No, this blog isn’t about little green men from another planet.  I’ll address John McCain and his financial policies another time.

I was thinking about all that goes along with buying a house, moving, etc., and the more I think about it, the more I’m pretty sure I’m either going to have a panic attack or break out in hives before this is through.  (I did break out in something before the flight to Las Vegas.  I have no idea what it was, and it went down after we got there, but even now, that same spot on my arms flares up when I get agitated.)  I’ve seen Toy Story too many times to just chuck out all the toys the boys haven’t played with in years, but what’re we going to do with it all?  What about all the tiny little clothes I’ve gotten attached to?  The Cowboys sweatsuit my dad bought for Ryan when he was in Florida visiting my grandmother (now deceased)?  The t-shirt my grandfather (also now deceased) bought for Ryan after Ryan’s first hospital trip?  The cute little Spiderman sneakers Alex used to love? 

At the same time, I have some sloughing off of dead layers to do, myself.  I spent a large part of the weekend not packing but finishing up my unfinished objects (UFOs), and I did finish two plus I started and finished a third.  (I’ll have to start posting my projects on Ravelry.com, an online crafting community that Laura introduced me to.)  I’m delighted to not have as much stuff crawling around on the floor for John to trip on.  But I have more books than some small-town libraries (and definitely some books that most Alaska libraries wouldn’t shelve) and I’m not sure what the point is in keeping all of them.  There were a few Harvey Wallbangers in that collection.  I’ll have to decide what stays and what goes.  I also have stuff that dogs (long since deceased) shredded but I was too attached to the items to throw them out.  The scarf my grandmother got me.  The teddy bear my ex bought me; the dog ripped the eye out and gnarled the arm, and I don’t like my ex much but I do still love the teddy bear.  My personal baby blanket was a wreck even before that dumb dog decided to use it as a chew toy.  I could no sooner throw that out than I could throw out my laptop.  (Perish the thought!) 

When I left NY, I packed as much as I could and left what I had to, thinking I could go back and get the rest at a later date.  What actually happened was, I had boxes in my apartment that I learned to live around, but when I went back to NY, I found my ex had tossed out a LOT of my stuff.  Grade school yearbooks, clothes (especially all the baby clothes that I’d carefully boxed and labeled for sizes and seasons; baby clothes that had been mine when I was a little girl), movies, toys, a giant latch hook rug that my grandfather spent months making for Ryan; all beloved things that I didn’t want to lose.  I lost them.  It still hurts once in a while when I think about it too long, but then I sigh and tell myself, “I lost it all in the fire.”  There was no fire, but I can’t let myself think about what happened to it all.  It’s just too hard on my already overactive imagination. 

It’s all going to begin again soon.  I have to go into the boys’ room armed with boxes and trash bags, and I have to open the toy box that hasn’t been opened in years and cull the herd.  Only a few things will survive.  Among the survivors will be the Woody doll I got from a Burger King promotion; Ryan and his Woody doll were inseparable for years, and just like in Toy Story, even though Andy grew up, his mom never really did.  Don’t worry, Woody and Buzz.  You’ll be fine. 

I’m looking forward to having all my yarn and pattern books in one space, and I’m eager to see it all neat and organized.  But to get there, I have to put it all in one place.  I also have to look at all my teddy bears–did I mention I won a huge stuffed dog at Dave & Buster’s on Saturday when we took Alex out for an afternoon of fun and games?–and decide who gets displayed and who gets stored.  I’d rather review the future of my 401K than make that decision.  And the idea of seeing all my yarn in one place is a little nerve-wracking because I know my stash is embarrassing.  I’ll take pictures of it all when that happens. 

I told a friend today how nervous I was, how I just couldn’t bring myself to get that job started.  She reminded me of her favorite saying:  If you want something done, ask a busy person.  I’m usually pretty good once I reach that point, but I haven’t pushed myself to get there yet.  This weekend, though.  It has to start some time.  I’ll crack open a beer, pull my hair back and let’s get this party started.