The new normal.

It happened just yesterday. In the midst of a completely busy day, busy week, busy summer, I S.T.O.P.E.D. and looked around at my life for the last few months. I was amazed at how dramatically different it was from a year ago.


A year ago my husband and I were in the midst of try to decided if we were going to stay together or separate. It was a very, very, very painful time in my life. I recall feeling guilty because it was summer vacation and I had done NOTHING with the kids but tell them to watch TV. I could not, did not, nor could I conceive of doing anything but getting out of bed and taking a shower. (Although I did work during that time period, not sure how...) I muddled through daily rituals with my children, not finding enjoyment in anything. By September I could not take it any longer and called my doctor requesting an increase in the dose of my anti-depressant, which was of course provided, and kicked in just as we were making the separation decision.

Following the separation decision I so desperately want my life to be back to normal. I wanted a new husband, I wanted a new marriage, I wanted to be the family I had been before, but would never be again. It seemed so strange after 11 years of marriage to be and feel single...

I wanted to know I was loved and attractive to men. I did stupid things, I knew I was doing stupid things, I did not care. I knew someday I would care. Fortunately for all the stupid things I did nothing was life altering....and sure enough I began to care again, then wanted to beat myself over the head for the stupid things I did....., but I learned from the stupid things.

Slowly as summer changed to fall, fall to winter, and winter to spring, my relationship with my husband began changing. At first it was very painful for both of us to be apart. Yet painful to see each other. We did not have a lot of contact. Then the angry phase came. I knew it would, it had to, it could not be avoided. I yelled at him, I let him know I did not appreciate him screwing up my perfect life, I told him it was unfair. To his credit he just agreed with me, and told me I had every right to be angry, and he let me be angry. His letting me be angry allowed me to move past the angry phase, into a healing compassionate phase.

We began to communicate again. We began to talk like we have always been able too. We began to be honest, in a way we had not done in a LONG time. At first we thought we might be able to mend our marriage, but it quickly became clear we still wanted different things, and neither he nor I could give the other person what he/she needed. The marriage was over, the friendship was not. We emotionally relied on each other more than we had in years, and in many ways the last few months have significantly improved our relationship. Yet we began living very mixed yet independent lives. We had times when we were together and spent time with the children, we had times when we were apart, interacting with new individuals of our own choice.

Slowly I got used to his new place in my life, and became at peace with his new place in my life. I also realized I enjoyed having some of my own freedom. Days and nights in the house alone, or alone with the kids were enjoyable. The choices were suddenly all mine. Activity choices were mine, decorating choices were mine, menu choices were mine, and all sorts of other choices were mine, all mine..... And his choices were his, NOT mine. I did not have to feel guilty for his choices, because he had to live with the consequences, NOT me.

That is not to say there is not the occasional times of sadness at being alone. Wondering what it would be like to have a partner who wanted to cozy up to me. Wondering will I always be alone? Am I ok with that? It is a dark place I try not to let my mind wonder too frequently, because it leads to questions without answers.....

But just this week as I looked around, looked at my children, looked at my life, looked at the craziness, I realized I defined the "new normal" and I am happy with it, its a good place for now, until the winds of change remind me that more "new normals" are waiting for me.....

Black, White & Grey

Today in Relief Society I had the privilege of teaching Joseph Smith #35 which was on Redemption of the Dead. Of course it talked about the plan of salvation and how the Lord makes salvation available to all this children, but more importantly in the lesson was a significant section on how the Lord judges. That He does not judge all according to the same law, because some have had the opportunity to receive the law and others have not. That He judges us according to our hearts, what has been given to us, and what we have done with the knowledge that we have.

I have to say when I first read the lesson I was quite excited to teach it, primarily because I have a Relief Society President who is very black and white in her thinking and assumes that all should be as black and white as she it. I however am very grey in my thinking. Now my issue with individuals who are black and white in their thinking is not so much that they are black and white, because I can respect their choice to think and believe that way, my issue is their need to cram it down my throat and tell me that I am wrong for seeing shades of grey. With the implication being I have let SATAN into my life.....and I must repent now!

I have also noticed that those with this black and white thinking tend to believe that the Lord is very authoritarian, and critical in his judgement of us, and that is the standard they apply to themselves and those around them. I however believe that the Lord is very loving, very tender, and wants us to succeed and not fail. I believe that when we stand before him to be judged it is going to be a very loving experience, not a harsh critical experience. I often wonder that if I am right, and in the end things are more grey and less black and white, are those who have had such ridged thinking in this life going to be upset they did not relax and enjoy life more?

Or perhaps they are right, and I will just end up in hell for my liberal thinking....

But I also think this life is a time for each one of us to grow and improve upon the gifts the Lord has given us, together with the challenges he has given us. I know there is probably more than one sister in my ward, who if she know my husband was gay, would wonder why I have not had him excommunicated, much less why I still have a loving, caring relationship with him. For me, I know the person that he is, I know him better than any person on earth, I know the good that is in him, I know the love that is in him, I know the struggles he has. By throwing away my relationship with him I would be saying he is defined only by being gay. He is not singularly defined by being gay, being gay is one aspect of who he is. All of us are complex individuals who are neither good nor bad, but a combination of both. Our goal each day is to try to be more good than bad, to try to exemplify the example set for us by Christ, and to remember that if we fall down, our greatest success is in getting up again.

The Demon.

Being married to a gay man or nearly formerly married, to a gay man, brings its own unique set of challenges. The biggest struggle for me has been how I feel about myself. It’s hard not to take my husband’s sexual rejection of me personally, and realize it is about him and not me because it feels like it is all about ME. I will never forget the last time we made love, it was our wedding anniversary, and I practically had to beg him. I felt cheap, I felt rejected, I felt unloved. It hurt then, it still hurts now. It’s a hurt I wonder if I will ever get over.

It leaves me feeling vulnerable, ugly, and wondering what value I have. Things were not always that way. For the first few years of our marriage, sex was really good. (Not that I had anything to compare it to) He was very thoughtful of me and made sure I enjoyed myself. He would get aroused just cuddling with me. I know he was not faking things. I know he enjoyed making love to me as much as I did to him. I have many fond memories of making love to him, and enjoying a wonderful sex life.

That is exactly what makes the situation now so difficult. How can he just “turn off” what I felt was a real sexual attraction? How can it just be gone? I am still physically attracted to him, and I always well be, I can’t just “turn it off.” Which is why I spiral into the abbess thinking it must be me.

If he does not want to see me naked, why would anyone else?

Friends

We are all connected whether we want to be or not. And that connection is vital to our survival.

For a few days I had been feeling emotionally down. Nothing serious, just kind of bummed. It comes and goes, and I know it is part of the process and I try to let myself just feel, but try not to get too caught up in the feeling....

I went to Enrichment on Tuesday night. I have been trying to get back into my life and Enrichment is something I always enjoy. Enrichment was on service and our Stake President came and spoke to us on service and some of his experiences serving others. He spoke of Christ like service and how serving others not only enriches their lives but ours as well. After he spoke the sisters began working on several service projects. I began to talk to several sisters in the ward. In the last few months I have not had much of a chance to interact with the sisters. I have been holed up in my house feeling rather unsociable. Sunday is a crazy day because of the kids, hence leaving me little time to visit at church. It was nice to visit with my friends, feel their love, and know that they care.

I came home a renewed person. I knew I was loved by not only the sisters in my ward and that they cared. I never made it over to the service project I was too busy being served in another way.....

The energizer bunny

I have always had TONS of energy. I just keep going, and going and going….on and on. It’s always amazed not only my husband, but the people I worked with either in my job or in a calling. I have always been that way. Very driven. But then it happened. I stopped. I quit. I slowed down. I ran out of energy. The battery was dead. It happened last fall when my husband moved out.

Nothing that previously brought me joy, did I now find joy in. I did not want to do anything, I did not want to go anywhere, I just wanted to be left alone, to lay on my couch wrapped up in a blanket. I, however have three small children, so I had to struggle to move for them. But when I did not have to be somewhere, or do something, you would find me on the couch wrapped up in a blanket, trying to sleep my life away. Going to work, church , and taking care of my children was about the limit of what I was capable of doing, handling, or acting on. I was in a funk and I knew it. But I also knew I needed to feel the funk, I needed to bond with the funk, I needed to accept the funk. It was part of the process.

Despite my funk I made a few goals. It was October, and the furthest ahead I could see in my life was six months. Nothing further than that. And six months seemed like a LONG time, an eternity that would never come. To add to my funk we were heading into winter…..which just represented how I felt, cold, forbearing and alone.

Goal one, exercise, and try to eat right, in other words cut down on SUGAR. Did pretty good on that for the first three months…..

Goal two, not be bitter. Attitude is a choice, circumstances are not. Resolve to not be bitter. I knew the angry phase would come, and it did. I told my two best friends, to not let me get “stuck’ in the angry phase, and if they felt I was, to “slap me silly.” I said many a word to my husband during that phase, and he was smart enough to take it all in without saying a word, other than I was justified in being angry.

Goal three, be a more spiritual person. I have been beyond blessed with the spiritual experiences that have occurred in my life in the last three months. I have never felt alone, abandoned, or betrayed by God. I have never felt so close to my Heavenly Father.

Goal four, be a better parent. I knew my children would feed off my emotions. There have been very few things in my life in the last six months that I have had control over, but being a good parent has been one. Whenever I place my focus on my children, and not me, I become a better parent, and it brings a sense of joy to my life that nothing else can.

Deadline for goals: May 1, 2009.

It is now six months later. I am wiser, I am not bitter, I have new friends, I have a renewed testimony, I bonded in new ways with my children, I have more compassion, I can’t believe I made it through. I feel myself coming out of the darkness, out of my funk, into the warm sunshine of spring.

