Two Dogs and a Demo

Two Weeks of Progress, Tile Dreams, and a Much-Needed Mountain Exhale

The last two weeks brought a little bit of everything. Real construction progress, fun design decisions, a quiet RV while our daughter was away, and then a much-needed escape to our happy place in North Carolina.

And maybe most exciting of all…

We poured the stem wall. We officially have concrete.

After so many months of planning, waiting, permits, revisions, and all the invisible work that comes before anything actually looks like a house, it was such a thrill to stand there and watch concrete flow for the first time on our new build.

We even captured video of the beginning of the pour. There were workers lined up with the giant hose, two big concrete trucks taking over the corner, and all of us just waiting and watching for it to really get going. One thing I never expected? At the very start, the concrete seemed to get stuck in the hose, and the crew was literally beating on it with hammers to get things moving. It was fascinating to watch. Not exactly the graceful moment I had imagined, but very real and very memorable.

The first pour!

It may not look like much to everyone else yet, but to us, this was a huge moment. Concrete makes it feel real.

We also had a really fun milestone over the last couple of weeks: tile selection.

Honestly, it could have been completely overwhelming if not for Natalie from Dreamland Interiors and Lauren from D3 Construction. Instead of feeling stressed, I had so much fun. They brought such a great eye to the process and helped pull things together in a way I never could have on my own.

There was one tile I fell in love with immediately. To me, it looks like a beautiful blue sky with fluffy clouds catching the sunlight and glowing gold. I knew I wanted it somewhere in the house. At first, I thought it might go in the primary shower, but our designer had bigger plans.

What she pulled together for the primary bath absolutely stopped me in my tracks. The new his-and-hers shower layout, the dark high-gloss cabinetry, and the almost iridescent marble mosaic herringbone tile created something elegant, elevated, and spa-like. It is not a look I would have chosen on my own, but the second I saw it, I loved it. It was one of those moments where the house stopped feeling like just a construction project and started feeling personal again.

My “sunny sky” tile still found its perfect place in the in-law suite shower, and it is going to be stunning there.

And then there was one detail that completely made me grin: the dog shower. We are adding one to the laundry room, and the designer found a way to work paw prints into the tile floor. I laughed immediately and loved it. Even our owner’s rep was so charmed by it that she is now fully on board with the dog shower too. Reese and Ute clearly have no idea how spoiled they are.

We also had a small but exciting construction moment with the block delivery for the block portion of the stem wall. It was only a few stacks, not the actual house walls yet, but even seeing those blocks arrive made it feel like we are getting closer to the point where things really begin to rise.

In the middle of all of this, our daughter headed off on her 8th grade class trip to Washington, D.C. This trip used to be a parent-child trip, but this year the school decided to make it school-only. It was her first out-of-state trip without us. I was sad not to experience it with her, and at the same time, proud and excited for her to have that independence.

We missed her terribly.

The RV felt way too quiet while she was gone. Life slowed down in a way that felt strange. We are so used to the everyday rhythm of school runs, chats in the car, hugs, and all the coming and going that fills up family life. She would call us in the evenings with just enough time to tell us about the day and how exhausted she was. By the end, she was happy to be home and completely worn out.

Then, right after that, we had spring break, and we got to head back to our home in Maggie Valley, our happy place, Ridgeline Retreat.

After the 11-hour drive, the first thing we did was let the dogs out to run. Reese and Ute were absolutely thrilled. For the adults, we walked straight inside and out to the porch to take in the view before quickly unloading so we could start enjoying the week.

That first feeling was relief and gratitude.

Ridgeline Retreat has always been a place where we can exhale, even before the storm and the rebuild. But this time, it felt even sweeter. It was a break from the chaos of construction, the trucks, the parking challenges, the noise, and the constant motion of the build site. In Maggie Valley, everything felt calm and peaceful.

