write it down, baby

I sort of knew what would happen to my blog once I remarried. I knew that its function as an emotional coping mechanism wouldn't be so necessary anymore. And not only would there be the general busy-ness of managing six children and the desire to spend most of my free time with Mr. Perfect, but a large amount of my life would now deal with a new extended family and circle of friends who may not be so sure about being outed publicly on a blog...even if I covered up their real identities with cute names.

Since it has been two weeks since my last entry, I suppose my assumptions were correct.

But there is still a desire in me to keep this going, no matter what it may evolve into.

Last night, I ran across two long journal entries I had typed and printed as opposed to the normal handwritten journaling I generally do. They were both written after a several month period of me not writing, attempting to summarize weeks of events and changes. One was from 2001, the other from 2002. I was 26 and 27 years old.

It took me by surprise, just how choked up I got reading them, reliving as though I were back in the very moment-- what it was to be a young mother, the joys and woes of raising toddlers, and the simultaneous strain and growth the starting of our business with its accompanying financial problems. At the times, I still had my mom alive and helping in her amazingly selfless way. My marriage was still precious and unblemished, my husband my best friend and prince. The names of dear friends now long moved away dotted the paragraphs.  I could feel the weight and fear and hope in the voice of that 26 and 27 year old me...but she still had no idea what was ahead.

I found myself searching deep inside to see if I still felt the same amount of hope I did ten and eleven years previous, having since endured deaths and divorce and illness, having had my sweet, dependant toddlers transition into questioning (but still sweet) teenagers who need to prove their independence.

And I do. I think. I mean, I'm a little more emotionally insulated than I once was, discovering someone as tender as younger me simply cannot survive the slings and arrows of middle age (or at least *my* middle age). I'm a little less optimistic and a little more realistic than I was about some magical time when everything would "just work out." Not that I don't still trust in that concept, but my perception of just what that time looks like and what it will take to get me there has certainly adjusted. In essence, I suppose I'm like that senior looking at the freshman thinking, "You don't know nothing yet, kid."

However, I still like who I am now. What I have become. What my family has become. What I and we all still have the potential to become. And why my  marriage to Mr. Perfect may have resolved the trials of a certain portion of my life, it opened up a whole bunch of new ones. But that's ok. I knew it always would.

I don't know how many second marriages in their first six weeks have to endure
*a major change in the wedding ceremony plans
*a move across states
*my being deaf and suffering from a migraine for over a month
*Mr. Perfect's lypoma surgery
*selling a house
*sorting out four households worth of furniture and redecorating a new home, which is currently shared by up to ten people
*blending kids--boys who have never had older sisters, and sisters who have never had brothers
*Christmas
*the death of a pet
*three school registrations
*starting a new job
*meeting big work deadlines
and
*trying to purchase a vehicle large enough to carry us all

But ours did. And although there were some tears, I am thrilled to report I am just as in love with my Mr. Perfect as ever. More so, actually. As it should be as you help one another through rough spots. I'm also thrilled to report:
*We now treasure our Las Vegas wedding story
*California feels more like home every day
*I can hear again, my head doesn't hurt, and I am more grateful for the blessing of health
*Mr. Perfect still has a lypoma on his wrist, but now it's a little smaller and has a cool Frankenstein scar
*My house has had a heartbreakingly low offer made on it...but it's still an offer and selling it will soon be one less thing I have to worry over
*Our home is coming together beautifully and functions well, even with our numbers, which will diminish by one tomorrow as Mr. Perfect's sister moves to her own apartment.
*Our kids couldn't get along any more awesomely. They enjoy one another's company immensely and we have already made golden, happy, funny memories. It is just as I envisioned it would be.
*Christmas was one of my most memorable ever--in a good way.
*The Guinea pig, Piglet, is sorely missed and buried behind our house. Little J still talks about him a lot. We may try to buy another soon, but not now.
*Three of my four boys are attending and thoroughly enjoying their new schools. Z had to fly back to stay with his dad and finish his semester at his old high school but will join the ranks of his brothers at the end of this month.
*My new job rocks. It may not be the creative, high-paced position I was accustomed to but it's just down the road, it's hours are perfect, the people are great, and it's exactly what we need right now. Work on my novel will resume soon. Very soon.
*Mr. Perfect and I are combining forces to help him meet the big deadlines that always seem to be on his shoulders and which, we hope, will produce some pretty cool results in the near future.
*By the end of this week (fingers crossed) we should have a van that seats eight and officially un-cools us all :)

So--whether in 2001 or 2002 or 2013, it remains true: Life is hard. And sometimes it's not. That's how it's always been. That's how it will always be. God is in charge, no matter what. And it's pretty awesome to keep a record of it all. The End :)