Colorado Dreamin'.

So I've been having some really odd dreams lately. Even odder is that I'm actually remembering some of them longer than the first 5 minutes I'm awake. I've heard that dreams are our brains' way of working out problems while we're sleeping, but I just can't see how some of them are working anything out at all. They're just, well, silly.


The other night in Dreamland....

Jacob, the Marine who lost his legs in Afghanistan 18 months ago or so, sought me out to go to the thrift store. Mind you, I've never met him in real life, as we know his wife, not him, so I was quite flattered that he wanted to spend any time with me. 

Instead of going to the typical thrift stores, we went to this big building with lots of corridors and rooms that didn't seem claustrophobic but airy. He was looking for something to surprise his wife, Ella, but he wasn't sure what it was. Finally, we came to the corner of the room, and there was a big dollhouse on the table. Because he and Ella are expecting a little girl in a few months, he was very interested. And as soon as he saw a little plastic Nativity scene that was in the shape of a ball that all the little characters fit in neatly. Sort of like one of those puzzle balls where you put the star block in the star-shaped hole. 

They wanted $40 for it, but he realized he'd left his money somewhere else, so he asked me to stay and watch to make sure nobody else bought it. While I was waiting, I noticed some sort of a lottery or bingo or something going on where they were giving little gifts away. As I watched the participants, I was acutely aware of the fact that I didn't want any of them to get Jacob's dollhouse, all the time sizing up the gifts that they were starting to fight over and trying to determine, if it was even worth getting a late start into the game.

It wasn't. So I decided to walk around and see some of the other rooms I hadn't seen yet. (So much for watching the dollhouse!) I came across a vendor who was set up in the stairwell landing. The shop owner was being told by the owner of the building he was no longer allowed to sell his wares, which greatly distressed me, because I found something I wanted. They were white flannel pajamas with all of the NFL team helmets on them along with a list of each player on the teams for the 2013 season. I knew that Hopper would love them, so I talked him into selling me the set I was already holding onto when he was told to pack things up. 

I wrote out a check, since he'd had to pack away his credit card machine. As I reached for the receipt, he held up my bra with a smirk on his face! (It was the same one I'd seen in the wash earlier in the day when I was washing laundry in real life. I remember thinking at the time that I really needed a new bra. It no longer really fits right after I've lost weight. Plus I had to remove the underwires after they snapped in half. So it really is a mess!) 

I was about ready to die of embarrassment when he started swinging it around! I told him he needed to give it back. Now! And he responded, "It's not doing you any good anyway. I mean, look at your physique!" Unfortunately, that physique looked the same in the dream as it does in the real world, so I was pretty much mortified at my lumpiness when I woke up. 

Obviously, it's time to get a new bra. I've lost just under 30 pounds since August, and while that's nothing compared to what I need to lose, it's a start. And losing that much weight really does change how a bra fits, so I'm thinking I need to stop dreaming about it and actually go shopping and do something about it.

Still, I wonder, if Jacob got the dollhouse and what Ella thought of it.

Thoughts.

I've had a lot on my mind today. Nothing really extraordinary...just...life.


I rarely dream. I struggle with getting all the way to REM sleep most nights. It is what it is. When I wake up and actually remember a dream, it's unusual. This morning I'd decided to take a little nap after getting Scooter off to school. Hopper had decided to go back to bed and start her day a little later, too, so I felt comfortable getting a little shuteye. So this morning, when the phone rang the first time, and I realized I was dreaming, I was a little surprised. 


It was Bugster. We had a bit of a freak snowstorm hit, and it was super icy outside. The defrost in her car wasn't working, and she realized the car was overheating. She couldn't get Bubster on the phone, so she called us to help her figure out what to do. She decided to try Bubster again, and I told her to call back and let us know, if she got a hold of her husband. If not, I knew Hubster would go help her out.


When Bugster called back a little bit later to let me know that she'd called in and let them know she wouldn't be able to make it to work, she once again woke me up from a dream. It was a weird dream with pieces of our past melded with pieces of our right now. It included lots of people from our past and present lives, and it was just sort of fun. But it did surprise me that I'd been able to get into the REM cycle twice within such a short period of time.