We spent the week there with another family and had such a great time. It was a little too cold for hiking most days, so we found other ways to enjoy the area. One of the most fun parts of the week was celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with lunch at The Scotsman with corned beef and cabbage, peanut butter whiskey, and live Irish and Scottish music. It was crowded, lively, and worth the 30-minute wait for a table for six. To make it even better, one person in our party unknowingly won a raw potato by walking through the door at just the right moment, which somehow felt exactly like the kind of random vacation memory that becomes family legend.

We also celebrated Troy’s birthday at Cataloochee Ranch with friends. The food was good, but what really made the night special was simply being together.

And as if the week hadn’t already given us enough, we even got a little snow. About two inches fell, with beautiful flurries and snow blowing sideways at times. The kids loved it, and the dogs ran wild with snow stuck all over their fur.

It was one of those weeks that reminded me how much home can mean in different ways.

Home is the one we are building, slowly and steadily, one concrete pour and one tile decision at a time.

Home is also the place that lets us breathe while we are getting there.

And more than anything, home is wherever my family is.

For now, I’m grateful for all of it.

Progress, Tacos, and the Great Sink Debate

Last week was another good step forward for the house. The footers were completed and passed inspection, which means we’re officially moving on to the next phase: pouring the concrete.

Progress has been coming in steady steps lately. Not the giant emotional moments we imagined earlier in the process, but small confirmations that things are continuing to move forward.

When the inspector approved the footers, Troy was on site and sent a text to our construction project group thread. When we saw the message, we both let out a loud cheer. It wasn’t a big celebration, but it was a moment of real excitement knowing we could keep moving forward.

And right now, progress is the thing that matters most.

Feeding the Crew

One of the things we’ve talked about since the beginning of this build is making sure the teams working on the house know we appreciate them.

Last week we brought in a taco bar from Taco Dirty for lunch. There were about fifteen workers on site that day. When the food arrived, the guy in charge waved everyone over and they dropped their tools where they were and came running.

I had ordered food for twenty because I wasn’t sure how many would be there, so we ended up with leftovers. But judging by how quickly everyone gathered around the taco bar, I think it was a welcome surprise. Many of the workers typically bring lunches packed from home, so I don’t think they were expecting it.

We had also offered to bring beer for the crew at the end of one of their shifts, but the guy in charge politely asked that we not do that. He’s clearly a no-nonsense leader who takes his job seriously, and we respect that.

The Construction Borrowing System

Living on-site during construction has given us a front-row seat to how job sites really operate.

Early one morning I heard a loud crashing noise outside. When I went out to see what was going on, I found subcontractors from a neighboring job site throwing metal into our dumpster.

The dumpster situation isn’t a huge deal, except that we’re charged by weight.

A little later, Troy also noticed another builder working on one of the other homes on our corner walking across our lot carrying a few pieces of rebar that had been delivered for our foundation work. There are three houses currently under construction on this corner, so there is a lot of activity happening around us.

The rods were laying on the ground and were scheduled to be installed as part of the footer work.

Troy called out to him and walked over to chat. The builder said he was just borrowing them to measure something and would bring them back.

Maybe that was always the plan… maybe not.

But Troy handled it well. He told him he didn’t mind neighbors borrowing materials, but asked that people check with us first so we could keep track of what belonged where.

The rods were returned shortly after.

It definitely makes you wonder what happens on construction sites when homeowners aren’t living right there.

The Sink Decision

This week also included several hours of plumbing fixture selections, which turned out to be far more overwhelming than I expected.

I had absolutely no idea how many different options exist for something as simple as a bathroom sink.

Or a kitchen sink.

Or a faucet.

Apparently there are thousands.

At one point we stood in front of a display of kitchen sinks for what felt like half an hour, staring at them the way people stare at cars on a showroom floor. I had initially landed on a 36-inch sink, but something about it kept feeling small.

My owner’s rep, who is also a dear friend and very good at keeping me inside the budget, has developed a habit of rolling her eyes whenever I say, “That looks too small.”

It’s become a bit of a game.

Eventually the salesperson pointed out a 39-inch sink that sits right between the 36 and the giant 45-inch model that would require two faucets. The moment I saw it, I knew that was the one.

