The Great Purge (Ready, Set...): Part V

I did it! Despite all my anxiety and concerns, everything is marked, set out, and ready for tomorrow. I actually had all of it done Tuesday other than hanging up some coats. I told you I was terrible at math....

Boys clothes priced and ready to go

To think most of this was crammed in totes and piled in the basement! Nothing is going back down there. Not one single item. You all are my witnesses.

I gave up pricing every piece of adult clothing. I put them in labeled totes with $1.00 on them. I hope I remember this....

Memories are hard. While we may no longer have use for things, memories can keep us from letting them go. In this photo I can see my Mom's old porcelain Geisha statue that sat on her dresser the entirety of my childhood; the plant stand that Dad bought Mom when I was tiny; the briefcase we used for years to organize and transport paperwork while my Dad was coordinator for our mission church. 

I thought to myself, how in the world do you sell a Rolodex in this age of smartphones, Pinterest, Facebook, etc.? So I made it into a pretty Recipe-Dex. Not sure what to get that special quirky someone? What about a Mother's Day gift for the Mom that has everything? This is a steal at just $5! 

A couple of the big items didn't fit in the garage while leaving room for walkways, so I advertised the garage sale on our county's Facebook For-Sale page, emphasizing what I hoped would sell early. By 8pm tonight the bike trailer and Pack 'n' Play were sold, and I have the word of a couple others that they'll pick up books and the crib mattress tomorrow. Unfortunately, it's first come, first served around here. I've been stood up one too many times while holding things for people.

Today was chilly, blustery, and damp. It looks like rain is forecasted again for Thursday and Saturday, so I'm very thankful everything is packed into the garage. If it's anything like today, it's not going to be pleasant being out and about, not to mention sitting in a cold garage. It'll be interesting seeing how many people make it out. Inclement weather must love my garage sales because for last fall's sale it rained and hailed the opening morning.

Today I worked on getting the house back in some kind of order. A pile of clean, unfolded laundry had grown to a height almost equal to my own. Dishes needed doing, floors swept and vacuumed. There had been totes covering the floor for a long time, and a lot accumulated under them while I was sorting. I will not be having a garage sale next year. That's my resolution. I'm going to be more thoughtful from now on what I bring into the house. I will not be hitting up garage sales this spring, though it's one of my favorite things to do. Therefore, if any one of you finds a cheap, decent looking pair of size 5 (not slim) khakis (for Liam), I would be happy to buy them from you. We are also on the lookout for cheap boy pants in size 14R; jeans, cargo pants, and leisure. Thank you!

And now I must crawl into bed because shortly it will be tomorrow, and tomorrow I have to put my selling face on.

For other posts in this series:

The Great Purge: Part I

The Great (Furniture) Purge: Part II

The (Not So) Great (Book) Purge: Part III

The Great (Mostly Clothing) Purge: Part IV

Detour Ahead

The only certain thing about life is its uncertainty.

Garage sale plans have changed again, thanks to the magniferous ginormity of a mountain that accumulated in my lessification project.

My dear Mother-in-law is still hosting the garage sale I was about to invade, but when we discussed details today such as space and time and the meaning of life, it was determined that it would be easier on everyone if I just set up in our garage.

And so, folks, I'm having another garage sale. Solo. Eli is on overnights, so he will be sleeping while all this craziness is going on and won't be able to help with the boys. We're loaded up on frozen pizzas, Hot Pockets, and hot dogs, and I've aired out the kennels (kidding!) But seriously, I was getting incredibly overwhelmed this weekend with the thought of it all. It took me all of Saturday afternoon to price one tote of clothes (including an average amount of interruptions). I sat here, calculating as close as possible the numbers of hours it actually took, the size of the pile visually divided by tote, estimated number of totes in pile multiplied by those hours--and how many hours until Thursday? If that isn't the most screwed up math problem you've ever heard.... What if I don't have enough hours to get it all ready? What if it's not good enough? I almost forgot we have two appointments to make it to tomorrow afternoon!

On top of those concerns, the house has been in a constant state of chaos while I unearthed all these things to sell. Tuesday a nurse is coming to help Eli learn how to administer a new medication for his psoriasis. I hope she doesn't think we're hoarders. I almost can't breathe through the fit of anxiety-induced laughter that thought provokes!

