is in a box, it's because after 30 years it is finally creased in places it was never meant to bend. If it's not there, then I may have finally donated it after agonizing over what to do with it one too many times over the years. I do know that I hung onto it for far too long, because I didn't know how to give it up. I didn't know how to let it go, because it symbolized the love my brother has for me.

I still have the Orange Blossom perfume another of my brothers bought me when he went to Ft Lauderdale, FL for Spring Break one year. I was probably about 8. It doesn't take up very much room. The bottle is only about an inch high and 3/4" wide. I kept the seashell it was wrapped in for years and years. I have no idea what happened to it, but I apparently parted with it somewhere along the way. The last I remember seeing the shell was before we moved into this house 9 years ago. This summer I finally parted with the long sleeved Ft Lauderdale t-shirt he got me the following summer, but it was really, really hard.

I guess my point in all this is that I've had hoarding tendencies all my life.

Even when I was a neat freak, I had trouble letting go.

I'd rather not go there.

Early this evening, I was talking with my sister. Her 14.5 year old daughter was getting ready for a school football game. She and her 3 friends were in the bathroom putting on makeup and curling hair and giggling and having fun. And I was suddenly transported back to my high school years and the anticipation of going to the football games. They were always so much fun. There wasn't a lot I really liked about high school, and I'd never go through those years again for a million bucks, but I loved the football games.

They were always so much fun. I rarely watched the game to actually know what was going on, but I loved listening to the cheering and the laughter of the people in the stands. The happiness was contagious on those crisp Fall evenings. And there were always the dances after the game was done, where we'd dance to I Love Rock-n-Roll, Freeze Frame, 867-5309, and the like. To this day, I'm transported back to that time in my life when I hear these songs.

I'm just.

There.

When I got off the phone with my sister, it suddenly hit me that none of our daughters had ever experienced what I did. We homeschooled Bugster through her junior high and high school years. She had plenty of different opportunities that she'd have not had in a public school setting, but she also missed out on things like football games and dances. I suddenly felt horribly guilty and called her up. I couldn't help but cry over her having missed out on what surely would have been some of her fondest memories, if she was anything like me. And she's a lot like me.

She assured me that she did get to go to football games and had the fun and excitement of cheering on the teams. She got to go to a prom with Bubster, and I know she had the time of her life. She assured me that she didn't feel like she missed out on anything and that she was grateful for the opportunities that she did have.

While we were talking, it hit me so hard that Hopper and Scooter won't ever have these kinds of memories, and although I'm thrilled that Bugster is satisfied with her experiences, it kills me that Hopper and Scooter miss out on so very much. It hurts that they don't have friends, that they'll never kiss a boy, that they'll never know the fun of putting on makeup and getting ready for a football game. It's hitting me even harder as I type this. My eyes are barely more than slits.

This is Hopper's senior year of high school. I'm sure that's one reason it's hitting me so much harder. I'm thankful in indescribable ways that neither of them can truly understand what they are missing, but it me hurts to the very core of my being. The loss I feel is so incredibly deep. *This* is why people say, "I'm sorry" when they hear you have special needs children.

All these years, I've had to focus on the positives. I knew that, if I allowed myself to go 'there', that I might not survive. 'There' is a very dark place with no hope. It's sad. It's consists of shattered dreams and immeasurable pain. It's a world of despair. There's a really good reason I have chosen not to live my life 'there'.

And now that I've allowed myself to go there for a few hours, to grieve this tremendous loss, I need to leave. My visit is over.

I will be happy and strong once again for my girls. I will be thankful that they don't know what they're missing. I will be so very thankful that they will never be hurt by a boy who just wants to use them. I will be thankful that they will not understand the pain of being on the receiving end of gossip. I will be that they are the happiest two people I've ever known in my life. I will be happy that their love is unconditional. That their trust in us is undying. I will be forever grateful that they are our daughters, and that they're not with someone who doesn't love them or try to understand them.