My owner’s rep just shook her head.

The designer was perfectly happy with whatever I chose, but she agreed that the 45-inch version would probably be overkill.

So the 39-inch composite sink won.

I’m still debating color, but black is currently the front runner. A lot will depend on the final hood selection for the kitchen, which I want to make a bold focal point.

The Faucet Moment

The master bathroom faucet selection had a similar moment.

We were looking through what felt like hundreds of options. The designer pointed out several that were beautiful, but none of them really felt interesting.

Then suddenly my hand landed on one particular faucet.

And I just knew.

It’s hard to explain, but after looking at so many options, something about that one immediately stood out. It just felt right.

Luckily for me, it also happened to be within budget, so my owner’s rep didn’t have to talk me down from anything too outrageous.

Small miracles.

Looking Ahead

Next up is pouring the concrete for the footers and continuing to move upward from the foundation.

It still amazes me how many steps exist before you ever see a single wall go up.

But we’re moving.

And after everything we’ve been through to get to this point, that feels really good.

63 Poles and a Whole Lot of Progress

After months of waiting, revising, resubmitting, and advocating, this week felt different.

This week felt like building.

The excitement actually started when the piles were delivered at the end of last week. Seeing them stacked on our lot made everything feel real. These weren’t abstract plans or digital renderings. These were 30-foot telephone poles that were about to become the foundation of our home.

We needed 63 piles for the house and another 10 for the pool.

When the pile drivers arrived, we were genuinely excited. No anxiety, just anticipation. I was curious how it would feel inside the RV once the pounding started.

The answer? You feel it.

The RV shook. Not terrifying, but constant. I’m on video conference all day for work, and every 30 seconds my laptop vibrated with each hit. It made the washing machine spin cycle look gentle. Normally I can just lift my laptop for 30 seconds and wait it out. This was an all-day event. Eventually, I just let the camera shake and embraced the reality of driveway dwelling during active construction.

Dishes rattled. The ground vibrated. But overall, it was not as bad as I expected.

We were most worried about the dogs, so Reese and Ute went to stay with their Zio and Zia for a few days. I am certain they would not have appreciated three straight days of pounding. Our daughter was at school and missed the entire thing.

We were also watching the neighbors closely. Pile driving is loud. It vibrates not just your property but the surrounding homes as well. Our immediate neighbors, even though I’m sure it wasn’t the most peaceful few days for them, were genuinely excited for us. That meant more than they probably realize.

We did have one neighbor a street over stop by and vent about the noise and vibration. Neither Troy nor I were home at the time, so they spoke with the builder onsite. It was handled calmly and professionally. It was explained that piles are required for this type of construction. The neighbor mentioned there are “better ways” to do it.

That’s technically true. We could have used helical piles that screw into the ground rather than being hammered in. They’re quieter. They’re also at least $120,000 more expensive. For us, that simply wasn’t an option. It was straightforward math. I did feel some guilt about the disruption for others, but I was incredibly grateful the crew finished in three days instead of the eight originally planned.

Three days of shaking ground feels very different than eight.

One of the unexpected annoyances this week was much less dramatic. The dumpster was dropped at a slight angle. Not wildly off. Not careless. Just angled enough that the back corner of the dumpster hung about one foot too far into the driveway.

That single corner made the difference.

If it had been shifted over just a foot, we would have been able to squeeze by between the RV and the dumpster. But because of that small angle, we couldn’t get through at all. It was one of those moments where you just stare at it and think, “Really? This is what’s stopping us?”

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The drop-off driver was simply placing it where it fit best for construction access, not thinking about our daily vehicle choreography. And our builder quickly came out and identified a better long-term location for it going forward.

For a few days, though, we couldn’t park in our own driveway.

Thankfully, our neighbor let us use part of theirs. And Troy, in what I can only describe as a quiet declaration of territory, parked his truck overnight right at the front of our lot.

It was a small hiccup in an otherwise huge week, but it was a perfect reminder that in construction, inches matter.

