don't sweat the small stuff... and it's all small stuff

When it comes to buying a house (and many other things), it really doesn't pay to get excited, worried, nervous, anxious, or any other emotion for that matter. For every time we got excited, the seller rejected our offer and we started over again. Likewise, whenever we worried about something, it turned out to be nothing. So I decided to listen to my mom and calm down, refusing to worry (or to be excited).

This revolutionary way of thinking came about when Pauly requested an extension for his mortgage application. He has plenty of money, earns plenty of money, and has no credit problems. He simply asked for an extension just in case he didn't get his paperwork in on time. (He needed tax forms from three years ago and was waiting on the IRS to send him copies.) Despite several accomodations we made at the seller's request because Pauly wanted to "be nice to her," she refused the extension and we were stuck. While Pauly freaked out and told me to stop packing, I stopped to think...
Why would someone going through a divorce with four children and another mortage on their new homes want to break this deal less than a month before closing? Did they really want two mortgages and divorce lawyer bills? Was this house bad luck and we shouldn't move in there anyway? Didn't they care that we already switched the closing date for them twice because we knew the kids wanted to finish school in their district- which put Rocky and me out of a place to live???
Well, my mom said it best: "Oh, that happens all the time. It will work out and don't get comfortable because this is just the beginning." SO I kept on packing, and low and behold his mortgage is approved without needing an extension. Now I feel calm and I'm not worried about a thing- not even money- because it's not worth the stress! The book on mom and dad's toilet is right: dont sweat the small stuff - and it's all small stuff.

not a pack rat

Since our moving date is about a month away, I'm sorting through all of my junk, trying to decide what goes, what stays, what's being donating, and what's so funny I have to show someone before I toss it... I found a letter that my 12th grade Honors English teacher, Ms. Wells made each of us write to ourselves at age 30. It was tempting to open it, but I think it will be funnier (or more nauseating) to read it when I'm thirty (hey, it's only 4 years away). I found my tap shoes and - yes- I did dance a little in my kitchen. I found some fun pictures of my former self- which I safely put back in the box- no one needs to see me hanging from the ceiling rafters at a frat party, at least not right now. (Thankfully, I went to school before the invention of facebook and blogging and myspace therefore my life has not been ruined like most people's today- don't even live on campus if you EVER plan on running for office). I have so many pictures of people going to the bathroom - especially outdoors, that it's unbelieveable!

Anyway, the point is - I realized that I am getting rid of pretty much everything... I just hate "stuff." I hate boxes of notes from junior high, random knick-knacks, all those clothes you say you're going to wear and you don't... I am donating at least $4,000 of clothes. It hurts saying that, but some Goodwill customer will be very happy to walk out in Bebe and Coach! No I'm not going to ask for a receipt for my taxes because I honestly don't ever donate anyone any time or money... I suppose my fancy old clothes are my community service. I am at least selling the BIG stuff, like my bed, dresser, kitchen set, tv (which my parent's bought me in college and even though it works, it just looks ancient compared to tvs now!), shelves, air conditioner... Something just seems wrong - moving into a new house with old furniture that has truly seen better days. I guess I'm not even sentimental because each of those things has a fantastic story behind them, but I just want them out of here! Maybe I can use those stories as pitches to sell better on craigslist! (For example, my bed is haunted. No, really it is!)
So I apologize, I know I stem from a long line of pack rats... (but Grandma Grace's plethora of makeup cases really have come in handy- really), but it's all got to go.