Where before the basic needs and necessities of life were my limit, now I want to share, I want to serve, I want to rejoin life. I found myself wanting to make a birthday present for a friend, wanting to visit teach, wanting to act like me again.

The battery is getting recharged, slowly, one day at a time, but I do see the energy returning.

Connections.

In my life there have been three people I have formed an immediate connection with. The type of connection that when you meet this person for the first time you have this immediate bond, like you have know each other for forever….. The first person was my husband, the second person was my best friend from law school and the third person was a friend I met last summer. All three are men.

All three of them can read my mind and finish my sentences on any given day. The best at doing this is clearly my husband. He knows my every thought, my every feeling, when I am hurt, when I am happy, and he also has always been able to warn me of danger. It’s an emotional connection I share with him too. I know what he thinks, I know what he feels, I know what he fears.

I fear losing that emotional connection and so does he. The ties that bind us are very strong. If those ties were not so strong decisions about our future would be easy. It’s also those same ties that cause us the greatest heartache and grief. I know that our friendship is complete, but our relationship as lovers is incomplete. We both yearn for something the other person can’t give us. We both feel unfulfilled.

It is the loss of that emotional connection that frightens me the most. I would feel so alone without him. I have come to rely on him and the wonderful emotional stability he brings into my life. In my mind divorce meant a complete severing of the ties. But what if it didn’t….

What if that emotional connection can continue on? We were friends first, and that is where our deepest emotional connection lies. That bond does not have to end simply because our marriage does. When I realized this all of the sudden divorce didn’t seem to be such a frighten thing, but rather a freeing of both of us to move forward in our lives, yet still have that connection that brings us together.

Love and Validation

In April we made a change. Rather than my husband having the kids every weekend at his house, he would come to my house and we would spend weekends together as a family, in an attempt to spend more time together and feel out where our relationship is going.

The first weekend was great. The kids loved it. He let me have Friday night "off" and I left the house to run errands ALL BY MYSELF! Being the mom on three young children, getting to have any retail experience ALONE is wonderful!

Second weekend was Easter. He is participating in a different church congregation, and is in their choir. They had services Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. As a result our weekend time together was limited.

Third weekend, he had a retreat he wanted to attend, and asked me how I felt about him being gone for the week-end. I said it was "fine." I knew that this retreat would be really good for him, and help him clarify things, or at least give him some new things to think about.

By the time weekend four came around I was looking forward to having him around. Not only because it is difficult and demanding to single parent three young children, but also because I felt like I had not spent much time with him, and I enjoy spending time with him. He mentioned on Friday that several of his friends had gone to Bear Lake for a weekend retreat. Then he mentioned it again on Saturday that he had been invited to attend, but said "no" because I would "kill" him for being gone a third weekend in a row. Then he proceeded to tell he that it was hard to say "no" because he was getting a lot of pressure to attend. I told him "thanks" that I appreciated him being home for the weekend. It was the end of the discussion between us, but it continued on inside my head.

I felt hurt. Yes I was glad that he was with us for the weekend. But I had wished that he was there because he wanted to spend time with me, rather than out of guilt or obligation because I would "kill" him for being gone. But the truth is, he probably would have preferred to spend time at the retreat with his friends. As much as I love him, I can't give him the one thing he desperately seeks, love and validation from men. And it sucks....

Food for thought....

This a guest post written by my husband. He sent it to me in an email and granted permission to post it on my blog. Despite all the really harsh and raw things on my blog, I do still love him and will always think he is a beautiful person inside and out, and this post just confirms that....


For many years, food has been an important metaphor in my life. I grew up on a farm, we had a huge garden that my grandfather helped us to plant and I loved cooking with my mom from the time that I was 7 or 8. When I went to college I became a baker and then later I became a pastry chef and a cook at a major hotel. Food can be grounding. When you chop up tomatoes and onions, mince garlic, add fresh herbs, and then labor over it in the kitchen, you are taking the best that Mother Earth has to offer, adding a little of your own love, and then serving it to people you love unconditionally.

When we were married, we prepared much of the reception food with the help of our friends and families. Since our own wedding, we have helped others celebrate by freely helping them with our own 'catering skills'. We've shared many great moments in the kitchen and even great times cleaning up in others' kitchens.

When I moved out, it was important that I find a place to rent with a big kitchen, and I immediately filled it with cooking tools, a new Kitchenaid Stand Mixer, and the best tools I can find. I purchased vacuum sealing equipment so that I could impress my friends with Sous Vide cooking, the new rage in professional circles. Yet, after a couple of months, my kitchen became empty and bare, not of professional tools, fresh ingredients, or of cookbooks. I noticed it was barren without the love and teamwork that had been in the kitchen in our home.

Sometimes, as gay men, we put one virtue ahead of all others, the idea of love or sexual affection. We become convinced that we were somehow cheated out of a normal measurement of this ingredient and then we become obsessed with seeking it. This idea of love or sexual affection is a little bit like sugar. In appropriate amounts, in a cookie or a cake, it adds sweetness. If there is too much, the cake will collapse, the cookie becomes too hard, or it dominates the other ingredients. I believe, what I've often found in the gay world, is an obsession with finding sugar, a kind of saccharine substitute for real love and the true mix of virtues and emotions that come with it.

On Tuesday, I had the chance to cook again in our old kitchen. It was for me, a powerful and wonderful experience. I found a fun recipe on the Internet and purchased fresh ingredients, chopped them up, and saw as each of these strong ingredients--garlic, onions, thyme, cream, stock, chicken, pasta, parsley and stock came together to make a great dish, chicken tettrazini. It was a dish prepared with love and a bit of hope. My parents came by unexpectedly and then you helped me serve the dish. The kids loved it, my parents did, and you did also. The dish was well blended and the ingredients were harmonious.

Pieces of me (he used my real name), I miss the many different ingredients in our marriage. I miss the cooking. And I miss the love. No amount of adoration from my gay friends makes up for the emptiness I now feel in my own kitchen. I could make the best Sous Vide dish in the world, but without you it always seems to fall flat. I hope we can cook together some more and find ingredients that will make it work.

Love,
(my husband's name)

525,600 Minutes

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes –
how do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life?How about love? How about love? How about love?
Measure in love. Seasons of love.

525,600 minutes! 525,000 journeys to plan. 525,600 minutes –
how can you measure the life of a woman or man?

In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried.
In bridges he burned, or the way that she died.

It’s time now to sing out, tho the story never ends let's celebrate remember a year in the life of friends.

Remember the love! Remember the love! Remember the love!
Measure in love. Seasons of love! Seasons of love.

-Seasons of Love, from RENT

Its been a year, that would be 525,600 minutes to be exact since my husband came out to me. In many ways it seems just like yesterday, in other ways it feels like a very LONG year, measured in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, (or rather diet coke). In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In daylights that reminded me I had to get out of bed and face the world when I really did not want to. In sunsets that reminded me of the love I have for my children as I put them to bed. In midnights when the house was quiet and I had time to reflect and cry openly. In diet Coke that kept me going EVERY day. In inches, which is generally how far I felt I was moving forward on a daily basis. In miles, which is how far forward I actually moved. In laughter as I was reminded of the good friends I have, and in strife as I have felt my own sorrow and the sorrow of others, especially my husband.

In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried.

In truths I have learned, so many truths. Truths like I am a stronger person than I allow myself to believe. Truths like I am physically attractive. Truths like I am really, really good mom. Truths like people are complicated, including me. Truths like I have my own faults but I can recognize those and CHANGE is possible. Truths like growth is painful, but I and we, are a better because of it. Truths like some people will never get it or understand, and I can't change that, so I am going to chose not to be bothered by it. Truths like helping each other is the most IMPORTANT thing we as human beings can do for each other. And the most important truth, my Heavenly Father has an absolute unconditional love for me.

In times I know he cried for all the changes, for all the judgements, for all heartache he felt he was causing me, the kids and his family, when in reality we cried for him and the difficult realities he was processing.

It’s time now to sing out, tho the story never ends let's celebrate remember a year in the life of friends.

Remember the love! Remember the love! Remember the love!
Measure in love. Seasons of love! Seasons of love.

The story does not end, it continues as well as the journey for both of us. Where the journey takes us and how the story ends has yet to be written, or decided for that matter. What can be measured is the LOVE. The love we still have for each other, for our children, for our families who struggle to understand and accept, for our friends who only want us to be happy.

We can remember the love of all of those around us the last year who have reached out to help, to understand, to provide comfort, to advise, but most of us to remind us we can't travel this journey alone. We need to get by with a little help from our friends, and friends can also be spouses who forge ahead both together and alone trying understand and enjoy each Season of Love.

Here's to another 525,600 minutes and the Seasons of Love to be had......

Scars

I have several scars, from past injuries. There is the scar that is near my eyebrow from hitting my head on the metal frame of a bunk bed in the dark. There is a scar on my knee from the rocks on the playground at my elementary school. And the scar I am most proud of is the one that can be found where my abdomen meets my pelvis, from the three c-sections that represent the birth of each child. Then there are the emotional scars….

It was almost five years ago to the day that I sat in an LDS chapel in Provo, across from the temple, for the funeral of a friend of mine. I would have liked to call her a “dear” friend, but I had not known her long enough to fall into that category. She was my boss. She had only been my boss for six months. During that six months she was a friend, mentor, and role model for me. I soaked up every word, every piece of advice, every suggestion she offered. As a judge she had a mature sense of wisdom, with a sense of right and wrong and fairness. Little did I know in 10 months time I would be attempting to fill her enormous shoes, and relying on every bit of wisdom I had learned from her in our short time together.

