The last scoop of sand . . .

Remember how I wanted a pair of shiny, new, red front loaders when I moved?


And remember how I pouted because my hub said it wasn't a priority?  

And remember how ticked I was when he ran after the movers as they were backing out of the driveway to tell them they forgot to pack our old, rusty, beat-to-helk washer/dryer? 

What was I thinking?

Why would I want something brand-spankin' new when I could have something beat up and sentimental?

This is how I felt yesterday when we finally unwrapped our old washer/dryer and hooked them up. 

((Stop judging me.  FYI, it takes A LOT of time, energy, gumption and sanity, not to mention apple pie, to set up a new house and hunker down for winter.  And $$$, too--tons and tons of $$$.) (Anyone who says Utah is cheaper than Hawaii is living in La La Land--(Granted, Macey's is insane and I just bought five boxes of Life cereal for $5 and a gallon of apple juice for $1.58), it's uber expensive to keep six people warm.)  You have to keep warm on various occasions--when you're in bed and in church and in school and in a tent camping--and there are various levels of warmth required for each of these various occasions at various times and temperatures.)  

Let's just say the art of staying warm is like an onion--it's layered and complex and multi-dimensional. And sometimes it makes you cry spontaneously. 

But back to my washer/dryer:

How can I describe the flashback I had when I laid eyes upon my old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Kenmore? 

They were exactly as I remembered them two months ago sitting in my bathroom on Kulanui street in townhouse 10-A.  They haven't changed a bit.  

Kinda choked me up to see that rusty ole' dryer and that cruddy ole' washer staring up at me awkwardly, as if to say, "we don't belong in this world, do we?" 

But I assured them that they do belong, and that their ole' rattle and hum is the most comforting sound in the history of the world. 

But when I lifted the lid I got whiplash.

BAM!

There were clothes!  Little boys clothes--shorts and t-shirts--that have been lying dormant inside my washer for 2 months. 

That's when I remembered that the day we left Hawaii, my X-door neighbor, Martha, took my boys to the beach one last time.  We must have thrown their clothes in the washer and forgotten them. 

And so I pulled them out, one by one, and opened them up and hugged them like they were old, dear friends.  Old, stinky, dear friends. But I didn't care because they were the last things my boys wore on our island far far away.  

And they were covered in sand.  

Sand everywhere.  

The washer was full of sand. 

WAAAAAHHHH!!! 

Do you realize what this means?  This means it wasn't a dream.  We really did used to live in Hawaii.  

And now we don't. 

WAAAAAAAAAH!!!! 

You know how they say a straw can break a camels back.  If it's the last straw. 

Well a scoop of sand can break a dummies heart.  If it's the last scoop of sand.