And I will be doing everything in my power to arrange for us to go to a football game as a family. I will do everything I can to prepare Hopper, so she doesn't have a panic attack at the thought of us being at her school and seeing people she knows in the stands. I will do everything I can to make sure she has some wonderful memories of her senior year of high school. I'm hoping that with all of us there, including Bugster, Bubster and Frank, that it won't be as hard on her. That she will instead have wonderful memories of a wonderfully fun day.

I pray the girls will always be secure in how much they are loved and adored.

They deserve that at the very least.

My soul needs cleaned.

It's a good thing that tears cleanse the soul. I've shed quite a few lately.

Yesterday, when I was dealing with the loss of the dreams I had for the girls to use the outdoor toys, I was hit smack dab between the eyes with a sense of loss I've been struggling with for a few months now, but I wasn't even sure what the problem was. And while this loss doesn't directly have anything to do with hoarding I'm afraid that, if I don't deal with it, if I don't acknowledge this loss, if I continue to stuff my feelings that it will backfire on me. I'm concerned I will stop moving forward and my progress will come to a screeching halt. I don't want that to happen.

Let me start off by being really clear about something. I, myself, am responsible for my feelings. They are just that. Feelings. They are neither right nor wrong. They just are. But pretending they aren't there, that they aren't real does me no good at all and has actually been quite detrimental, so here goes...

From the time Bugster was little, I dreamed of her wedding. There was nothing really specific about colors or particular flowers, just that ladybugs would definitely be incorporated. I dreamed of her being walked down the aisle by her daddy. Of her having memories of that incredibly special time with her dad like I have of mine. The whispers, the nervous giggles, the "I love you's", the "You're going to be just fine's", the voice catching in the throat and threatening to spill over, because tears of gratitude and happiness are just under the surface, and the squeezing of hands until you can hardly move your fingers anymore, because the blood is long gone from them. It was replaced by the love that passed between your souls as you share this incredibly special moment.

And to be honest, I wanted something for me. As I said yesterday, I come from a very large family. I have 8 brothers and sisters. And I always assumed that when Bugster got married, that they would be there. Granted, the chances of all of them being there was slim to none, but some of them would be there. They would be there to share in the celebration of our daughter starting her new life with her new husband.

They would be there to support me when I was overwhelmed with emotions. When we went down Memory Lane and saw her as a baby and then a little girl who turned into a lovely young woman, they would be there with me, so I didn't have to go down Memory Lane alone. They would be there to laugh with. To cry with. To hope with. To pray with. To help me wonder where in the world the time flew and how went by at mach speed.

And I know. I know. The wedding isn't about me. And I totally and completely get that. It is absolutely the bride and groom's decision, and not only do I get that, I support it. It was their choice to get married at the courthouse, and I respect that.

But I also feel a little cheated. I feel like Hubster was cheated out of walking his daughter down the aisle. He was cheated of that special walk that prepared him to give his daughter away. The one that's long enough for him to come to grips with saying goodbye to his little girl. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful that he was able to give her away at the courthouse, but walking her through the doorway isn't the same as a long walk down the aisle. It's so abrupt. There's no time to prepare for what's coming, because by the time you realize exactly which foot is supposed to go first, you're already at your destination.

And I will forever be indebted to Mom for making the trip and surprising Bugster for her wedding. I honestly have no idea how I'd have made it through it without her. It was incredibly difficult, and I was on the verge of tears the entire time. Not because of happiness that my baby had started her new life with Bubster, but because of an intense sadness. I felt so alone.

Calamity decided to drink, even though she had been adamantly been told that she could not order drinks when she asked. We were by and large ignored, while Calamity sidled up to Bugster and Buster's friends at the wedding table at the reception. She then accused me of glaring at her, and thus I was the reason she supposedly drank. What's funny is that I did everything I could to ignore her, because as much as it didn't meet my expectations, this was Bugster's and Bubster's day, not mine.