She died unexpectedly, without warning. No illness, no accident, just a silent peaceful passing, a call to return home. She was young, 48, leaving a husband, and three children, all girls, 19, 15 and 10. Her death was a shock to all. I sat in the chapel or rather the overflow in the cultural hall, among my co-workers. As I sat I pondered the last time I sat in a chapel for a similar reason. It was the funeral for my mother 14 years earlier. She too was young, 46, I was 22, my brother was 15 my sisters were 10 and 7.

Her daughters filed into the chapel with their father, and other members of the family. As I looked at her daughters, whom I knew she cherished above all else, I ached for them. I had taken that walk 14 years earlier. I knew what they were feeling, but more importantly I knew what lay ahead for them in the days, weeks, months and years to come, and they adjusted life without their mother, whom I knew had been a larger than life figure in their life just as my mother had been in mine.

I pondered the change in my life during the last 14 years, and as much as I ached for them I knew time would be the best healing medicine I could prescribe for them. Time having helped me make it through the roughest part of the grieving, with now only occasional moments of sadness to remind me of my humanity. I knew they would grow, I knew they would change, I knew they would become stronger women and most importantly I knew their mother would be closer than they thought, even though many days she would feel very far away.

Several days after the funeral I had the unenviable task of taking the items from her desk at work to her house. I was greeted at the door by her husband and I expressed my sadness and sympathy at her passing. We chatted for a few minutes and I shared with him the death of my mother at a young age too. He asked me “Does this get better?” I recall my answer “Time, time is the only thing that will make things seem better.” I recall the disappointed look in his eyes.

Oddly enough I now find myself having to swallow the bitter pill of my own advice. Time, it’s a four letter word, and in my book right now not a good one. I know in time the strong emotions I am feeling now will be tempered by newly found wisdom, and growth. I know time will heal the wound that seems so open and raw right now. And in time even though the wound will be healed, the scar will remain as a reminder of injury and the miracle of time.

Walls

I am a mason, I’ll bet you did not know that. I am building walls. Okay, not in physical sense, but in an emotional sense. I can feel it. I can feel brick by brick the wall getting taller every day, and probably being reinforced with steel. It’s a barrier, but you know of course because it is my wall the stone work is gorgeous.

I never want to feel this vulnerable and hurt again, I won’t if I build that wall and refuse to let anyone in. I have good cause to build this wall. For the last twenty years, with the exception of my children, anyone who I have allowed to penetrate that wall has left me, abandon me. Some have left willingly, some have left unwillingly. I either event I am left to pick up the pieces and move on. Alone, by myself, relying on myself, as usual.

I wonder what it would be like to have a true partner. Someone who loves you unconditionally, someone to be with you through thick and thin, willing to accept challenges and meet them head on, not run away. I doubt in this life I will ever know that….

Then I think about one of my favorite songs, “The Dance” whose message is I could have missed the pain but I would have missed the dance. The dance was good, very, very good. I am glad I did not miss the dance. I am thankful for the opportunity to dance.

Anyone know a good wrecking crew? I have a wall or two that needs some work…..

Toto, we are not in Utah County anymore….

Recently I traveled out of town for a family function. Living in Utah is unique enough as it is, but Utah County is a whole world unto itself. Whenever I do leave the state I am amazed there is a whole world beyond the borders of Utah that looks and acts very different, and it reminds me I need to leave more often, in order to maintain balance in my life.

As I sat waiting for my flight I enjoyed the people watching. One of the first things I noticed was a young girl around 25 with bleached blonde hair walking from one airplane gate to the next. She was wearing a short, tight, black dress with black tights. Her skirt was too short and she kept tugging at it to pull it down. The black dress and tights were not as striking as her accessories. She had on neon pink stiletto boots that went about half way up her calf, with a matching neon scarf and hat. I was surprised she was not boarding the flight to Vegas, because she looked like a billboard you would see there.

Once arrived at my destination, I headed to the car rental counter only to find eight customers ahead of me and ONE clerk working the counter. I quickly surmised that I was going to be there for a while. I started looking at the customers in line ahead of me to pass the time. Directly ahead of me was a man I dubbed “Mr. Florida” He was a retiree, with silver/gray hair slicked back, with his aviator style glasses on. He wore tan polyester leisure pants with grey patent leather shoes. His wife, a similar looking retiree was with him.

As I looked ahead further in line I noticed one of the best female mullets I have ever seen. The lady was in her late 40’s early 50’s, but her hair was stuck in the 80’s. It was a dark red color, short and curly on top, with straight kind of side burn looking pieces by her ears, and of course long and straight in back. As I sat there I pondered if I could get a picture of this fine piece of time warped hair without being too obvious and having her husband come and physical remove my cell phone with a camera from my hand. Her back was to me, and so was his so one quick shot and I would be done. By the time I got the courage to take the picture it was their turn at the counter, and while I tried to get a picture, they were too far away for you to appreciate the fine specimen of hair she was sporting.

Finally a few minutes after I had joined the back of the line, and individual got in line behind me. I dubbed him “Mr. Cue Ball” due to his shaved head. He was kind of a Telly Savalas character, only weighing about 60 pounds more. He wasn’t fat, just thick. It was clear he worked out. He was not happy about the long line and lack of counter help, surmising as I did that it was going to be a long wait. As I stood in line and we moved forward he too moved forward, making comments under his breath about the lack of speedy service at the counter. He kept inching forward, closer and closer to me. Was it my perfume, did he think I smelled good that morning, and wanted more of my flavorful aroma? Maybe he was trying to “hit” on me, looking for a date while in Vegas, perhaps he wanted to say my long flowing curly locks smell terrific. NO. He was under the impression that if he violated my personal space to get closer to the front of the line that some how this would make the car rental clerk move faster and he would be on his way to his appointed destination sooner. By the time I got to the front of the line he was within 6 inches of my personal space, and I was feeling pretty uncomfortable to be unnecessarily violated by a complete stranger who clearly had room to step back a foot or two. I considered saying something to him, but then I looked at the size of his arms and recalled his already edgy state of mind I decided my personal space could be violated a little longer.

Too bad you can’t pass a deadly but silent one when you need it….that probably would have cured the problem! Note to self, eat more beans before next trip to ward off people who feel it necessary to violate my SPACE.

Meetings

How often I have sat in a church meeting looking at the clock counting the minutes until the meeting is over, not getting anything out of the meeting. Yet at the conclusion of the meeting others will say they felt the spirit and were touched. Were we sitting in the same meeting? Why didn’t I feel the same?

Recently I was sitting in a church meeting, feeling the spirit and a good friend whom I know was struggling with her own trials got up and left. She did not have anywhere she needed to be, it was just the speaker was hitting too close to home, and it was painful for her. Walking away was easier than facing reality. I felt bad. I was feeling peace and calm from the speaker, yet she was feeling angst. She was not ready to hear what was being said to her, I was. That’s the funny thing with the spirit, it does not come to you, you come to it, when you are ready.

Angels

I have decided I want to be an angel. I have been thinking about this for a while. I am a great mother, excel at my job, a really good friend, and a nice person and have my life together in every aspect except the relationship category. During a recent conversation with my husband it was pointed out that I am too controlling, too blunt and have no filter. Apparently it’s the tone of my voice, it’s condescending and intolerant, or at least it was to him.

When it comes to guys, especially in the LDS culture, I already have several strikes against me. First and foremost I don’t fit the mold, never have never will. I am a strong woman. I question things, people and ideas. I take very few things I face value. I have to know and understand for myself. I am cynical. Can’t help it, my sweetness was stolen by all the criminals I prosecuted. I am smart, and to a lot of guys that scares the shit out of them. I can go toe to toe intellectually with most anyone. That does not mean I am combative, to the contrary, I like to hear new ideas and view points, and consider those ideas and view points, even if they differ from mine. I love a good conversation. At my age it is unlikely I am going to change, and I am certainly not going to pretend to be something I am not.

You have to me a really secure man to be in a relationship with me. Most guys my age have not hit that secure stage yet. I have to say I like older guys, they are secure, have interesting life experience and generally are not out to prove anything. They can appreciate a women who can actually talk to them and engage their mind, as well as their……well you know what I mean. The problem with older guys, is they are beyond the “family” phase and I have young children.

So I have resigned myself that being an angel is the Celestial Kingdom will be just fine….after all can you really see me as a “second” wife?

More pieces....

It was bound to happen. It was only a matter of time. I knew I could not avoid it forever.

My husband has a new “friend” whom I will call Mr. T. I first heard about him from my children. He had been at my husband’s house several weekends in a row. The kids talked glowingly about him and how much fun he was. It did not take long for me to conclude this was probably an individual my husband was interested in. My curiosity got the best of me and during a conversation we were having I asked, and yes I was told that this was a potential love interest, however Mr. T was bothered that my husband was still married. (I guess I should write a note of apology for holding out some hope of salvaging things….)

Then it happened…..Tuesday morning I was checking Facebook to see what was going on in the world, or at least the world of those people I consider my friends. I notice that a mutual friend my husband I have in common was tagged in an album on Facebook. It was an album of a party for the Academy Awards that I knew my husband attended on Sunday night. I began to look at the photos….and there it was, a photo of my husband sitting on the couch, cuddling, and holding hands with an individual I presume to be Mr. T. It was a sucker punch to the gut…..

At first I was in shock, not believing what was actually in front of my face. Then as the day wore on the reality sank in. Mr. T was sitting, cuddling, holding hands with the man I still wished would sit, cuddle and hold hands with me. Intellectually I knew this was not about me, but I am still waiting for someone to explain it to my emotions. I could not have felt more rejected, more cast off, more useless to the man I still love. I can’t give him what he needs, what he wants, what he values. And for all the success I have had in my life, for all the things I have accomplished, I can’t do the one thing that means the most…..at least to me…

Quote:

“Maybe its temping to wish for the perfect boss or the perfect parent, or the perfect outfit, but maybe the best any of us can do is not quit, play the hand we have been given, and accessorize the outfit we got.” -Carrie Bradshaw, Sex & the City.