Therefore, when this showed up on my Pinterest feed this afternoon, it gave me an amazing sense of peace about everything. Of all the doctors of the Church, St. Francis de Sales has most often spoken to my heart.

It is what it is. Some things will be priced and set out on tables, what I don't get done will be set out in totes or wherever and I'll wing it. As a person who functions best with well-laid out plans, lists, and plenty of time to accustom myself to the thought of so much socializing, "winging it" is pretty close to being on my list of dirty words.

For those of you who need boys clothes in sizes 0-12 and know where I live, feel free to stop by 9-5 Thursday and Friday, or Saturday morning. There will be a lot of other miscellaneous items such as books, games, crib mattress, Pack 'n' Play portable crib/playpen, booster seat, blankets, baskets, vintage brown-drip soup pots with handles, a breadmaker, mini-Crockpot, skis, coats, and adult clothes. I'll be here.

Say a Hail Mary for me, guys.

The Great (Mostly Clothing) Purge: Part IV

The getting-rid-of-clothing part of our clutter reduction has been the longest, biggest, most difficult, process for me. I started it back in January when I redid the boys' room. I weeded clothes out of the closet and drawers, and finally organized their whole closet. Most of their unused toys were sold at our garage sale last fall, but I was also able to get rid of a couple games we hadn't played in years. Amazingly, the way I have the closet set up now is proving to be a success. It's still tidy and organized! This may also be partly due to the number of times I've lectured about the orderliness of their stuff; a few threats have been made.

Everything, and I mean everything, has its own spot. If it doesn't, it's gone.

I was also haunted by the state of our bedroom. I'm not joking when I say there was a path from the door, along the side of the bed, and the rest was stuff. The closet doors couldn't close. It was a lot like sleeping in a walk-in closet. When company came, projects or piles were moved into our room, out of sight. I'd get busy with something else, and never tackled the piles. After losing a lot of weight last year, I sorted out all my big clothes from drawers and closet to make room for smaller clothes. I was then paralyzed with indecision. Should I keep the big clothes because I spent so much money on them? What if we have another baby and I need bigger clothes for a while? And so clothing lay draped in piles, frozen in limbo as I contemplated this monumental riddle. I finally decided to keep some, get rid of most. It was an amazing feeling. Folks: I haven't seen the floor of our closet in four--yes, four years. While the whole process took over a month, I can finally breathe easy when I walk into our room now.

A couple dressers were rearranged to make room for the door to swing inward (why didn't I think of this before??), a new dresser that was a gift (THANK YOU!) was added for Eli's work clothes, and the cedar chest was moved into the empty space in the closet. No more piles of clothing in plain sight, no more boxes of picture frames and canning jars and books.

Ian ripped the vent off the wall and started throwing things down it, so that still needs to be fixed. And the blackout curtains are, indeed, taped to the trim. Eli needs as much dark as he can get to sleep well, especially during his 3rd shift weeks, and slivers of light coming through the sides have kept him awake.

I even KonMari-ed the heck out of a few drawers. (Minus the talking to clothes part, that is. And except for my socks... my socks do not like laying folded loosely, they are introverts who like being wrapped securely together for fear of getting lost. Which they almost never do.)

I do keep kids toys in my sock drawer...don't you? 😁

I finally came to terms with the realization that there was a basement full of storage totes to be dealt with. I started tackling them this week. My personality doesn't handle these decisions and clutter well; I've had a tightness in my chest the past few days that I hope doesn't mean anything other than stress. Twenty totes of boy clothes plus three heaping laundry baskets of clothes that had no home were hauled up the basement stairs (best workout I've had in a while), and two whole days were spent sorting, organizing, and counting how many pairs of everything we had.

Spare hangers! A great sign of progress.

I feel as though we're always short on pants with the knees intact...and somehow ended up with an incredible amount of 4T and 5T shorts. While our first two boys are the "untwins" and have pretty much been in the same sized clothing as each other for the past five years, I'm having to remind myself that we no longer need so many multiples of things for the little boys. Ian's height was recently measured in the 40th percentile, and weight in the 60th, so I'm fairly confident he and Liam will remain a good two sizes apart for a while.