I wanted nothing to detract from that, and I was afraid I might say something to Calamity that didn't come across right, and give her an excuse to behave poorly.. I don't hate Calamity. I hate what she has done to the boys, but I don't hate her. I don't like her, either, though, and I wasn't raised to be phony, so I did my best to avoid interaction with her. That way, I didn't have to compromise my integrity, and I didn't have to pretend to like her or pretend that I was gloriously happy that they were getting married.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't horribly unhappy that they were getting married, but I also wasn't gloriously happy, either. It was just so rushed. So. Incomplete. Shoot. Mom and we are the only ones that brought them gifts. Granted, there were only about 20 people in attendance, so it's not like they would have had a table overflowing with presents to get them started in their new life together, but to see that we were the only ones that brought gifts hurt my heart.

You see, our little girl deserved more than this. She deserved a 'real' wedding. Bubster did, too. Especially after having the childhood he had. After what Calamity had done to him over the years we'd known him. It needed to be something more than it was. It needed to be as special as they are.

And I know that they'll be celebrating next year sometime with a more traditional ceremony, but it's not quite the same. Because once you're married it's not quite the same to get married again in another ceremony. Although, I am hoping that there will be a way for family to make it down. To help everyone celebrate their wedded life. But them already being married will change things. It just isn't going to be the same.

I am trying very hard to look forward to the celebration, but it's hard. I'm hoping, if I deal with these feelings that I'm having that I'll be able to celebrate with authenticity next year. That I can be gloriously happy and not feel cheated. That the tears that catch in my throat are tears of happiness and not anguish. After all, Bugster is married to a wonderful young man. He has exceeded our expectations as her husband. He's matured more in the months since they were married than we ever anticipated, and we're so very grateful. He's become a young man instead of the boy of a year ago, and we're beyond thrilled that they're happy.

I'm sure that part of the grief I am feeling is knowing that she's the only one of our daughters that will ever get married. It was our once chance for our dreams to come true, and it hurts terribly that it didn't work out the way we'd hoped. It hurts that it wasn't as special as she is to us.

I'm really hoping I can get over myself and get through the grief I feel, so I can be the mom my daughter deserves next year. Because as much as it hurts to admit it, she deserved more from me this year, too.

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream.

We worked on the porch again today. At this point, everything has been sorted except for a tote of Christmas decorations, a tote of Easter decorations, and the toys, which I combined all into one of the gargantuan totes. I've decided to store them all in the garage at this point, because I really don't have time to go through them.

Not right now.

Right now, I need the porch to be completely finished. I need to have it done, even though it will likely have stuff from the storage pod on it in the next few weeks. But I will have completed it once, so I will know I will be able to complete it again.

In the meantime, I had to decide what to do with this elephantine tote that had sat unopened since I put the contents in it years before. The contents of the tote represented a dream that I had hung onto for dear life for so long. A dream I had to let go today, and it has been far from easy.

That big blue tote with the wheels held barbecues in the park, kids playing volleyball, teaching the little ones how to play croquet, horseshoes and badminton in the backyard. It held Scooter and Hopper jumping in a little bouncy house and playing basketball with the inflatable ball that would fit through the inflatable hoops attached to the house. It held laughs and friends and family time and lots of fun blowing gigantic bubbles with the gallon bottle of bubbles at the back of the tote.

Except that it didn't.

Almost everything in the tote was still brand new. The barbecues, picnics, and fun in the backyard or at the park didn't happen. Bugster grew up, never had her friends over en masse, although she had them over several at a time many times over the years. She just never had enough over at the same time to make a volleyball team. Or to have fun playing croquet and horseshoes. Or to dress up in the dress up dresses and play badminton like the ladies of her favorite Jane Austin novels.

Today, I had to take a look at reality.

It glared at me.

But I so want to overcome this hoarding thing that has consumed my life that I didn't look away.

Instead, I looked in the tote chock full of yard toys and realized that it was okay to let go. I took a quick inventory.