D***, I am going to look HOT for church on Sunday. Got the perfect accessorizes to go with the outfit.

Women in my family.

Shortly before Christmas one of my favorite aunts died. Now before you go feeling all sorry for me, she had a very peaceful death, after 25 years of every medical problem known to man. It was actually amazing she lived a long as she did, and as a family we were grateful for the prolonged time we had with her and that she was released in a very easy comforting manner. At her request no funeral was held, but instead the family gathered for a BIG party. It was very fitting for my aunt, because in our family she was the organizer of most of the family parties we had when I was growing up. This was just the kind of gathering she would have enjoyed, and probably did enjoy with us….

As a family we gathered, ate of course, and told stories. Each of her three sons told stories of their mother, her husband told stories, and her youngest brother. Several of her grandchildren told stories. As we reflected on her life it occurred to me more than ever before how much I am like my aunt. We have very similar personalities. The things that were important to her, are important to me. They way she treated people is how I try to treat people. The way she viewed life and her medical trials is exactly how I try and view my own struggles.

It made me wonder is it nature or nurture? I have pioneer stalk on BOTH side of my family, including relatives on both side of my family who survived the Martin & Willie handcart companies. There is something to be said for pioneer stalk. Ancestors who braved the elements and physical hardships for the chance at a new and better life. Do those trials they endured alter the DNA for those to come? Do those who come after benefit genetically from those that came before? Darwin said yes with his theory of the survival of the fittest. But are those changes inherent to the DNA or a result of nurture rather than nature?

The generations that have come since my pioneer ancestors have faced their own set of challenges. As the years and generations have progressed, those trials have been more emotional and less physical. But regardless of the trial, the effect is the same, you either become better or bitter. Why have those who have come before me chosen to take a trial and make themselves bitter rather than better? Is the influence on me a result of the example they set for me, or has my DNA been altered through the generations to enable me to choose to be better and not bitter? Or is it a little of both?

Regardless of the answer to questions probably without answer, I am grateful for the heritage of my ancestors, I am grateful for the life my aunt lived, the type of person she was, how she treated others, and how she cared for her family. With any luck I will be just like her when I grow up.

What we see

We all wear our own set of rose colored glasses, colored by our own experience. Our Ward Relief Society Presidency made a directory for each sister for a Christmas gift. The directory had photos of each sister, address, phone numbers, and birthdates. I previewed the directory because I will helping the enrichment counselor put the directory together. As I was glancing through the pictures I was first of all amazed that they got everyone to pose for a picture, after all there is nothing women hate more than having their picture taken. The next thing I noticed was how good all the sisters looked. Seriously everyone looked amazing, I wondered if they had used Photoshop and reversed aged us! When I got to my picture toward the end of the directory, by virtue of my last name, I looked at my picture and grimaced. I hated my hair, it was pulled back, and made my face look even fatter than it usually does. I wanted to look thin and pretty! So I just decided when viewing the directory I would just skip the page with my picture so I did not have to look at the reality of myself.

On Sunday the directory was passed out to the sisters, and it was interesting to watch the reaction. Without exception everyone had the same response. Grimace at their own picture and only wonderful things to say about everyone else’s pictures. Why are we incapable of seeing ourselves as other do? Why are we are own worst critic? How often I have see sisters that I thought were so beautiful both inside and out, yet they can’t see that in their own mirror. I wonder why they can’t see what I see. Then I look in my own mirror and know that I don’t see myself as other do. Is it because I know the flaws, I know the hidden imperfections, I know where weakness is, I know the true me, not the me I portray to others. Yet the me I portray to others is I part of the true me, it’s not an act, it’s the good in me I share with others. Yet why do we all discount the good when we look in our own mirror? I am not perfect, but I am also not evil, I am somewhere in between. I think I am going to try to look for a new shade of glasses to wear while looking in the mirror.

Ready, Aim, Shoot. (Conclusion of “Bring my gun to Thanksgiving)

3:00 p.m. Saturday afternoon was my date with destiny or rather the gun range a short distance from my house. The designated meeting spot was the house of the Ward firearms expert. Somewhere along the line, news of my self defense course began spreading throughout the Ward, and my outing became an “unofficial” ward activity. Not only did the Ward fire arms expert and one of my home teachers join me for this outing, but along came my other home teacher (well I guess they are supposed to come in pairs) and his wife, in addition to the former bishop, his wife and his son. Brining our grand total, to a party of eight. What the heck the more the merrier when shooting guns?

We arrived at the range and were given a short safety lesson, which included wearing ear protection, eye protection, (I am a safety girl you know) as well as a reminder to always point the gun down range, unless of course someone is on the range, then the guns need to be set down. Then the Ward firearms expert began explaining the mechanics of the gun. My eyes glazed over with the mechanical details he was providing. I am a law school graduate after all….

Soon it was time to shoot my gun. I opted to have my home teacher help me, because quite frankly the Ward firearms expert kind of scare me. Now let me tell you about my home teacher, basically think Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry. He brought his revolver to the range that day and stood there with his right arm extended shooting the gun with one hand, the other hand in the front pocket of his jeans. Round after round being hitting directly on target until it was empty. Did I mention he has wild red hair??? I kicking myself for not bringing my camera. It was priceless.

Ok, back to my 9mm. He helped me load the magazine and then place the magazine into the gun, hence I was armed and dangerous. I nervously pointed my gun down range at a target. I lined up what I believed to be the target in my site, moved my index finger from the side of the gun to the trigger and fired away. I forgot how much the gun recoils after shoot a bullet out, and the trigger comes down ready to fire again. As the trigger came down my left thumb was in the way, and as a result the trigger scraped it, drawing blood. FYI, in the short safety lesson Ward firearms expert told us not to put our thumbs there. Crap, I was now going to be busted for not listening. Sure enough, BUSTED, with a “Didn’t I tell you not to put your thumb there?” Yeah, yeah, I know, but I am a lawyer and I can’t help it if in law school I was brainwashed to believe that I know everything, and was encouraged to selectively listen. Good news putting your thumb in the wrong place is a onetime deal, because once you make that mistake you avoid doing that again.

I began firing off more rounds, successively becoming more and more comfortable with my gun. After the first 20 shots or so, I realized I have really, really GOOD aim. I began hitting all the targets right on point, dead center. I became “Dirty Harriet” minus the wild hair of course. I used all 100 round of my ammo, and had a great time, and now feel completely comfortable using my gun. (Although I still lack the capacity to open the case)

I think I might have to look into trading that BMW 335 for a large pick-up truck with a gun rack….NOT!

Don’t shoot!!! (part 3 of “Bring my gun to Thanksgiving”)

Now you have to understand my trepidation about going out target shooting. First of all I am not really pro-gun, in fact regulating guns would be just fine with me. Second you have to understand the personalities of the individuals with whom I am going shooting. The home teacher, very nice man, age of my mother, extreme right wing, served in Vietnam, probably has flash backs (PTSD). The Ward firearms expert, seems like a nice guy but in need of serious psychological drugs. (even his wife admits that, and after a 5 minute conversation most people agree) See why I think gun regulation is a good thing? Good news for me, wife of Ward firearms expert will be coming with us.

The thing I find ironic about the whole situation is that where I live now is a very safe neighborhood, as in like ZERO crime except for the occasional teenage prank or vandalism. In my former life I lived in the “hood” so to speak. And of that I am not kidding. I had ‘gang” bangers who lived across the street from me. One Christmas the cops used my house as a look out because they were expecting a drive by shooting at the house across the street in retaliation for a drive by my neighbors had done on a rival gang. So I have a hard time getting overly concerned about my safety. Of course I am not stupid about it either. I lock my doors, have an alarm system etc.

The other thing that is funny about the gun is that I am incapable of opening the case where the gun is stored. The case has these latches that I do not have the finger strength to open. I never have, and I never will. I have always had to have a male open the case for me. So future burglars, robbers, kidnapper etc., please note that if you come to my house I will probably politely ask you to open the gun case in order for me to retrieve the gun with which to shoot and or frighten you with.

That being said, when you receive a gift, you must take it with the intent of the giver. Both of these gentleman who have agreed to take me shooting, are concerned about me and my well being, and only have my best interest at heart. So while target shooting might not be my “thing” it is a way that both of them can serve me in a difficult time, which is a gift I gladly accept.

To be continued…..

Armed and Loaded (part 2 of “Bring my gun to Thanksgiving”)

One cannot target shoot without ammunition. Had the gun, had no ammo. Needed ammo. Now mind you I have NEVER purchased ammo in my life. I believe that after I purchased the gun, a friend of mine gave me ammo for a gift, which is what I used the one and only time I shot the gun off. So to the local sporting goods store I headed.

I pulled into the parking lot, which of course was filled with very LARGE pickup truck mostly of the Chevy or Ford variety. My poor little BMW 335 was feeling out of place, as was its owner. Clearly we were not at Macy’s anymore…

I entered the store filled with all sorts of hunting paraphernalia, and head to the back where I presumed the guns and ammo to be. I passed several shelves of ammo, but rather than try to figure out what I needed I decided the most efficient way to purchase my ammo would be to find a sales clerk, and plead ignorance. I approached the gun counter and patiently waited. (Apparently the election of a Democrat has all of the right wing extremists concerned and gun sales are on the rise.) In the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday there were no less than three people selecting guns. One was shopping for a hand gun, and two for rifles. I politely listened to the salesmen touting the benefits of each gun, using words and language entirely unfamiliar to me, hence increasing my anxiety level about being there, and wanting to get my ammo and get the hell out before I started wanting to drive a pick up with a gun rack, and wear lots of camouflage.

