January 8: Am I Traumatized?

As an incredible cold snap swept much of the country, as long as we didn't head outside, we didn't even notice it. Thankfully the power stayed on, as the three electric space heaters were sufficient to keep us in short sleeves (!) despite temperatures in the single digits.

Phil headed out in the middle of the day to help a friend with a building. He had a good time, and I'm happy that he has a servant's heart and the ability to be of assistance.

When he came home, he asked in his cheerful voice, "How are you doing?" And I said, flatly, "I've had worse days, but not many of them."

The boys had pulled out a box of Playmobil and found mildew or mold growing. I understand mildewy wicker. It's a natural fiber. But mildew on plastic? What?!

I started to pull out more of the boys' toys, so cheerfully stored in easily accessible bins just two months ago.

The family photo albums: some mold on the edges. My wedding album: mold! The treasure chest my Grandpa made me, in which I store the treasured silly things of youth: mold. A box of classic toys I'd been holding on to, ready for Caleb: mold. The stack of wooden puzzles that the boys have done over and over for years: mold. Juggling balls: mold.

It felt like a bitter reversal: for four years, our stuff was in deep storage and, despite the potential ravages of mouse and weather, when we moved it into our new storage space, there was shockingly little damage. And now, barely two months later, all those treasured items were, if not ruined, on the brink of ruin.

The kitchen, too: the condensation had run down the walls enough that the paint is starting to flake. In spots, the butcher block is deeply stained from condensation runoff.

And to top it off, I had gone into the house trailer and found that mice had chewed up one of my precious possessions. When I had three young children, my sister-in-law made me a set of three stuffed child-shaped bean-bags so I could work on my kid-juggling skills. It was so creative and delightful, and I had uncovered it with pleasure a few months back. And the mice ate the rice they were stuffed with.

I hate destruction in the depths of my being, and this was more destruction than I could easily deal with. If I had known that the structure would attack my children's toys, I wouldn't have moved them. I had kept them in deep storage for almost four and a half years: what's another two months?

Phil went out and started to put up the needed insulation to prevent further condensation issues. The ground had, mercifully, firmed up enough that he wasn't standing in inches of silty muck, and he could manage the pain in his ribs (though they're not entirely healed). And any time the wife is that distressed, it's good to deal with the root issue.

While he was out working on that, I reassessed the damage. And, really, it wasn't as bad as I had initially thought. I threw away four favorite cardboard puzzles that had started to disintegrate. I tossed the worst of the wooden puzzles, too. But much of the rest of the mold I could easily wipe off with a vinegar-soaked cloth. I moved the Playmobil out for the time being, and will deal with it another day. Photo albums won't be stored in the same place (they didn't really fit in with "play room storage" anyway). The mold is quite small, and was hopefully caught in time.

Am I traumatized? I was. I don't think I am anymore. That was a horrible thing to find, but, in the end, not nearly as bad as I first thought. Okay. Deep, cleansing breath in the vinegar-scented air. Chin up. Tomorrow is another day.