1 volleyball net with poles - new? or maybe only used once.
1 volleyball net - new in package.
1 gallon bubble solution (I didn't check to see, if it had been opened or not, but it was full).
1 croquet set - brand new.
1 set used horseshoes, slightly chewed on by puppy.
1 camping roll - used.
1 bouncy house/play structure thing with extra props - brand new.
1 backpack with air pump, never inflated balls, and a triangular boomerang.
2 sets of those little discs with the Velcro on them that allow you to catch a ball - 1 used. 1 new.
1 set of bottles that break apart when you throw one of the balls in the set at just the right spot.
3 kites - new in packages.
1 used and slightly weather worn elephantine tote to hold it all.

I figured I'd put it up on Craigslist and make a little money on it. Actually, I wouldn't really make money on it, but it could go into the Found Money Fund. First, though, I needed to ask my friend. My friend has a rather large family. She and her husband have 8 children. And you know, this would be perfect for 8 children to enjoy with their friends, with their cousins, or even just with one another. And I felt like I needed to know where these toys went. I needed to know they wouldn't just be used for one party and tossed. That somehow, they'd be used for a few years. Perhaps several.

I come from a large family. There were 9 of us kids running around growing up. We would have thought we'd died and gone to Heaven, if we'd have had something like this when we were growing up. The way it was, we used the clothesline as a volleyball net, and we had enough kids to play baseball, even if it was just us and no friends came over. And it was not uncommon for us to break out the croquet and play when relatives came over, or if we were celebrating a summer birthday in the yard.

And while I know part of it is a hoarding characteristic to try to find a home for each and every thing, this was different. I felt like the toys deserved more than just sitting in a tote for years waiting for someone to enjoy them. I wanted a family like the family I had growing up to enjoy them, because they would appreciate them. And they in turn would bring the family closer together and make life long memories for the kids.

And I think I needed to still fulfill a dream. It might not be my original dream, but it was a dream, no less. She asked, if maybe I wanted to go ahead and list them on Craigslist and get more money for them than what I was charging her, but I explained that it wasn't about the money. It was about the dream. And she helped salvage the dream I once had for the toys that were not meant for my family.

But it was hard.

Realizing a dream has died is never easy.

W-croak-t! W-croak-t!

My Woot won't work.

All that comes out is 'W-croak-t! W-croak-t!"

Our youngest find this rather amusing. Our middle daughter finds it rather unnerving, and although she laughs, she also is concerned that I've had laryngitis for the last 4 or 5 days now. Her worry manifests itself in whining.

But let's not go there. This is a happy post.

A happy post that didn't know, if it was going to start off as a happy post...

My hubby picked up a flash drive last night on his way home from work, and I transferred all the files needed with the claim onto it straight away when I woke up. Feeling rather good but unwilling to breathe until it was safely in the adjuster's hands, I waited.

Our adjuster is rather difficult to reach. It often takes him a couple of days to return our calls, and we've had many calls that have not been returned due to his extremely busy schedule. We always eventually got all our questions answered, and he's always been quick with helping us. Just not returning calls. Who knew that an insurance adjuster could be busy with all the broken pipes, house fires, burglaries, etc.?

At any rate, the hubster left him a message last night asking him to return his call first thing. Surprise! We didn't hear from him. So hubby placed a call to our agent this morning and asked advice. They told him to bring the flash drive to them, and they'd download it and email the file to our adjuster. So off the hubs went.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I waited with 'bated breath.

You knew it. It didn't work. The agent couldn't open the file on his computer. :::sigh::

So my darling husband went to Kinkos to see, if they could put into a pdf file and send it on it's way. The short answer: They normally can. But they couldn't in this case, because they couldn't figure out how to convert this particular office program into pdf.

Great.

So my better half called our agent on his way to work and asked what they would recommend. Apparently our adjuster returned the call they put in on our behalf. When told of our plight he put in a 30 day extension for us, so we wouldn't go past the one year deadline to file. It's on Monday. I still can't believe it's been a year...but I digress.

Our beautiful, talented, wonderful daughter happened to text to see, if I still needed help putting things back in order on the computer. (I did something last night to the toolbar and thought I was going to lose my mind!!) I told her that I didn't need her help, but she was welcome to come over and visit, anyway. I'm so glad she only works a couple miles from us. It's always such a blessing to get to see her. :)

Today, we were more than blessed...