Finally a salesman asked me if I was being helped. I replied “No.” I guess prior to that I must have looked like some confused girlfriend/wife of one of the gentleman considering the purchase of a firearm. (Note to self, wear lawyer attire next time shopping for ammo, might be taken more seriously…) I informed the salesman I needed ammo for a 9mm hand gun. He then asked if I needed “Plinko” or “Self defense.” What???? I had a choice????? Furthermore what was Plinko? Self defense seemed self evident. Not wanting to look entirely stupid and have him refuse to sell me the ammunition due to being blonde and very clueless, although I am sure that was apparent, I simply said “I am going target shooting.” He informed me I wanted “plinko” and directed me to the shelf where “plinko” was located. Next he wanted to know if I wanted silver or brass casings. What???? I had ANOTHER choice????? I looked at him with a questioning eye and he told me the silver casings were not reloadable, but the brass ones were.

Seriously did I look like a women who was going to reload empty casings???? I think not…I don’t even want to shoot the gun to begin with, let alone collect my casings and reload them!!!! I indicated that I would take the silver, and politely grabbed two boxes, (100 rounds, I think that should be sufficient) and made haste to the register to leave this strange environment as soon as possible. One debit card purchase later, I was safely back in my BMW 335 leaving the land of guns, ammo, and very LARGE trucks. (Isn’t a large truck a sign of overcompensation?) humm…

To be continued….

Can you bring my gun to Thanksgiving dinner? (part 1)

Several years ago, in another life, I was a prosecuting attorney. As a result I received a number of death threats, most of which I did not take seriously. After all I was single at the time, no children, so death threats did not bother me, because I did not have a whole lot to lose. Not that I wanted to die mind you, but the seriousness with which I would take a death threat today, is vastly different than it was several years ago.

Because my father was wiser, and apparently valued my life more that I did, he insisted that I get a gun, a hand gun to be precise. I honestly could have cared less about owning a gun. (Although I did idolize Charlie’s Angles as a young child/tween, and guns in their purses were a mainstay.) In order to appease my father I purchased a 9mm, semi-automatic gun. I took it out shooting once and it has been in its case ever sense. Probably needs to be cleaned…. For reason I will not go into here, for the last 6 years the gun has taken up residence in the gun safe at my brother-in-laws house.

Well with the recently re-location of my husband, one of my home teachers has taken it upon himself to ensure my personal safety. He brought me over an 11 page, single space document on self defense that he prepared in 2002 and asked me if I had a gun. I reported that I did, but did not report that the location of my gun was actually about 20 miles south of my house. He then questioned how long it had been since I shot my gun. I sheepishly told him it had been a number of years. He then informed me that we were going to go out and shoot my gun. I said “Yeah that would be great” honestly thinking he was not serious. Oh no….he was serious. The next time I saw him he told me he had already spoken with the firearms expect in our ward, (he teaches gun safety for fun) and had arranged to go and warm the metal of my oh so cold hand gun, and see what kind of aim I have. (Little does he know my aim is terrible, perhaps I should warn him in advance that a flack jacket might be in order.)

Well I could not go shooting without my gun so the day before Thanksgiving I called my sister-in-law up and said “Hey can you bring my gun to Thanksgiving dinner?” She paused and said “ok.” Then I realized how bad that sounded, and she was probably questioning if she even wanted to come to Thanksgiving dinner. She was relieved to hear that I was planning on going target shooting, and did not have anyone in the family in my sight…..

Gun delivered Thanksgiving Day. To be continued…

Friends

Apparently I have acquired a number of friends over the years, and all this drama in my life has caused them to crawl out from under the rocks they have been hiding and back into my life.

I am a friendly person, outgoing, easy to talk to, and after all the years I have spent in the courtroom, not much of anything intimidates me except those plastic Barbie looking women whom seem to have taken over the generation just younger than me. Where I live unfortunately they run rampant. (Yes, I know letting them get to me is silly, I probably scare them more than they scare me. After all I can put together a grammatically correct sentence, usually…)

As a result of my friendliness I have had a lot of people to tell about my “situation” because I don’t want them to hear it on the grapevine. Inevitably lots have heard it on the grapevine because bad news travels very FAST. People from work, people from church, friends from high school, friends from college, people from my former life in another state, relatives out the wazoo….all wanting to let me know they care.

I have received numerous phone calls, cards and email. I never knew I KNEW that many people, and that many people cared about ME. It’s been comforting, a blessing, and an inspiration to me that along the way I have touched so many lives. It’s funny how we see ourselves, and the perception that others have of us. We truly are, are own worst critic. We fault ourselves, we blame ourselves, we guilt ourselves, we let Satan and his minions tell us we have no value. Yet those around us rarely see us that way, they see our value, they see our good works, they see our tender hearts, they love us for who we are. It’s good to have friends to remind us who we truly are.

To Judge.

I am a judge. No, seriously I mean it. That is what I do for a living. It is quite interesting to see people’s reactions when I tell them I am a judge. First of all, I am young so they don’t expect me to be a judge. (I was in the right place at the right time, another story, different blog) Second, I really don’t look judicial. I guess I don’t look mean enough apparently. And third, I don’t act like a judge. I really am a very nice person, most people don’t think I can throw down the hammer. The good news for me, I do civil work, so no one goes to jail, and its appellate level work, so I don’t actually have to see the parties, they have already had their hearing in front of another judge. I just see the transcript of their hearing along with all the exhibits, and their arguments on appeal, and write a written decision.

Another myth about being a judge, you would think that I would be quick to judge. But to the contrary I am not. I am probably one of the least judgmental individuals you will encounter, and it comes from being a judge and the limits on me as I try to judge others.

My job is to apply the facts to the law. Often times I know the way I am ruling goes against the real truth, but if the party with the burden of proof does not present the correct evidence, I can’t make a ruling that is not supported by legally competent evidence. I also can’t make a ruling that goes against the law. I have sworn to uphold the law, as distasteful as sometimes that is.

I also know from being a judge that there are two sides to every story. I sometimes wonder when I am reading the testimony of two individuals who had a conversation together if they were even in the same room. Yes, sometimes one party is out and out lying, but other times both parties honestly believe they are telling the truth, and the truth is a matter of perception. I am limited in what I can do, I don’t know their hearts. I can only take what is before me and apply the facts to the law.

Outside of my job I cringe when others are quick to judge. They are judging based on their limited perception of the facts, as applied to their life experience and values. Is it fair to impose our life experience and values to individuals who may not share those? Why are our values any more important than those of anyone else? Didn’t the Savior set the ultimate example by LOVING everyone, even those shunned by society, for choices and values not shared by those who were judging?

This is why I am grateful that the job of judging our lives lies with the Savior and our Heavenly Father. I have a very incomplete perception of reality when I judge and I know my judgment is limited. The Lord has a complete perception of our lives and his judgment is not limited. He understands our challenges, he knows our hearts, he knows our intent and it is by HIS full perception of reality that we will be judged. Thank goodness.

Beautiful

Last night I was sitting at enrichment listening to a speaker who had clearly faced several challenges in her life. She began by telling the story of her mother’s passing which followed a long illness. Despite the fact her mother had been ill she collapsed suddenly on the bathroom floor and was gone. The speaker then began to detail the bitterness she felt toward the Lord for his failure to take her mother in a manner contrary to what the speaker believed her mother was promised in her patriarchal blessing. After a year or two of bitterness she began to see the Lord had done what was promised in the patriarchal blessing, it was a matter of a new perspective for the speaker. She then said how often she felt the presence of her mother near, in quiet moments. I connected with the speaker and her story, and reflected on my own mother’s passing, and the questions I have had over the years about the influence she continues to have in my life.

She next moved on to a story of another trial the difficulty of which more intense than the trial of the passing of her mother. Although she did not say, I suspect it was a divorce. She said that despite the difficulty of the trial she resolved to be happy and not allow this trial to make her bitter as the first trial had done. She said our trials can either make us bitter or better, and we having a fullness of the gospel need allow our trials to make us better, and not bitter. The Lord teaches us through our trials, and we can’t learn if we are bitter. It is when we humble ourselves and submit our will to the Lord that we can become better, and it is a matter of inviting Him into our lives, and radiating the gospel even during our trials. Satan distracts us by keeping us busy so that become numb to the spirit. We have to make time for those quiet moments in which to converse with the Lord.

As I sat there I could not help but think she was speaking directly to me. She said whenever she goes on a speaking assignment she never prepares an outline, she never tell the group in advance what she is going to talk about, she prays and allows the spirit to speak through her. Several times during her talk she told us how beautiful we were and that we needed to smile and let the gospel reflect and radiate through our eyes. She told the sisters, “Many of you sitting her do not believe you are beautiful. Many of you have let the media dictate your standard of beauty, and find yourselves never living up to that standard. Sisters if your daughter was sitting up here on the stand would you allow her to think that she is not beautiful? No you would not allow your daughter to think she is not beautiful. Your mother wants you to know you are beautiful.” As she said those words it was as if my mother was speaking to me. Tears began to stream down my face. The speaker did not know the struggles I have faced dealing with my body image issues, and how my mother factored into that. But I knew those words “Your mother wants you to know you are beautiful” came from my mother to me through this speaker. I am beautiful.

