Monday

My thoughts and prayers for the 9/11 families and victims today.

Lisa and I went back to the house and took more pics. It was overwhelming. I lasted three minutes and came out crying. It's worse eevery time I go in, it becomes more real. THere are more pics up at http://www.flickr.com/photos/divalea/sets/72157594275981271/, but I'll warn you a couple are likely to be very upsetting.
We were soaked with sweat, Lisa and I, after only six minutes inside. I pulled off a glove for Lisa to use to bag a piece of Girl's art, and sweat poured out of it, and my hand was pruney.
I had an epic hissy and crying fit at the side of the road, mainly over the pets. I KNOW the most important thing is that the kids and I got out, BUT.
More replacing clothes at Target. Tomorrow, we meet the contractor, and there's more insurance stuff, and trying to rent a house.

I am so sorry I can't answer every email that's been sent, but I want you to know your support means so much to us all. I know where I am, mentally, but I can see that it really is sustaining Girl and King and Boy.

I will not be going back into the house again. King is going to do some recovery of art for me, but emotionally I am a wreck and can't do it myself like I wanted to. The smell is triggering flashbacks. It is so hard to see things intact and yet covered in smoke, or charred. Intact, but useless and unrecoverable.

We are finding some laughs, like King and Girl playing Uno with only two colors, and Girl getting a draw card for a color they weren't playing with. A neighbor brought the kids goodie bags and all of us barbeque (Bill Miller's--it's the food of San Antonio funerals!). The hotel room gets smaller by the day, and tomorrow Botos and Jane are going to be boarded as we've hidden them in the room as long as we can--housekeeping HAS to come in tomorrow. The hotel has a 3-day cleaning rule because someone set up a meth lab in a room two years ago, and started a fire. The desk guy telling me this talked about the smell in the walls.

No kidding.

Please keep thinking of us. I am off to sleep.

First Contractor Fired

Too tired to go into it. The first flag on the play was him asking my husband for information I'd already given him, and it went slip-slidin' away from there.
Both kids back in school for the first time since last week. Girl and I took Boots and Jane along, since it was time to board them. They rode around in a soft-side carrier, getting lots of scritches and attention. I made sure to mention to everyone that it was Girl's quick thinking in getting me up that saved us all.
Girl was much missed, as I expected, and saying goodbye was hard. It started raining like crazy, a rain that would've been mighty good last Wednesday morning. Getting out of the truck and moving just five feet meant a soaking. Boots' and Jane's vet gave me copies of their records for free, and I boarded them at the same place as Noob Tin Tin. When I left, J and B were in Slipper Configuration, staring, their backs resolutely towards me.
Then it was mail stuff, and returning the rented truck. As I was struggling to collect bags from the truck, rain pelting me, an umbrella appeared, with a nice man from the Netherlands holding it up. He was pretty neat, swore under his breath and everything. I liked him. I got a chance to tell him everything was PERFECT except the smell-good sprayed in the truck when it was cleaned. That was effining narsty and gave me a headache.

Then it was lunch with King, where my appetite ran away with discussion of the fire investigation. The balance of the day was telling the contractor he was a fuckhead, picking up the kids, looking at a rental home (hideous but serviceable), and fighting with King.

I hate this. I don't feel strong today, just weary and depressed and wanting very much to wake up.