She walked in as I was finishing the phone call with her dad. Neither of us had any idea of what to do, and the 'bated breath was sounding more like hyperventilation at this point. To say we were stressed was an understatement.

She asked what was going on, and of course I obliged by filling her in on the happenings of the day. She immediately knew how to fix the problem and went to work on it. We're ever so glad took that computer class in college! She said that the file just needed to be converted to a different format in order to be opened by another computer. Into a format that most computers recognize and not the original format the adjuster sent to us.

Within a matter of minutes (seemed like light seconds to this old fogey), she had the file converted and saved for us to put on the flash drive. But this meant we'd have to wait until Monday to drop it off, because the Mr. would have to bring the drive back home again.

We were one step closer, but I've been holding my breath for quite some time at this point, and I felt like I was going to pass out figuratively.

Well, leave it to our genius offspring to think of putting it on an SD card. You see, our insurance agent is a hop, skip and a jump from her job, and she said she could just drop it off on her way back from lunch, if the agent had a card reader. She called. He did. She left. I held my breath once again.

She called to let me know that it worked. Yay! She left the SD card at the agent's office, so he'd have it, if there were any problems sending the file to the adjuster. I am so glad she had such incredible parents to teach her how to think on her feet, I tell ya!

Not 20 minutes later, I got a call from our insurance agent. And although he could open the document on his computer, the file was entirely too big for him to send to the adjuster.

Imagine that.

So, he is going to mail the SD card (that he still had in his possession due to the daughter's quick thinking) to the adjuster when he leaves to go home for the day.

I feel like I'm breathing again.

I just wish my Woot wasn't broken. I want to do my Woot Woot dance!

W-croak-t! W-croak-t!

Boopada ba ba ba ba boo. Boopada ba ba ba ba boo.

I'm punch drunk tonight. Too much caffeine today. Too little rest. Too much coughing. Too little sounding like myself and a little too much resemblance to the great Louis Armstrong. And for whatever reason, with my gravely, raw voice, I find that I cannot stop singing scat. At one point on the phone with my daughter tonight, she asked me to please stop, or she would have to hang up. :::sigh::: I get no respect.

But you know...it's not often that I have a voice that sounds like Mr. Armstrong. And not often that I'm punch drunk enough to not be able to stop. Oh well. I may as well go with the flow and enjoy myself.

I was not able to finish the insurance paperwork today. With the hubby being at work, the middle daughter hounded me. She believed I spent enough time taking my test and I should be done. I did make plenty of progress today. I just didn't finish.

I have to make a couple of phone calls tomorrow for last minute price checks. I only have to figure out the claims for 6 things. Well, sort of. One of those 6 things are adorable things that the kids made in school and brought home. Their masterpieces. And how am I possibly going to assess a value to them? They're irreplaceable.

I did take pictures of each individual one, so I have the memory. Unfortunately, the memory now includes the mildew, mold and water damage on these priceless works of art. I'm hoping I can use some photo editing software and cover the mildew somehow. Eventually, I'd love to put all the pictures in an electronic picture frame, so we can enjoy them whenever we want. Still. It won't be the same, and I have no idea how to calculate what they're worth.

One of my favorite things that was destroyed I had every intention of hanging on the wall for eternity. I just hadn't gotten around to it. When our oldest was about 9, she had to make a family tree with her parents. We spent hours on it, and it turned out beautifully. It was a huge tree, because I come from a very large family, and by the time both mine and hubby's families were combined on the board, it was hard to fit everyone on there.

After cutting out several individual leaves and making the background for the tree, she cut out roughly 60 hearts. They each hung from a small piece of yarn like apples waiting to be plucked. Each heart had a different name on it. From her grandparents on down. All of her aunts and uncles and cousins and sisters were on this big, beautiful family tree. She was so proud of it. We were so proud of her. She worked so hard on it!

I loved the fact that she chose to put hearts on it instead of apples. That she wanted everyone to know that family symbolized love to her.

How do I possibly put a price tag on something that beautiful?