My Choice

I have been a member of the church all my life. In fact I am about a 6th generation Mormon, on BOTH sides of my family. Being a member all my life I have naturally taken my testimony for granted. From the time I was very little I knew what was expected of me and how my life was to play out. As a child, teenager and young adult, I also knew varying from the course would bring the disappointment of my parents as well as my grandparents, and a good old dose of Mormon guilt. I believed because my parents believed, because my grandparents believed, because everyone around me believed. I only recall one time where I did make a choice. I had a boyfriend in college who was not LDS. (Ok, so I did not totally do EVERYTHING that was expected of me.) I loved him and wanted to marry him, but I could not bring myself to do it because I knew I wanted to have children and did not think it would be fair to my kids to have them, know the truth, and then not raise them accordingly. (Ok, I guess I did have a testimony, otherwise that would not have mattered)

I have known my husband since high school and we have always been good friends. After I broke it off with the non-LDS guy I started dating my husband. After a LONG period of dating, (guess that should have been a clue) we got married. At the time we got married he was much more spiritual than me. Again I felt as if I was just going through the motions, like I had been doing for most of my life. I poo-pooed scripture study, because I never really developed a love of the scriptures, probably due to the tortured scripture study my parents forced us to engage in, which never resulted in any spiritual experiences, just torment for all involved. I thought the temple was a “little different,” and poo-pooed going back and doing sessions. Conference, yeah I would catch it if I could, unless something better came along. Ensign, it came to my house, and got opened once a month for determine what the visiting teaching message was. We lived apart due to work for the first few years of our marriage, so we never developed a good habit of praying together. Over the course of several years my husband began to adapt to my less than stellar attitude toward the Church and the check list of things I felt were an expectation to be a good Mormon. In many ways I wonder if I had been more diligent and faithful would he have started to question the Church? Probably, but maybe not as soon. It is a question I will never know the answer to and begs the question “Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate…without them what would shape our lives?”

As he began to question, I became more diligent and faithful, and I did not even realize I was doing it. It was little by little, over time. Suddenly we were at a cross roads. He reached the point where he did not want to return to church and wanted nothing to do with the Church. He began breaking covenants he made without remorse. He even at one point suggested that perhaps we could have an open marriage. I had a choice. It was clear that the Church and my husband could not both harmoniously co-exist in my life. I had to choose one or the other. Either choice would result in a new life for me. A life with him, living a very worldly existence, or a life without him, left alone in a Church where family values are the expected norm.

I chose the life without him. As much as I loved him and wanted to stay married to him, I could not deny what I knew to be true. I could not live a life that was not in harmony with my core beliefs. I could not give the Church up. It was then I realized how strong my testimony really was. It was not my parent’s testimony, it was not my grandparent’s testimony, it was MY testimony. I had a choice and I was grateful for that choice. I was grateful to be awakened from my slumber of going through the motions. I was grateful to feel spiritually alive. I knew it was the right choice for me.

Could the Lord have taught me that lesson in other ways? Probably. But then again, don’t our mistakes make our fate and shape our lives?

HE hears, HE listens

All weekend I have been struggling with self-doubt and feeling sorry for myself. I have been feeling sorry for myself because I really want to be in a relationship and be married. I want an eternal companion, and I thought I had one..... It seems as if all around me I see cute couples holding hands, loving each other, and here I stand ALONE. Its completely unfair.

I try to have faith that when the time is right Heavenly Father will let me know and I can begin looking. Currently the time is not right. I have emotional wounds to heal, I have spiritual development I need, I have children to who need time to adjust to the new normal, I have people who's lives I need to affect, I need to adjust to the new normal, and let go of the old... It is not the right time.... I. HAVE. TO. WAIT.

I hate to wait. As a child I opened my Christmas presents early. I scouted the house for all the hiding places of unopened Christmas presents, I had to know the sex of each child the minute it was possible, and pushed my doctors for an early delivery. Waiting is not my speciality, which is probably why the Lord is going to make me wait....I need to learn that virtue.

As I felt pity for myself for the last few days that everyone else gets a "happy ever after," I knelt in prayer on Saturday night and poured out my heart to he Lord. Told him of my struggles, my desires, which of course he already knew, and asked for more faith that the future would work its self out in due course of time.

Sunday was a great day. It is highly unusual for me to get ANYTHING out of sacrament meeting with three small children. But despite every moment of my time being diverted from by one child or another, I heard the message. It was President Uchtdorf's conference talk on "Lift where you stand." Although it was originally directed to the brethren in the priesthood session, our Stake President thought the message was universal for all within our stake. The speakers both talked on affecting the lives of those around us by serving. Equally as good was Relief Society where we focused on Elder Holland's talk on Angels. I left church feeling spiritually renewed and so thankful that I can go to church and feel peace.

My home teachers then came over in the afternoon. Rather than give me a message from conference they chose to focus their message on negative thoughts and self doubt, reminding me that all negative thoughts come from Satan and his worshipers, as they strive to bring us down, and that the LORD will never leave us and all things good and positive come from him. It was just the message I needed to hear. I thanked them and they told me it was the message they felt inspired to give. How could they have known...they couldn't have without the help of the LORD. HE heard me, and they listened to HIS prompting, and brought HIS words of comfort to me. They left with a blessing on my house that my house would be a house of peace and refuge and that the negative spirits will not dwell here as long as we invite the spirit to be here.

HE hears, HE listens.

Void.

My husband will be the first to admit to you that I have been a good wife to him, not a perfect wife but a good one.

He works very hard, some would say he is even a workaholic, and very rarely would I complain about his long hours, and the resulting long days for me with the kids. I knew that he was working hard to provide a good living for us, and I wanted to do everything I could to support him in that effort. I would edit projects for him, help him stay on task, encourage him when he had a discouraging day, sympathize with him we he felt the forces of the world were against him, and give him a long back rub to put him to sleep at night. I tried to avoid “nagging” about things around the house that needed attention, especially if he had been working long hours and finishing big projects. When he was done with projects and needed “husband” time to re-group, I would try, although I was not always successful, to allow him his time without becoming upset or bitter because I had worked every bit as hard in a different way.

I plan a menu every week, so each night he would come home to a nice dinner that we would all enjoy together as a family. I did the laundry, took his shirts to the cleaners, bought clothes for him, in fact everyone at work always thinks he is the best dressed guy there because I considered him my personal “ken” doll. I am an organizer, so I would keep the house organized and running smoothly, keep the kids on track with homework and piano practice, decorate for the holidays, Christmas shop for everyone but me, remind him of upcoming things outside of work that he needed to do or attend, pay the bills, clean the house, grocery shop, and basically try to make our home environment a place where we could love and enjoy each other as a family.

I tried to allow him to make choices about how we spend family time, and tried to consider his input in making family choices. For the last year when he was on a diet, I encouraged his long work outs so he could lose the weight he wanted. I would make him a healthy lunch, so he would not have to make bad food choices, in addition he would have more time at the office to work, and hopefully come home sooner to us.

I did not do any of these things out of duty or obligation, I did them because I LOVED him and I wanted him to be happy, successful, and feel good about himself and our life. I will admit that sometimes I did allow myself to be bitter because I felt like I was doing all these things for him and they became an expectation by him, and not an appreciation for the sacrifice I was making. (I work too, about 25 hours a week.) The other thing that was hard is there was very little return by him other than money. I never married him for his money in fact at the time we got married I earned more than he did. I wanted his time and attention not his money. Despite this I still continued to be supportive of him, because I LOVED him, and knew that I was a key to his success. I can honestly say I enjoyed doing those things for him and if I were to go back and live my life over again I would still do those things.

Now he is gone there is a big void in my life where I used to spend time and energy on him. I miss being a wife. There is a huge part of me that wants to get re-married (to a new guy) NOW, which I know just sounds utterly crazy since we have only been separated for such a short period, but I really want someone in my life, other than my kids, that I can spoil and take care of. I miss that….. I also know I need time, and lots of it, to find “me” again. One of the reasons I don’t want to file for divorce immediately, is I want to have time and distance for myself. I don’t want the self imposed pressure of feeling like I have to date again, or the pressure from others to set me up. I need to emotionally heal myself before I can think about getting into a new relationship.

And I do think about a new relationship….I don’t want to be single for the rest of my life. I would LOVE to have a guy that I can spoil, who in return will adore and value me. It’s hard to have faith that it will happen again. I think about all the baggage, i.e. young children, a gay ex-husband etc., that I would bring to a new relationship and wonder what guy would want to deal with all of that? How long do I have to wait to find that guy? One year, two years, five years, ten years, into the eternities? I think how unfair it has been to me that I did not do anything to cause this relationship to end, yet I suffer the consequences of his choices.

And for now I am alone…..

Anger vs. Love

I had a friend of mine several months ago who gave me this analogy, which I have thought about.

He said: “Some people think anger and love are opposite emotions, I think they are same or similar emotion that runs on a parallel track. You can jump from one track to the other almost instantly, by being angry one moment and loving someone in the next moment. The mutual opposite of anger and love is indifference. When indifference exists you have neither anger nor love.”

I have thought about that a lot. My husband and I are committed to keeping a good working relationship between us. He went through a nasty divorce as a child when his parents separated, so he knows the impact to kids, and in my profession I have see the affects of a nasty divorce on all parties, husband, wife and kids, so I too know the lasting damage that can be caused. So we keep our lines of communication open, and have agreed on certain rules and parenting for the kids. We are both committed to now allowing our children to play us against each other and the importance of having a united front.

I have tried to continue to be as supportive of him as I was when we were together. I have enough sense to know that if he is happy and settled in his life he will be a better father, and my job as a mother will be easier. That does not mean this mature behavior is EASY. To the contrary it is HARD. I have felt angry and I know that is a natural part of the grieving process. My goal is to channel that anger in a productive way that does not harm or impact my relationship with him. I will vent my anger to friends, co-worker etc, and avoid directing it at him. I will write all the terrible things I am feeling about him down, just to get them out. It also means biting my tongue a lot. When we are together he says something that just irritates the hell out of me, and I want to come back with a stinging comment, I don’t. I think the comment in my head, and make a conscious choice not to verbalize it. Silence is better.