All work and no play...you know how it goes. It was fun unearthing some things we forgot were even in storage. Poor Mojo. Not only did we find his winter coat, but also his little winter boots. When the boys tried putting them on him he went into hiding for a few hours.

After clothing was sorted through, there were the blanket totes to tackle...the hat/mitten tote...the coat tote...and four totes of home decor in the garage. We decided to get rid of an old pair of skis and the Pack 'n' Play. This was all on Day 3 (today).

In total, twelve storage totes were emptied, including three large 32 gallon totes. Six totes alone are eliminated boy clothes.

The finished garage sale pile now looms menacingly by the back door, waiting for me to begin the daunting task of pricing everything. I just can't wait until it's all gone.

For other posts in this series, see:

The Great Purge: Part I

The Great (Furniture) Purge: Part II

The (Not So) Great (Book) Purge: Part III

The (Not So) Great (Book) Purge: Part III

Books are extremely hard for me to get rid of...I'm sure I've mentioned this a few times before. Regardless, I was able to give away some of my old books last winter. (Now that I have Jane Austen in hardcover I really don't need all her paperbacks! I also had doubles of some books like Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and The Song of Bernadette. However, I'm not sure eliminating doubles can be considered progress....) I've decided if I can't see myself rereading a book within ten years, it's gone. And so I continue to ignore the piles of books I can't get to, because--ten years from what point? I'm my own worst enemy here.

I broke a cardinal rule just today by running to a rummage sale across the street and buying another bookcase...and four more books. The first blunder I admitted by mumbling it quickly to Eli after he woke up, and once he understood what I was trying to say, I tried to defuse the situation by explaining: "It was only $3.00!!! And..but...but...schoolbooks!" I'm a chicken and never brought up the fact a few books made it home with the shelf. Ergh.

I was actually able to weed down some of the boys' books lately. Though most of them were board books that have served their purpose, it helped that the bookcase was a cluttered, overflowing, heaping mess that made my lungs contract every time I looked at it. I was tired of passing it with my eyes closed.

I even flipped the middle shelf so it can start bending back the other way.

This box is all going onto the garage sale Eli's Mom is hosting at the end of the month. It's a little over a week away. This also explains the frequency of these "purge posts".

I'm sure there will be more books to discard once I go through next year's curriculum and reorganize all the shelves. If I do I'll update this post with the progress and may be able to delete the Not So part of the title. I'm not holding my breath, though. :)

For the mother post to this series, read "The Great Purge: Part I", here

and The Great (Furniture) Purge: Part II here.

The Great (Furniture) Purge : Part II

The campaign to reduce our possessions continues. This past week it was old furniture that we said goodbye to. Most of our stuff is second hand to begin with, and once we inherit anything it usually gets used till it's tattered and sagging.

We are also house hunting again. We found a bank that doesn't mind that Eli's been at the ethanol plant only six months. The hope is growing that we'll finally buy a house this year. And that thought is making us take a second look at all the stuff we may have to move. It's not a pleasant prospect. 

I bought a new (solid wood) hutch last year because my old hutch (which was made of particle board) was sagging and peeling. The last time we moved it rained while the hutch was in the back of a truck, which did it no favors. The hutch was originally a display model which was being discontinued, so it came with a few scratches--and a steeply reduced price.  I thought about leaving it in the garage as a planting/potting station, but room didn't allow for such a luxury. It had to go. 

Seeing the hutch out on the curb all by its lonesome had me eyeing our love-seat, a.k.a. "the Frankenstein couch". This treasure was salvaged from the depths of my parents' woods about seven years ago. My brothers knew a guy who was not so faithful to his girlfriend, who came home one night to a full set of furniture that was slashed into ribbons. We already had a full-sized couch, but thought the love-seat would be nice for a little extra seating in the living room. I spent an afternoon scrubbing the microfiber upholstery with Murphy's Oil Soap and stitching up the gashes with upholstery thread. It was moved out to the curb next to the hutch. Eli decided to part with our last old tube TV as well, and the motley crew got a "FREE" sign attached to them. They were all gone by the next morning.

Also on the chopping block was a pile of old dresser drawers (particle board) that were burned, and this deconstructed dresser that I was going to make a bookcase out of. It was advertised as real wood, but when they dropped it off it very obviously was not wood. The old crib is going to be gone as well before we move, but it's missing all of its hardware, so we're not exactly sure what to do with it yet.