And as if that wasn’t enough momentum for one week, we also officially hired our interior designer. Natalie from Dreamland Interiors is back in our lives. She helped with our master bathroom remodel twelve years ago in the old house, and it feels full circle to be working with her again on something this big.

We’ve already started appliance selections, and I cannot tell you how excited I am about the Wolf oven and gas range we’re choosing. After everything we’ve lived through the past year and a half, the idea of cooking and entertaining in this kitchen feels like joy instead of logistics.

This week was huge.

The piles are in. The foundation is literally set. The RV shook. The neighbors survived. The dogs enjoyed a mini vacation. The schedule is moving.

For the first time in a long time, this doesn’t feel like waiting.

It feels like building.

And the momentum feels really, really good.

LETS GOOOOOO!

When Nothing Looks Like It’s Happening (But Everything Is)

It’s been a while since my last update. The short version is that not much appeared to be happening. The longer and more honest version is that a lot was happening, just almost entirely out of sight.

My last post was around Halloween. At that point, our house had been fully demoed, but we still didn’t have the permits needed to move forward. What followed were months that felt stagnant from the outside and exhausting on the inside.

One of the first surprises was learning that a prior builder had never obtained a proper site plan. That discovery alone forced us to step back and start over with a new site plan, which immediately slowed everything down.

Around the same time, we ran into a major code requirement tied to FEMA regulations. This wasn’t a new rule, but it is one that the City of Tampa enforces very strictly, especially after recent hurricanes. Any interior walls on the first floor below FEMA height are required to be removed to prevent future build-outs in flood-prone areas.

In our case, a few of those walls were intended only for storage. Unfortunately, they were also load-bearing.

That single issue triggered a domino effect. Removing load-bearing walls meant changes to the truss plan. Truss changes required updated architectural plans. Updated plans had to be reviewed again by engineers and resubmitted to the city. Even when corrections could be turned around quickly, the city has up to three weeks to review each resubmission. Fast fixes didn’t always lead to fast reviews.

At the same time, Tampa transitioned its permitting process to combine site plan and build plan reviews. In the long run, this is actually a better and more efficient system. Unfortunately for us, we started the process while the two were still separate, which meant navigating multiple reviewers and timelines before the transition was complete. That overlap added complexity and delay that future projects will hopefully avoid.

From the outside, it probably looked like nothing was happening. Internally, it was organized chaos. Almost daily texts with our builder and architect. Follow-ups with planners. Calls and emails with engineers. Conversations with other builders just to understand how to navigate the system better. There was a lot of coordination happening behind the scenes, even when progress felt invisible.

One of the longest delays came from the FAA. A federal government shutdown paused approvals entirely for about 45 days. When things reopened, weeks passed with no movement. After finally getting a direct FAA contact, we learned that what had been submitted was a standard request, but our home height required a different form altogether. That meant starting over.

That moment was rough. I remember feeling sick, thinking we were facing another 45-day delay. Thankfully, the contact I had connected with was incredibly helpful and pushed our approval through in about two weeks instead of the standard timeline. Our FAA approval came in the week after Christmas. Our site plan approval arrived around the same time.

One unexpected bright spot was help from a builder across the street. He offered guidance on how, as the homeowner, I could engage directly with the city. He also helped me get the FAA contact that ultimately moved things forward. It was a good reminder that sometimes progress comes from asking questions and leaning on the right people.

At one point, our builder staked out the exterior corners of the house. Seeing it on the ground was eye-opening. The footprint was larger than we had expected, and one corner ended up being only about three feet from our RV. That discovery led to additional demo work and reinforced just how tight everything is on our lot.

Looking back, I still wonder if there were moments where I could have pushed harder or asked different questions to avoid some delays and cost impacts. I also wish some of these issues had surfaced earlier in the process. But when you’re in it, you’re making the best decisions you can with the information you have at the time.

The real turning point came last Thursday when the building permit was finally approved.