I had originally planned to go out of state for Thanksgiving. My plans fell through and I ended up staying at home. I called to tell him I would be joining his family for Thanksgiving and we were discussing arrangements for the kids. I told him since I was going to be here for Thanksgiving I thought it would be a good time to put the Christmas tree up. He told me that he had already spoken to his dad and they were planning on going to the storage unit to get out the Christmas stuff and he was going to surprise me by having it up when I got home, because he knew the demands on my time. I was stunned. Putting up the Christmas stuff is a 2-3 hour time commitment, and given how guarded he is of his time I was surprised he was willing to do that on his own initiative.

It touched me, and reminded me that he does care about me, then I was angry. I did not want him to be nice to me. I want to be mad and ANGRY at him right now. I can’t be mad and ANGRY if he is giving me the thing he values most, his time. But I am. I am mad that he is being nice. I think it would be so much easier if we were acting on our anger. It’s harder to LOVE than to be ANGRY. When he does those nice things, albeit they are few and far between, it reminds me that he truly is a kind and loving person and why I feel in love with him to begin with.

I understand and get the parallel track analogy. LOVE and ANGER are different forms of the same strong emotion. I wonder when and if, indifference will come…..

He took his ring off.....

Sometime around the middle of August my husband got invited to a party by several of his non-member gay friends. It was a Saturday night. He asked if it would be ok to go. Knowing how important his friends are, I knew if my response was anything other than “yes” he would pout for the rest of the week-end and tell me how much I control his life, and he does not get any “me” time. So I said yes, knowing there would be drinking and there would probably be pornography involved. He said ‘oh I will only be a hour.” Translation I will be 3-4 hours.

He has a habit of underestimating both time and money to me. Anytime he gives me a number that relates to either time or money I automatically triple the amount. Clearly he does this because he does not want to face the truth about either his time or his money. Additionally he believes that if he underestimates either one of those to me it’s better than telling the truth because I might say “no” and currently he does not want to hear “no” from anyone in his life. Plus in his mind a half truth is not a lie. I wonder how much of this relates to his hiding his homosexuality all his life? If you have been lying to yourself all your life, trying to suppress how you really feel does it color you perception of reality to the point that you detach yourself about the reality of life, including how you spend both your time and money, two valuable resources we are given?

Alright back to the party. He left early in the evening, and sent me text messages throughout the party, about what a good time he was having. He had a little to drink to he stayed until about 11:00p.m. in order to sober up before coming home. When he arrived home I was on the computer and he came into the office to talk to me about the party. As we were talking I happened to notice his hand and his wedding ring was not on his hand. I was shocked. He NEVER takes his ring off, he sleeps with it on, he showers, he works out, it never comes off. That night it did. I elected at the time not to say anything and just file it away and ponder this newly acquired information. I guess my face did not hide it well because later he told me he realized I had noticed.

It was about six weeks later in a discussion we were having about our relationship that I brought up the issue of his coming home from the party without his ring on. He then told me when he realized I saw he was not wearing his ring he thought to himself “oh shit” because he knew it would upset me. During our discussion I asked him why he took his ring off. He told me that he did not want to have to explain to anyone at the party that he was married. It was a conscious choice and he was unapologetic about it.

In many ways the ring incident was the nail in the coffin for me. I knew things were headed in a direction that it seemed impossible our marriage would survive, but once he took his ring off and had no remorse about it, I knew we were growing too far apart. I could not stay, watch him go out with his friends, knowing he was on the “prowl” just waiting for him to come home one day and tell me he met someone and was leaving me. I was not a wife anymore, I was the maid, I was the cook, I was the accountant, I was the babysitter, I was the laundress. I wanted more, I deserved more, I wanted to be a wife.

Control

My husband feels like the Church has controlled his whole entire life. From the time he was born, it was very clear what was expected of him, baptism, mission, college, marriage, kids, accept callings, serve others, etc. As he has come out, he has began to resent all the control he felt from the Church, specifically belonging to a church that did not accept him for who he was and tried to tell him that what he felt is inherently wrong. He tried to be good, he tried to do everything that was expected of him, but he just could not reconcile his homosexual feelings and the Church.

About two years ago as he began to stop suppressing what he has felt all his life, he began to develop an “F--- You” attitude toward everyone and everything in his life. It was his way of rebelling against the control he has always felt. Unfortunately this spilled over into our marriage. He did not want to be accountable for his time, or his money. He felt both were his to freely spend. If I ever questioned how he spent time or money, I was accused of being controlling. If I needed something from him, usually his time, frequently I was met with a “do I have to?” attitude exhibited from teenagers. I finally determined the guilt trip he gave me for asking anything of him was not worth it and stopped asking.

In many ways he is just like a teenager. I have read on other blogs about once you first come out going through a homosexual adolescence. I firmly believe that is what is happening right now. For the last year I really have felt like I am living with a teenager.

Sometimes I question the decision to separate and wonder “Do I just need to have more faith, and he will work through this?” But then I look at his actions and how hurtful they are to me. I know he does not intend to hurt me, and that he is hurting too, as he struggles to accept who he is. Again just like a teenager…they hurt you, and never intend to, its just they are so caught up in trying to determine who they are. I look at how miserable I have been and how it has affected me as a women, as a mother and as a wife, and I know for now I can’t stay…..

He now has his freedom to come and go as he pleases, except for the time he has committed to the kids. He has his freedom to spend his money on anything he wants, and overdraft HIS account. What he is quickly finding out is that freedom comes with a price. He goes home to an empty house, with no children to great him, no wife to ask how his day was, no dinner prepared, no noise in the evening of the children playing, no children to tuck into bed, no wife to kiss good night. He sits in his bachelor pad, designed by him, on his cream colored couch, watching his big screen TV, with his new sound system, drinking out of his $10 Pottery Barn glass, reading a book on cooking, architecture, or any other similar subject that interests him, knowing he can do anything he wants, he is free, but is he? And at what cost?

Out of the closet.

My new closet space. Believe it or not this is only shows about 60% of my clothes!

After my husband came out of the closet, he literally moved out of our closet. Now I am, and always have been a clothes horse. There was full disclosure to my husband before we got married about my clothes buying tendencies and he knew that every month I was going to buy some new clothes, and agreed he would not prohibit me.

For me there is something about wearing a new outfit that makes me feel good about myself. But I also can’t wear a new outfit unless I got a steal of a deal on it. That is part of the fun for me, the hunt for the bargain. So while I have a lot of clothes, I don’t spend a TON of money, not even close to what my husband spends on his personal stuff. I also like mixing and matching stuff and an outfit is never complete without accessories. In college I once went and entire semester without wearing the same outfit twice. Definitely some pieces of my wardrobe got worn twice but in a new combination. So you can see it is a sickness I have had for a long time…

I am sure part of it relates to all my body image issues, see earlier post, but I honestly like looking good. I rarely leave the house without makeup on and I try to avoid the “frumpy” mom look. Admittedly in the area I live there are a lot of “Barbie” moms so there is also a certain pressure to fit in. (It always amazes me that even as grown women we revert to how we acted in high school and the insecurities from high school sometimes never seem resolved, Although “Barbie” mom aside, clearly I have had my clothing and body image issues for years, so living where I live did not cause the problem, only contributed to it.) I also have to have a lot of clothes, because I have a professional career where I have do dress a certain way, then there are my church clothes, and finally my every day mom clothes.

As a result there has never been enough closet space for me. I will say that while I do buy a lot of clothes, I also purge my closet frequently, and I don’t hang on to everything. With my husband’s coming out and moving out of the closet, suddenly it freed up more closet space for me. Re-organizing my closet was one of the first things I did when he moved out. Suddenly my clothes that had been squished together now had more room as they expanded out. I could more easily see what clothes I had. I discovered articles of clothing I had forgot about. And realized I needed to stay out of the mall for a while, because I really do have an obscene amount of clothes and shoes.

I honestly dress well because I want to. I generally don’t dress to impress other women, or other men, I dress to help me feel good about myself and my body. My husband has always known how important clothes are to me, yet probably only 5-6 times a year would he comment on anything I ever wore. I swore I could go naked and he would not notice. However had I been a naked guy that might have been a different story….. It has always been hard for me that I rarely got validation from him that I looked nice, when it was so important for my self esteem to look nice, and even more important to have the person I love notice. Just once it would have been nice to hear “You look HOT today.”

Well at least I have more closet space.

FAT, FAT, FAT

I have had body image issues all my life. It of course started with my mother. If you ever met my mother you would wonder how the two of us are related. (FYI, my mother passed away 18 years ago, so your chances of meeting her, at least in this life, not so good.) My mother was 5’8, 130 pounds, dark brown hair, no boobs, (she was an A cup) and big hips. Me 5’3, more pounds than I care to have at the moment, blonde hair, big boobs (let’s just say I am a healthy D and it is natural), and no hips at all. In fact I have to buy my jeans in the junior section because all the jeans in the women’s department are too big in the hips. I carry all my weight in the middle, my mother carried hers, or rather what little she had, in the hips and legs.

For as long as I can recall my mother was obsessed about her weight, to the point she really wanted liposuction. As you can see from reading my description of her, she was not heavy in any way shape or form, unless you go by Hollywood standards, which I firmly believe encourage more body image issues and unhealthy behavior by young girls than just about anything else in our society. Since she was obsessed with her weight, naturally she was obsessed with mine.

As a child I was not skinny, but I was not “fat” either. I was on the chunky side, but in comparison to what you see in kids today, I was fine. However if you had asked me as a child about my weight, I would have told you I was FAT, because that is what my mother told me on more than one occasion. She always wanted me to lose weight. She didn’t understand that I was built differently from her and that I would never be a size 4, 6 or 8. She did not accept me for who I was. She always wanted to change me, into what she thought I should be.