I was still exhausted, so I closed my eyes once again. It felt as though my head had hardly touched the pillow when the phone rang for the third time waking me from yet another dream - this time about someone opening my cupboard doors after my house was completely dehoarded and asking me why I still had so many cake pans. I tried pulling my head out of the cupboard in my dreams and bring myself back to the conversation at hand. It was Bugster once again. Her radiator had sprung a leak, but Bubster had been able to help her get the car home and was going to replace her radiator before he went to work. 


I took the third call as my cue to get up for the day, but I have to admit I'd have loved to have crawled back into bed. I heard from Bugster a few hours later that Bubster had indeed been able to replace the radiator and get to work on time. It made my heart swell with pride knowing that our son-in-law was taking such good care of our girl. The more we get to know him, the longer they are together, the more we are so very grateful that he is her husband.


We aren't sure how it happened, since he didn't learn it from either of his parents, but Bubster is such a responsible young man. As parents, we have always seen Bugster take her responsibilities seriously, so it didn't come as such a huge surprise that she's such a responsible adult. But they have taken on so much with Frank.


It's so incredibly unfair that he was first abandoned by his mother and then a short 3 years later was deserted by his father. Seriously, who does that? And it got me to thinking. What causes some people to refuse to take responsibility and compels others to take on way more than their fair share?


I get that there are a lot of different circumstances that can factor in.  Finances. Physical health. Mental health. Age. Maturity. 


I get that. I really do. And sometimes, I think that those factors are valid reasons not to take on certain responsibilities. But when does a valid reason turn into just another excuse for bad behavior? When does it turn into an excuse to pawn your responsibilities off on someone else?


I'm really struggling with Bubster and Frank's parents about now. The extra responsibility Bugster and her husband have taken on by taking Frank in is taking its toll. Don't get me wrong. Their marriage isn't in trouble. They're still very much in love and very much willing to have Frank live right where he is in the extra bedroom. But they never really have time alone. They've never had that awkward but wonderfully fun adjustment period with just the two of them against the world. And it angers me. 


It angers me that two adults who should be taking their roles as parents seriously are so selfish that they pawned their youngest off on young adults just starting out on their own. 


Mostly, I'm just so incredibly proud of Bugster and Bubster for being the amazing, selfless people they are that they continue to sacrifice, so Bubster's little brother has a home. A family. And love.


And I am honored to call them my family. 

The good, the bad and the ugly.

Woke up from a nightmare this morning. Heart racing. Palms sweating.


We were apparently staying with the in-laws, but they decided in the middle of our stay to go out of town, and we had the house to ourselves. I got out of the hot tub (they don't have one, so I'm thinking that came in to the picture from the stiffness in my body over the weekend), and went into the kitchen to fix something for everyone to eat, but when I went in there, I couldn't believe the mess.


The dishes were piled high everywhere. There was trash that hadn't been thrown in the garbage can and was sitting precariously perched here and there. My heart sunk. I walked through the other rooms of the house, and I couldn't believe what a mess it was. There were clothes strewn everywhere. There floor was covered. I couldn't even find the swimsuit I'd taken off when I got out of the hot tub for the clutter.


My heart sank. 


It was then I realized we'd been in town for several days and hadn't even taken the time to visit my brother, and we had to leave in the next few days. I woke up to the realization that it was going to take at least 2 full days of cleaning to get the house in order. 


What a rough way to wake up. I've got a knot in the pit of my stomach. I am sure the stress of not being able to accomplish much of anything since we got home a little over 2 weeks ago. I am motivated, however, to kick some major butt today in the house!


We woke up Saturday morning feeling much better, and we were able to meet Bugster to go wedding dress shopping. She looked amazing! We were also able to find something for Hopper and me to wear to the wedding. We've had Scooter's outfit for over a year, but I'd been stressing over the rest of us. Hopper hates dressing up even more than her dad, which says a lot, but we settled on a colorful ankle-length broomstick skirt and blouse that matched one of the colors. She was happy with it, and because she sees Scooter wear skirts like that all the time, we figured she'd be comfortable wearing it. 


What a relief!