We had inherited Little Grandma's table and chairs back when we had an accepted offer on a large house. The plan was to store it in the garage until we moved, and then use it in the school room for boys to do homework on. That never came to pass, and the table became a catch-all in the garage. We decided to sell it to someone who could actually use it. I listed it on a couple of Facebook's For-Sale groups, and it was sold within a couple hours. 

I had two wrought-iron glass-topped end tables from a long long (apartment era) time ago, that I was afraid were going to get destroyed (ahem, boys). They had been tucked away in a corner of our bedroom, unused since they didn't fit beside the bed. I decided to sell them and avoid a possible mess of broken glass. The pair brought in $25.

I have an old door in the garage that I am determined to repurpose into a chalkboard/bookcase unit. To help this happen I decided to sell our current chalkboard/whiteboard easel. We got a lot of good use out of it, but it was growing small for our big boys, and honestly I was sick and tired of buying dry erase markers whenever somebody forgot to put the lids back on. The easel brought in $10. 

All the money made from our old possessions is going into our "new house fund". The thought that it may be used to redo a bathroom, or to buy fresh paint, has taken away a lot of the indecision about whether to keep or purge. And it was really so much easier moving these things 30 feet rather than across the county! The room that these large items occupied is now free, and I feel a lot less stress with more space opening up. The living room itself has been lengthened by four feet!

For the mother post to this series, read "The Great Purge: Part I" here.

Of Life and Loss

By mid-February (2016) Ian was completely transitioned to his own bed, in his own room with his brothers. I stretched and wiggled in the freedom of my own bed-- careful not to kick my husband, of course. A baby-free bed!

But we weren't really alone. Nestled under my heart was a new little one, much hoped for and prayed for.

The first signs were normal for me. My pregnancy symptoms always hit me early--so early that it's hard to miss when a baby is on the way. First are usually horrible, graphic nightmares that are so realistic I wake in a panic. Then come the waves of nausea. Joyful, life-affirming waves of nausea. And the need to repeatedly listen to old nostalgic songs over and over while sobbing like a baby is just icing on the cake. A positive home pregnancy test confirmed my suspicions a couple weeks later.

Don't count the weeks, the voice in my head cautioned. It'll be harder knowing how big baby would've been if you lose him. I counted the weeks anyway. Baby was due in October. Anxiety...oh no. A fall baby. I lost my other two fall babies. I don't know if I can go through another loss! But that doesn't mean this baby won't make it, right? I decided to petition my closest and most understanding friends and family members to pray for this little one. Maybe a tidal wave of prayers would help keep baby alive and healthy. And if God wanted baby back sooner, may the prayers help conform me to His Will. I consecrated baby to God's own Holy Mother, and entrusted him to her care.

Days passed, then a week, and then two weeks. Hope grew. We made plans to tell the boys of all their new big brother statuses on Easter Sunday. They'd open Easter eggs with the news inside. I planned to capture the moment on video, something we could show this precious child when he got older.

When the first signs of miscarriage appeared shock coursed through me. Oh please no! This can't be! Not again! I was transported right back into the land of nightmares. Lightheaded, I leaned on my husband and tried to find some comfort. A threatened miscarriage, the doctors called it. "There's still hope," my husband comforted me. "We know nothing for sure yet." I know how this has happened twice before, and it has never ended well, I thought. A few days later a doctors appointment confirmed my worst fears.

On March 12, two hours before Passion Sunday began, I lost our baby. Our seventh baby, who would have been fifth if he had lived. He was laid to rest on Passion Sunday beside the baby I lost in 2013. This was my third sweet baby gone too soon.

"Deo sunt omnia", roughly translated, means "Everything to God" or "All things belong to God".

Baby B #2~ 3/8/2008
Baby B #5~ 4/4/2013
Baby B #7~ 3/12/2016

EVEN THOUGH I NEVER MET YOU, I LOVE YOU ALL. I WILL WONDER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE LOOKED LIKE, WHO YOU WERE...WHY WERE YOU TAKEN FROM ME SO SOON?

I sketched the lamb for the marker a year ago, never imagining I'd have to get another date etched into the granite.