I was on a conference call when I saw the text come through. I asked the employee I was speaking with for a moment because I had just received a message about permits. When I opened it and saw the approval, I had instant happy tears. She knew what we had been dealing with and was genuinely excited for us. That moment felt like a release.

The relief spread quickly. Even my husband seemed relieved, with a noticeable hop in his step. As a family, it felt like a weight we’d been carrying for months finally lifted.

Since then, things have started moving. Additional demo is complete. The lot has been prepped and graded. We’ve signed with an interior designer. The surveyor is scheduled. Contractors have a schedule, and subcontractors are lined up and ready.

There are still things that make me nervous. The proximity of the RV to construction is tight, and timing matters, especially with our loan execution coming up next March. But for the first time in a long while, forward motion feels real.

Living in limbo has been hard, especially worrying about the impact on our daughter. We’ve talked about moving into a rental, but as a family we’ve chosen to stay where we are and push through together. That decision hasn’t been easy, but it’s felt right.

One of the biggest lessons in all of this has been realizing that even when I’m not in control, I still have influence. Construction isn’t my area of expertise, but asking questions, understanding the process, and knowing when to step in has made a difference.

If there’s one thing I’d tell anyone starting a rebuild, it’s this: the process is far more frustrating than you can fully understand going in. People warn you, but you don’t really get it until you’re living it.

Today, though, I feel relief and gratitude. We’re doing well as a family. We’re moving forward. And for the first time in a long time, I’m genuinely excited about the next steps.

Grounded by the FAA (and Other Tales From the Driveway)

You’d think after a year of hurdles — a hurricane, months of insurance paperwork, builder changes, and finally demo day — that we’d be on our way to rising from the rubble.

We were ready. Plans finalized. RV life organized. Hope renewed.
And then came our next delay — courtesy of the federal government.

Apparently, because our house sits one block from a small public airport, our rebuild requires FAA approval before construction can move forward. Yes, the same FAA that oversees airplanes, flight paths, and airspace safety… is currently deciding the fate of our driveway.

And because of the government shutdown?
They’re closed.
So our rebuild is, quite literally, grounded.

Waiting for Takeoff!!

The Irony Isn’t Lost on Us

We’ve weathered a flood, a full demo, and more paperwork than a pilot’s logbook — and somehow, it’s air traffic control that’s holding us up.

I can’t help but imagine the conversation happening somewhere in Washington:

“Sir, there’s a family in Tampa trying to rebuild their house.”

“Near an airport?”

“Yes, but it’s one of those little local ones — you can see their backyard from the runway.”

“Ground them until further notice.”

So, here we are.
Stuck in FAA limbo.
Not because we don’t have permits. Not because of builders or materials.
But because our dream home needs… flight clearance.

Finding Humor Where We Can

If there’s one thing we’ve learned this year, it’s that you either find humor in the chaos — or the chaos finds you.

So as we wait for the skies (and the government) to reopen, we’re channeling our energy into something productive: Halloween decorating.

And by “decorating,” I mean the one thing we currently can decorate — our porta potty.

Yes, you read that right.
Since we can’t build a house, we’re making the most festive construction-site bathroom in Tampa.
A few string lights, a mini pumpkin, maybe a plastic bat or two — and we’re calling it “The Haunted Loo.”

Lessons From the Tarmac

All jokes aside, we’ve learned to let go of timelines.
We used to think of delays as failures. Now, we just think of them as… well, future blog content.

Somehow, humor has become our building material. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Until the FAA gives us clearance, we’ll keep doing what we do best — finding joy in the ridiculous, laughing at the delays, and making memories in the middle of the mess.

Because if there’s one thing this rebuild has taught us, it’s that sometimes you have to stop waiting for the clouds to clear — and just build your Halloween porta potty instead. 🎃

#TwoDogsAndADemo #RebuildJourney #FAAApprovedLiving #GroundedByTheFAA #RVLife #DrivewayDwellers #ResilienceOnWheels #HomeOnHold #TampaStrong #RebuildFlorida #HauntedLoo

🏗️ Part 2: The Long Road to Demo Day

If you had told us last fall that it would take nearly a full year to get to demolition day, we wouldn’t have believed you. But that’s the reality of rebuilding after a major storm — patience becomes part of your daily routine.