Seriously! A huge relief! Things will go so much more smoothly, if Hopper is comfortable in what she's wearing and doesn't freak out. She wore a shorter skirt when we took Hubster out yesterday for Father's Day, and she freaked a little. She doesn't like the attention that wearing new clothes brings, so it was a rough start to an otherwise great day out, and by the time we were halfway through dinner, she was talking about how cute her outfit was. It was worth getting the stress out of the way now, even though it did put a bit of a damper on the celebration to start.


We were able to pick up a pair of black jeans the hubby will be wearing for the wedding and got them washed and hung to dry, so they don't fade. He won't take any chances by wearing them before the big day. We still have to find a dress shirt for Hubster and get some shoes for us girls, but otherwise we're set. I am so relieved! It's weighed on my mind a lot, and it's just one more big thing off The List.


Another big one marked off? I finally finished the paperwork that had me so stressed out since we got home from vacation. It was dropped in the mailbox at the post office last night. Thankfully, it's just being mailed here in town, so it shouldn't take long for it to get there, and hopefully everything will get straightened out in short order.


I've got entirely too much to do, but I'm hoping I get enough done today I'm not dreaming stressful dreams about the inlaws and the house again. 


I'll be starting in the refrigerator. Found out the hard way that it's not a good idea to lay an opened bottle of sparkling apple cider on it's side, even if the cap is back on as tight as it will go. 


:::sigh:::

Someday.

I was 5 years old when my dad brought mom home from the hospital. She had gone in to have our baby brother. She came home with empty arms. Our baby brother died when he was 3 days old as a result of an alcoholic doctor. Lawsuits were not common 40 years ago when we lost him, and I don't know that my parents would have sued anyway. The doctor, whose negligence resulted in his death, was very dear to my parents, and to say he felt bad about it was apparently an understatement. From what I understand, he stopped delivering babies after he inadvertently killed the youngest member of our family. It tore him apart.

But I don't think it could have affected him nearly as much as it affected our family. My mom never has gotten over it. For a full week before and after his birthday every year she is almost non-functioning with grief. I'm sure she pictures what he would have looked like, what he would be doing for a living, how many children he'd have had, but along with that, I know she has to wonder what he'd have been like as a little boy. Would he have been more sensitive like my younger brother or more of a rebel like one of my older ones And I'm sure she has wondered repeatedly what she could have done to have prevented it from happening and probably even suffered a bit from survivor's guilt. My mom's heart is huge, and she'd much rather have given her life, if his had been spared.

And while we never lost a baby after birth, we did lose 3 little ones who never made it into this world. The grief was overwhelming. We fell in love with every single one of them the moment we found out we were expecting. We wondered who they would resemble. Would we finally have our little boy? What would it mean for Hopper and Scooter? If the babies didn't have the genetic condition the girls have, would they ever think that they weren't good enough, and that was why we tried for more? What would it mean for the baby having 2 older sisters who they would eventually surpass in ability?

We hadn't come to an answer for any one of the questions when we lost them at 16, 13 and 9 weeks. We picked out names. We felt the first one we lost was finally our little boy. We named him Shamus Andrew. We sensed our next was another little girl. We named her Sylvia Adeline. We didn't name our last one. We didn't know about the pregnancy long enough to get a grasp of who we had lost, but the loss was tremendous.

It's amazing how big a void losing a child can leave in your life. Suddenly all the hopes and dreams you had from the moment the morning sickness started are ripped out of your hands - no matter how desperately you try to hold on. Sadly, it is totally out of your control, so you reach out to try to maintain control as you feel yourself free falling. You cling to what you do have. You hug your children a little tighter and more often. You never want to let them go.

For me, not only did I cling to my girls and my husband even more tightly. I hung onto anything and everything of theirs that had memories attached. Baby toys. The baby and maternity clothes were the hardest. I take that back. I still haven't been able to let go of the baby blankets I made. I'm not sure I'll ever get rid of them. I held onto the hope that one day, some day, I'd have a reason to wear my favorite blue and black plaid flannel maternity shirt that I wore with all 3 girls. That someday we would put the little pink bonnets and lacy dresses on another little sweetheart with a thick head full of hair.

Someday.

It's hard to give up Someday.

Someday is so full of promise.