I will be okay. God, Who has led me to each moment, is carrying me through the heartbreak when I cannot walk. So far I've been spared from the pit of depression, which I've been praying desperately to avoid. I haven't felt quite myself since. There's a constant weariness, difficulty concentrating and holding conversations. It's been especially hard not suffocating my emotions with food. I've mostly failed in this.

On our recent trip to the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, my breath was taken away when I realized that the statue of Our Lady at the Memorial to the Unborn was holding three babies...three unborn babies. My babies, I couldn't help but think. I had to move on quickly. Even looking at the photo makes it hard to breathe.

I know words are hard at times like these, and I expect nothing. Please treat me like you always have. There's only a handful of people I can talk to about it; it's still very painful for me. If you feel you must say something, "I'm sorry, I'm praying for you," is sufficient. When someone is grieving it's not helpful to tell them to pray more, or God knows best, or cheer up, you can have another...or even, you already have four beautiful boys. Trust me, I'm not being ungrateful. I know all these things, and being reminded feels like salt in a wound right now. It's not that we don't already have enough. We have been blessed beyond measure. I understand that in the grand scheme of things, our losses are not so great as so many others. I'm far from sitting on a dung hill, as was Job.

There will be those who think I should've kept all this to myself. I'm here to tell you that one of the biggest tragedies surrounding miscarriages is the thought that you should just "get over it", as if the new life never existed, as if it's not possible to grieve over a child you never knew, and many grieving mothers will go without the help that they really need. Miscarriage, as well as depression, is isolating. It shrouds you in a cloak of shame, of sorrow, of loss. This morning during my morning prayers I included all the mamas who have lost babies. Babies they may have never got to meet, or babies they had to say good-bye to far too soon. The pain never fully goes away. It forever changes you.

One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage or infant loss. Many women stay silent about their loss because it's uncomfortable to talk about; some may feel guilt, thinking it was caused by something they did wrong. Others know they'll be showered with sympathy, which just puts more emphasis on the pain they're trying to swim through. Its an awkward position feeling that pain and having to tell others, then feeling guilty about making them feel bad, and knowing they want so much to give you words of comfort but they really don't know what to say. Its just easier keeping quiet.

It can be therapeutic knowing you're not quite so alone when you're consumed with grief, even if it's just knowing others are praying for you. When I had my first miscarriage eight years ago I knew of only two people who had also lost babies--many years ago. No one talked about it. I felt broken and alone, and consumed by guilt as if it was my fault somehow. My guilt was magnified both times by the sorrow I caused those around me because of the loss. What right did I have to be the gloom in their day? I started talking to friends about it, and found miscarriage was much more common than I had thought. Sadly, several of my closest friends have now suffered through similar losses. I talk about this today so that other mamas know you're not alone. And also because a person's a person, no matter how small. If any of you ever need to reach out to me to talk, or just need someone to pray for you, I'm here.

For more information on miscarriage, visit www.miscarriagesupport.org

Long Days, Short Years

I can honestly say I'm blessed to be where I am today. And where is that exactly? As I haven't seen some of you in a very long time, or only briefly in passing, it sometimes seems as if I've fallen off the face of the earth.

Where I am right now is the bottom bunk of my boys' bed. I'm here every night, folks. I've read every other boy off to dreamland, but this one remains wide awake. This little guy is attached to my arm, so I'm blogging with one finger on my phone.

I'm utterly exhausted, but I cannot sleep because I'm frankly pretty uncomfortable. I know if I get up right now this guy will cry for me until the whole house is awake. And that seems like a pretty selfish move just to get to climb into the fluffy comfort of my own bed. He was sleeping well in the new bed up until the last few weeks. I sneak out once he's fallen asleep but he wakes almost hourly and cries till I'm laying by him again.

Some of you may tell me I need to let him cry it out...that he really should get used to sleeping without me by his side. And he will. But right now, he's still very little. I can't say why he's going through this needy stage right now, but all too soon he will be grown, all too soon he'll no longer want to climb into my lap. And I know I will miss these days so much.

Now that I have older boys I wish I would've spent more time with them, rather than training them to do without me so I could get a few more minutes of sleep. My children come first right now, not to spoil them, but because they need to. When an ounce of frustration creeps in, it helps to remind myself:

The days are long, but the years are short.