There were months of waiting, setbacks, and more paperwork than we could’ve imagined. We questioned our decisions, wondered if we should sell, and even looked at homes nearby. But between the low housing market and our daughter’s desire to stay in the community she loves, we knew deep down we were meant to see this through.

So, we waited — and kept working, parenting, planning, and trying to find humor where we could. (I mean, we are a family of 3 with 2 dogs living in an RV- that alone has to be funny!) Slowly, things started to move again. And then, finally, demo day arrived.

Watching the walls come down was both heartbreaking and healing. This was the home that flooded, the one that held our laughter, our holidays, and our dogs racing down the hallway. But it was also the home that taught us how to start over.

The sound of the first wall falling wasn’t sadness — it was relief. It was motion after a year of stillness.

Gratitude and What Comes Next

It’s hard to believe it’s been a full year since Helene. A year of adjusting, waiting, and doing our best to live life between insurance calls, builder meetings, and driveway dinners.

The rebuild hasn’t started yet, but for the first time, it feels real. We’re finally moving forward — and that’s worth celebrating.

A year ago, we stood in water. Today, we’re standing in possibility.

The road to demo day was long, but it brought perspective, resilience, and a few unexpected blessings along the way. We’ve learned that home isn’t defined by walls — it’s defined by the people (and dogs) inside them.

Here’s to what comes next.

🩵 Part 1: One Year Later — From Flood to Fifth Wheel

One year ago this week, we stood inside our flooded living room, surrounded by two feet of water and disbelief. The house was silent except for the sound of rain and the slosh of water against furniture. There wasn’t a strong current inside, but outside, you could feel it — that quiet pull of the storm as we made our way upstairs to safety.

At the time, we couldn’t see past the next few hours. We didn’t know where to start, what to save, or where we’d even sleep.

(picture from a helicopter of the streets in our neighborhood)

From Remodel Plans to a Full Rebuild

Before Helene, we were just weeks away from starting a remodel. The plans were drawn, the builder lined up, and city permits were only about two weeks from being approved. We were ready to refresh our home — the one we’d lived in for fifteen years.

After the storm, that timeline became one of the few things we were grateful for. If construction had already started, all that work and money would’ve been lost. Instead, we found ourselves with the rare opportunity to start fresh, even if we didn’t know it yet.

The next morning, as we pushed water out of our home and looked at the belongings that hadn’t made it, we made a decision: we wouldn’t renovate. We would rebuild and elevate. We’d design a home that could withstand what Helene had brought, and what might come again.

We already had old new-build plans from years earlier, so we called our architect, dusted them off, and began pivoting our builder from remodel to rebuild. At the time, we thought we were ahead of the game. But as we would soon learn, nothing about rebuilding after a hurricane moves quickly.

(our home- where we brought our daughter home for the 1st time )

(prior new build front elevation plans)

The Day After the Storm

The day after Helene, we moved upstairs into our in-law suite — about 1,200 square feet that quickly became home for the next several months. It was safe and comfortable enough, but it came with challenges: one bedroom with two beds, no kitchen, and two Portuguese Water Dogs who believe they’re human.

The small bar sink upstairs was barely big enough to rinse a coffee mug, let alone wash a pan. I had visions of whipping up meals with a crockpot and toaster oven, but with no counter space for prep and no full-sized sink to clean up, cooking quickly became more stress than it was worth.

So, we ate out — not because we couldn’t cook, but because we needed to keep life moving. Between full-time jobs, school drop-offs, and lacrosse practices, eating out became our way to maintain a little comfort and normalcy while everything else was upside down.

(Photos from the upstairs in-law suite where we lived from Sept 2024- June 2025)

Finding the Fifth Wheel

About a month later, we started searching for an RV. With so many homes in our neighborhood flooded, the rental market had exploded. The few available houses were going for $5,000 a month or more for barely 1,200 square feet — and that just didn’t make sense for us.