Someday is so full of hope.

Someday is so filled with dreams.

It's really hard to give up Someday.

Almost human.

Today I felt almost normal.

After we got the girls ready for school, but before they were out the door I'd gotten the turkey I'd been defrosting for a few days in the oven. Then I went back to bed for a little while. I am still needing a bit more sleep than typical, and I may as well catch up on it while the girls are in school. I enjoyed the nap, but I awoke from a dream about a creep from my past. I woke up shortly after he said he didn't know how I could do it with the girls. That he'd tried but couldn't. (Just for clarification, this creep was out of my life long before our girls entered the picture). He then started walking away and said, "Love ya!"

Ewww! I sat straight up in bed with that and felt like throwing up. He's not a person I ever care to see again. Ever. Even in my dreams. So I'm not sure exactly why he showed up this morning. I hope he crawls back to the rock under which he belongs. I never, ever want to go back to that time in my life. Not in time. Not in memories. Not in my mind. Not in my dreams.

Some might say I have issues.

I just say I've moved on.

I showered to start my day, got dressed, and started deboning the turkey. It hurt. The turkey was hot. I thought I was going to have blisters on my fingertips by the time I was done. So I took a few minutes and got a load of laundry started in the washer and then finished deboning the turkey. I got my biggest stock pot down, put the carcass and some celery in the pot and filled it up with water to make broth.

Then, shock of all shocks, I didn't put off cleaning the turkey roaster. I typically don't debone the turkey right away and that results in me putting off cleaning the roaster as well. They're close to the top of my list of things I hate to do. Really close. So the fact that it's all done is just...well...nice.

While the turkey carcass was brewing on the back burner, I went outside and painted the final coat of white on the table tops. I was going to do it yesterday or the day before, but both Wednesday and Thursday were windy, and I didn't want anything getting in the paint. Good thing I waited. The tops of the tables were covered in dust I had to wipe off before painting them.

When I came in, I got the girls something to eat and emptied out a couple baskets full of laundry and put the stuff put away. The laundry included clean towels. And even though I'd cleaned most of the linen closet out last week, I still had work I needed to do. The top shelf was where I tried to neatly stack all the placemats, tablecloths, doilies and napkins over the years. Except there was nothing neat about it. Anytime anything had been removed, the rest of the stuff ended up all cockeyed and disorganized and looked awful. Besides that, I had no place to put our sheets,

So everything came off the top shelf in the linen closet. It's in a laundry basket. So in some ways, I just traded baskets of stuff, because the sheets have been in a tote for the last several months. A tote in the living room. And I was ready to get it out of there! So the sheets and blankets were put on the top shelf of the linen closet, and it looks organized and nice. I'll work on sorting the placemats, doilies and napkins this weekend and getting that basket emptied and finding a permanent place for it's contents.

By the time I was done with the linen closet, the turkey broth was finished cooking. I left it to cool for awhile and then removed the bones and strained the broth. I'll skim the fat off it tomorrow after it's had a chance to harden in the refrigerator. Then I'll freeze half of it for the next time I need turkey broth. I'll be making soup in the next couple of days with the rest. The girls have brought sore throats home from school, and even though it's going to be hot this weekend soup just sounds good.

Yep. I'm feeling almost normal again.

I'm looking forward to getting some dehoarding done this weekend.

Of plans and dreams and such.

My hubby and I were discussing yesterday's post over at If I Were a Hoarder shortly before bed last night. In the post, Zoltana quoted Randy Frost and Gail Steketee's work, Stuff: Compulsive Hoarding and the Meaning of Things. In it they discuss Impulse Control Disorder and how many hoarders have it but don't have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, even though the general thought is that hoarding is connected to OCD.

I apparently had this on my mind, as well as this post from StuffProject.com because I had the most bizarre dream before I woke up this morning.

I was at one of the many stores where things cost a dollar. I had filled my shopping cart to overflowing with stuff from the aisles of junk. Stuff like the lotto pen and the grocery list and the denim paint that were all part of The Purge of 2010.