As a result all my life I have felt FAT, regardless of what I weigh. Admittedly my weight has gone up and down over the years, in fact after she died, I lost a TON of weight, probably subconsciously as revenge against her. To this day I still keep a pair of jeans from that time because they remind me how skinny I was. But again if you had asked me at that time, I would have told you I was FAT.

Today I will still tell you I am FAT. Reality, yes I honestly do need to lose a few pounds. I have 25-30 pounds of emotionally eating from the last 4-5 years that I need to lose. The good news, as soon as we made the decision to separate, the brain chip in my head that causes me to emotionally eat, just “turned off.” It was literally like someone flipped a switch and turned it off. I have gotten back on my treadmill, although not a frequently as I should, but overall I am battling my weight issues, better than I have in a long time.

When I think about my body image issues, and the tape that repeats over and over again in my head telling me I am FAT, I wonder if it is akin to the tape that runs in my husband’s head about being homosexual? My mother never accepted that my body was different from hers, and my husband feels that people, specifically those in the Church, as well as family members, don’t accept that he is different from them. He also struggles with issues related to his biological father, who never accepted my husband for who he was. He never measured up to the standards of manliness his father pre-determined were acceptable. Is his longing for these close male friendships a reflection of the rejection he suffered by this father as a child? Are we batting the same demon in a different form?

Always running.

For as long as I have known my husband, (its hard to break the habit of calling him that, and technically we are still married) he has been running, I don't mean in the literal sense, but rather figuratively. For him it is always about the destination and never about the journey, and once arrived at the destination, it then becomes about the next destination. The road to the destination always has to be the fast lane, and no bathroom breaks are allowed.

It used to annoy the hell out of me, and in fact it still does. For example last week-end we took the kids out to a restaurant for my birthday, and we had about two minutes to look at the menu before he wanted to order. We ate, and no sooner had the last bite gone into the kids mouth and he was seeking the waiter for the bill. There was no reason for us to be in a hurry, we had no where to go, no deadline to meet, the kids were well behaved. I have never sat in a restaurant with him and just enjoyed a leisurely meal. When we go to extended family's house for dinner, he wants to leave as soon as dinner is over with and is uncomfortable just sitting and visiting. Of course he hate parties, unless he his hosting, and can be busy the whole time and not have to interact with people.

There is a park close to our house and during the summer I like to take the kids there after dinner and let them play. Very rarely did he ever go with me. It would have been impossible for him just to sit and enjoy watching the kids play. He has a difficult time relaxing and enjoying the simple things in life. Everything needs to be grand and expensive to be worth anything.

I know it sounds like he has AAHD, but he is capable of spending hours playing a video game or talking on IM with his friends.

It recently struck me that perhaps he is running from himself. If he does not have to stop running then he does not have to examine what is working in his life and what is not, hence facing difficult realities. I am sure a significant portion of it has to do with being gay, and not wanting to admit it to himself or others. Even now he is out of the closet he still has a difficult time accepting that is who he is. He still wants to live in both worlds, or at least have the benefit of both worlds, without the cost of either one.

It is also running from social situations. On the computer he can hide, or at least control was is revealed about him. I think in social settings he runs because if he stops long enough someone might either form a bond and get close to him, and intimacy scares the hell out of him, or realize he is gay and judge him.

I know hiding who he is for the last ....( lets just say its been a few years, but not a whole lot of years) has been emotionally very hard on him. He has been pretending to be something he is not, in a world and culture that devalues what he is. He believes since coming out he has now become an "authentic" person, and he is becoming who he really is, yet he still runs....still seeks, still wants....

In many ways it makes me sad. He is chases rainbows, hoping for that pot of gold, he always looks around the corner to see what might be ahead, he always thinks pastures are greener on the other side, he knows somewhere out there is the magical answer for what will make him happy. Yet if he were to slow down long enough he might realize the happiness he seeks is right in front of him in the form of a wife and children who love him and only want his time and attention.

Sometimes the slow lane of life is good....

The victim

My husband says I play the role of a martyr, well if that is the case he plays the roll of the victim. NOTHING is ever his fault, he always has someone or something else to blame. Now that we are apart I am beginning to see this even more clearly. He came over to my house to drop my daughter off after picking her up from dance. I asked how his writing project was going. The day before was a Sunday and since he is no longer active in the church he had all day to work. What did he do, NOTHING. He blamed it on writer's block, which I know writers get blocked, I do a lot of writing for a living and there are days when it flows and days when it does not, but regardless I sit and write and generally after a period of time it starts to flow. He will not even attempt unless he feels he is in "flow." And he lets ANYTHING distract from him in being in flow.

Needless to say when he came to my house he was in a "pissy" mood because he was not meeting his deadlines, hell, he was not even trying to meet his deadlines. It was the fault of the church, because if he had not been told all his life that being a homosexual was wrong, he would not be suffering as he is now. And if he were not suffering now he would not have writer's block.

I have to say I was really glad when he took his negative energy and left. I am just now beginning to realize how much his negativity affected me. It has always been like walking on egg shells around him. If I am going to say ANYTHING remotely critical I have to say it at the right time in the right manner, and even then who knows how he will take it. I was never really free to express how I felt, because it was usually turned around to be my fault or my problem. Over the last few years I just quit saying anything because it was just easier.

Now living on his own, he is running out of people and things to blame for his problems, aside from the church, which is currently the root of everything that is wrong in his life.

First week-end at Daddy's

When my husband and I first began to discuss the issue of our separation and how we were going to divide and conquer so to speak, we had decided he would have the kids every other week-end. As time drew closer to our actual physical separation, I could tell how hard it was going to be for him to loose that daily contact with the kids. I suggested that he have the kids every weekend beginning at 4:00 p.m. on Friday and return them to me by Sunday morning so I could take them to church. He really like that idea. It was just kind of on a whim that I suggested it, and I had not really thought it through. After it came out of my mouth and he said "great" I begin to think of the implications for me.....

ALONE every week-end. In the 7 1/2 years since my oldest child was born I have never had that kind of alone time. It scared the crap out of me. Which ironically is what was also scaring my husband, how much time he would now find himself alone, once we separated. I called my dad hysterical, wondering what I had just done. He attempted to calm me down, and I did feel better after I got off the phone.

I am a list maker, so naturally I decided to make a list of all things things, and projects I could do without my children underfoot. I discovered that I had a very long list of things I have wanted to do for 7 1/2 years but not been able to because of being a mother to small children. All of the sudden those ALONE week-ends did not seem so alarming, and instead seemed very appealing.

Several weeks ago was the first week-end the kids spend at the new house with their dad. I went over on Friday night, and helped my husband unpack, because the movers had been at my house all day moving stuff out. I wanted both my husband and my children to feel settled in the new house. I know it seems silly, and a lot of my friends don't understand why I would still even be speaking to him, much less helping him unpack his stuff, but the fact remains I still love him, I care about him and I know this is just as hard on him as it is on me. I need him to feel settled, for my piece of mind, as well as to be a good dad for my kids. My job as a mom will be a lot easier if he is involved in their lives and has some degree of contentment. I left late Friday night after unpacking numerous boxes and making a run to the grocery store for food my children would eat.

Saturday morning found me sleeping in until 10:30 a.m.!!! A real treat for me. Actually I was woken up my his calling me asking if he could stop by and get another pair of PJ's for the 18 month old. Here was his morning: No sleep the night before due to the 4 year old who refused to sleep anywhere but with daddy, kids up, fed, bathed, and dress by 9:30 a.m. because they had to be out the door to ensure my 8 year old made dance practice by 10:00 a.m. While he was attempting to get the kids ready, the 18 month old dumped a bowl of coco pebbles she found unattended on the table all down the front of her PJ's, hence the call to me, and in addition she ate 2 tubes of Chapstick, and went on a search and destroy mission throughout the house. His comment to me was "Boy she gets into everything!" I replied "Yeah, I know" while inside I was secretly laughing, because I guess he thought for the last 7 1/2 years,since we started having kids,that a mysterious fairy went through the house cleaning up after the kids.....

He had to entertain the 18 month old and the 4 year old until noon when the 8 year old finished dance practice. This involved running errands, and taking the 4 year old in public is always an interesting experience. While driving back to his house the 18 month old fell asleep, which meant she refused to take an afternoon nap. He was trying to prepare a gourmet dinner for 6 friends, and all she wanted to do was cry and demand to be picked up. His comment to me "You can't get anything done when they are around." I replied "Yeah, I know," while secretly thinking to myself "Where have you been for the last 7 1/2 years? Now do you understand why sometimes when you came home I might not have always been in the best of moods?"

With the arrival of his friends he was able to finish dinner, but all during dinner and after dinner the kids kept demanding things kids demand, like more food, drink, to be cleaned off, diaper changed, help going potty, etc. He was in and out of the conversation with his friends as he attended to the kids. I think it was pretty exhausting.... And again a second night of no sleep due to the 4 year old in the bed with him.

Meanwhile for me, on Saturday, after sleeping in until 10:30 a.m. I decided to completely clean and reorganize my bedroom and bathroom. The project took three hours, and it was entirely uninterrupted by children. I listened to uplifting music and enjoyed being able to have a thought to myself that was not interrupted after 30 seconds by a child needing my attention. I then took a long hot shower, got dressed in a totally rockin' cute outfit and headed out to the mall. I shopped for two hours, mostly window, and met friends for dinner. After dinner we returned to my house and my friend's husband gave me a beautiful blessing. The week-end was the most peaceful relaxing week-end I have had in a long time, maybe ever.....at least since my children were born.

I think I am going to like week-ends ALONE!