Staying close to home was important, especially for our daughter. She wanted to stay in her same neighborhood, near friends and school. And honestly, we did too. So, instead of paying inflated rent, we made a different kind of investment — one that would let us stay put.

We eventually found our home-on-wheels: a Forest River Cedar Creek 380. It checked every box — two bedrooms, a one-and-a-half bath layout, and a real kitchen. It even has a mudroom, which makes a surprising difference when you live with two water-loving dogs.

I’ll admit, there were moments I questioned the choice. Would it be too cramped? Was I putting my family through unnecessary stress? But as it turns out, it’s been one of the best decisions we made.

What We Love
    •    2 Bedroom with split floor plan with space and privacy for everyone
    •    Kitchen island with a full-sized refrigerator
    •    Double sinks and a real shower in the master bath
    •    Plenty of storage and light throughout

What We’d Change
    •    A little more counter space for cooking
    •    A larger dining table (but it works)
    •    More closet space (apparently two dogs = two wardrobes)

The RV has become our “driveway dwelling” — a surprisingly comfortable, functional home that lets us keep working, schooling, and living right where we belong.

It’s not the life we planned, but it’s one that works. And for the first time since the storm, we’ve found our rhythm again.

(Picture of Reeses our youngest porty on the step into the master bedroom of the RV)

Two weeks ago marks one year since Helene changed everything. In Part 2, I’ll share how we finally made it to demo day — the moment we’ve been waiting for.

Our Beginning: The Night Everything Changed

We’ve lived in our home for over 15 years. Through countless summer storms, tropical systems, and close calls, the water has never even come close to our front door — not once. Until Hurricane Helene.

That night started like so many others before it: heavy rain, gusting wind, and a few nervous glances out the window. But this time, something was different. The water rose faster than we’d ever seen — inch by inch, until it crept past the front steps and spilled inside. Within minutes, we had nearly two feet of murky water swirling through our home.

Outside, the street had become a river. Inside, the sound of rushing water mixed with disbelief. We grabbed what we could, trying to lift things higher, but it was coming too fast. By the time we opened the back door, the water in the yard was knee-high — our only way out.

We weren’t alone. My father-in-law, who has Parkinson’s, was staying with us that night. As the water continued to rise, a neighbor rushed over to help us get him up the back stairs to the second floor — the only entrance to the upstairs space is through that porch. It was dark, slippery, and chaotic, but somehow we all made it to safety.

When daylight finally came, the silence hit harder than the storm itself. The power was out, the air thick with humidity, and our home was unrecognizable. We stood there, frozen, surrounded by soaked furniture, floating shoes, and memories we didn’t yet know how to face.

The days that followed were a blur. Friends, coworkers, and neighbors showed up — boxes in hand, sleeves rolled up, ready to help. Together, we packed what we could salvage and hauled the rest to the curb.

That curb became a painful symbol of loss — a row of our life laid bare for the world to see: furniture, photo albums, our daughter’s artwork, the familiar things that made our house feel like home.

And then came the pickers.

They’d drive slowly down the street, scanning piles for anything worth taking. Some would quietly pull over, rummaging through the debris while we stood nearby. Every now and then, one would mutter, “Sorry for your loss,” under their breath before loading up and driving off. Most didn’t say anything at all. They just picked through the pieces of our life and moved on. It was humbling in a way that’s hard to describe — to watch strangers sift through what had once been your family’s memories.

But amid the heartbreak, something beautiful happened too. Our community — our little village — showed up again and again. Every helping hand, every kind word, every box carried out to the street was a reminder that we weren’t alone.

By the end of that first week, exhausted and heartbroken, we made a decision: we would rebuild, and this time, we would build higher. We never wanted to live through this again — not just for safety, but for peace of mind.

And so begins our next chapter:
Two Dogs and a Demo
Resilience on wheels. Home on hold.

(Photos from those first few days below — a reminder of how it started, and how far we’ve come.)