In my dream, I got up to the register to pay for a cart heaped to overflowing full of impulse buys, and the manager of the store told me that I was not allowed to do this every day. I thought he meant I wasn't allowed to come and shop at his store and line his pockets anymore. His complaint was that I was holding up the line with all my purchases. It didn't matter that I was apparently dropping several hundred dollars a week buying junk in his store. I was holding up the other customers in the store who only had 1 or 2 items to purchase.

So I got irritated with him, and after I'd paid for everything, I painstakingly went through each and every purchase and sorted out what I really wanted to keep. I suddenly started seeing the items through the eyes I've been looking through the last few months. I was shocked to see that I had gotten an entire pile of notepads that weren't even cute, junk like the lotto pen, and like the massive amounts of stuff I've sorted through and thrown or given away over the last several months. I think I kept a couple of things, but I came to my senses and was returning everything else when I woke up.

I do know that compulsive shopping years ago added to the mess I'm trying to dig my way out of now. I had very poor impulse control for years. I only bought stuff that was deeply discounted on the clearance endcaps, but if there was one thing I liked, I got one of every color offered, or I got one for every person I knew that might appreciate it. I spent way too much money on things that have been ruined over the years or that have been wasted in some other way.

I feel horribly guilty over the waste I've contributed to in the 25 years my husband and I have been together. I think of the money I could have saved, the stress I could have prevented, and the life we could have had as a result. But you know what they say, "Hindsight's 20/20", and I can't live in the guilt. It's part of my past, and I want it to stay there. I can only live consciously and not add to the clutter and do my best to dig my way out.

Sounds like a plan.

Clarifications and then some.

I feel I need to clarify something about yesterday's post.

It was very difficult to admit I was having such difficulty dealing with the loss of my dream of our daughter's wedding. I knew I'd been having problems with it for some time, but I had no idea what the problem was. I just knew that every time Bugster would want to talk about the more formal wedding ceremony that they'll be having sometime next year, I would either get irritated or start crying. And I had no idea what the problem was.

Shortly after I went through dealing with the tote of yard toys, Bugster and I were on the phone. She started asking me questions about next year's celebration, and I got a huge lump in my throat, but I didn't have any idea what triggered it. So I told her I needed to get off the phone. That I couldn't talk about the wedding right then, and that I'd talk to her later.

She asked what was wrong. I told her I had no idea. I didn't. I had no clue. I told her that I wasn't sure what it was, but that I would be blogging about it, because I knew I had to deal with things. So she did know the post was coming, but neither of us knew what was wrong. And as I started to write my post, I realized there was a lot that I hadn't dealt with, and it seemingly came from nowhere.

I just knew that whatever it was that was wrong I needed to face. It is totally unfair to Bugster for me to cry or get irritable every time she brings up next year's 'shindig', as she calls it. I'm sure she would eventually pick up on the fact that it happened every time the wedding was brought up. It would take all the fun out of any dreams that she had for their ceremony next year, and it would not be fair. At all.

So I faced it. And I feel bad for Bugster being sad that I was sad, but I'm okay now. Really. And we were able to talk a bit, and we're both fine, and we're on to planning next year's wedding. And she sprung it on me tonight that *I* am responsible for making the wedding cake! I'm not sure, how I'll do it, or if I'll try to do something along the line of the one I made this year for them. Next year, I'll definitely start planning it more than a week before the wedding, though. And I'll do what I can to practice on birthday cakes, so I can do the best job I'm capable of doing. I just hope it lives up to her (and my) expectations.

So there you have it. Things turned out quite well, and I'm feeling much better than I was when I wrote yesterday's post.

Actually, *better* is a bit of a subjective term.

I did accomplish quite a bit out on the porch today, but I just wanted to get busy, so I decided to forgo the shower. Yeah. We all know where this is leading, don't we?

I'd gone downstairs to start yet another load of laundry from the 'last 9 years pile' when I discovered water all over the laundry room floor. We have sewer back ups from time to time, so I assumed it was the sewer backing up. The spot on the floor was right near the drain, and the swath it cut was the appropriate size for a sewer backup, so I called the emergency number for the water district. They came out and checked the lines in the street. Unfortunately, this is something that happens at least once a year, sometimes 3 times a year.

They cleared the line, even though things didn't appear to be blocked as a precaution, and I appreciate it ever so much. They did ask, though, if I would please run the washing machine on a rinse/spin cycle, so I could see, if the water was still coming up from the drain. So I ran downstairs, turned the washing machine on, and glanced over at the floor again.

I was surprised to see that the water hadn't drained very well. It looked almost like there was a leak, because the water was still pooled in areas. When I looked a little closer, I noticed water dripping off the water heater. Actually, it wasn't quite dripping. It was running. We looked up the symptoms after we sent the water district employees on their way, and it appears to be the pressure valve.

And while a pressure valve isn't all that expensive, the heater is already 9.5 or 10 years old. So we really probably shouldn't put any money into trying to fix it, since the average life of a water heater is only 10 years anyway. So we've got that going for us.

Oh. Yeah. The point I started to make earlier?

I didn't get my shower today.

Oh joy.

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.

Somebody else told my story.

Well, technically, it's her story. But she describes so much of what I felt the night our middle daughter was born. It brought back so many incredible memories. It's a beautiful story. You can read it here. I hope you take the time. You will feel richer for having done so. It's a story of a little baby named, Nella, who was born a couple of weeks ago with Down Syndrome. It's a beautiful, beautiful story.

Normally, I won't have the time to go blog surfing, but there's nothing I can do physically right now. The steroids are kicking in a little, but I'm back on nebulizer treatments and antibiotics. My lungs sound like a percolator. I'm hoping to be back to my dehoarding in a few days. In the meantime, I've been trying to uncover some of the reasons behind my hoarding issues. I think I'm getting somewhere.

It gives me hope that I will eventually make it to the other side.

Enough.

I was talking with a friend about yesterday's post. The part about me giving up some of my dreams. While talking with her, I realized that it's more than just giving up the dream of having fun moments with the girls creating things and playing games. It's having to give up a little bit of hope.

Fifteen years ago, I almost fired the girls' physical therapist, because she made me feel as though there was no hope. I would tell her what the girls had accomplished since she saw them last, and she would proceed to fill me in on all they couldn't do. After she finished telling me everything my girls couldn't do one particular day, she went on to tell me a joke. I could hardly even muster a smile. I don't even remember the joke. I just remember being crestfallen at her criticism of my babies.

She realized something was up, and she asked me, if anything was wrong. At first I protested and said, "No." But somehow, I stopped myself. I said, "Actually, yes. Something is wrong. Every time you come to our house for physical therapy, and I tell you what the girls have done, you counter by telling me everything they can't do. Don't you think I KNOW what they can't do?? I see it every single day! But I can't focus on that. If I do, I'll drown! I will have no hope. And I can't live without hope. I have to celebrate even the smallest accomplishments they make, because they work SO much harder than the average kid to do the smallest things. Please don't end every session by telling me what they can't do. I can't handle it." And I started crying.

I don't cry a lot. I didn't back then either. I think that somehow I was afraid that, if I started crying I wouldn't be able to stop. I didn't want the girls to pick up on that crying and think that somehow they, simply by being who they were made to be, were making me unhappy. That somehow they weren't enough.

The therapist ended up apologizing profusely. She said she'd never realized that she'd been doing it, and she'd been doing it for years with all of her patients. She said she learned a lot with that conversation, and she was going to do what she could to implement a more positive approach with all of her patients, and she thanked me for bringing it to her attention. She ended up being wonderful with the girls, and I'm so glad that somewhere I found the strength that day to say exactly what I needed to say instead of stuffing my feelings.

I've always had hope for our girls. Even when our youngest weighed 21 pounds and couldn't sit up without being propped by tons of pillows stacked around her when she was almost 4. Even then, I held out hope that she would walk. And she did!! She does! She can! And while I know that I'm not the reason that she learned to walk, I hope that somehow she knew I believed in her. That I believed she could do it. And that maybe it inspired her and helped her to not give up.

But soon, I must face reality. I must let go of some of that hope, as I eventually sort through those board games and crafts and part with those that are above the girls' abilities. I have to allow myself to let go. I have to make myself face what the girls aren't capable of doing. One of the things that I hate most of all.

Most of all, I must remind myself that they are, always have been, and always will be.

Enough.