seventeen years

Today would have been my 17th wedding anniversary. Sometimes I wish I could forget the date, but I had it engraved inside Brad's wedding band the day I bought it with my hard-earned-working-at-the-college-frozen-yogurt-shop money. It said: For Time and Eternity, 12-28-94. I'd heard men often forgot their anniversaries, so I figured I'd just make sure he had some record of it on him all the time. His ring frequently became entertainment for us while waiting for food at a restaurant, or waiting for a turn during Scrabble. He or I would slip it off and spin it like a top. I saw that engraved date a lot. It will, sadly or not, never just be "another day" for me.

It doesn't hurt this year though. Maybe I said that last year...I don't remember. I just know that my break up with Dr. Yummy taught me a lot about how far I've come in parts of my emotional healing. When he broke things off, I was completely crushed. I could only compare it to the hurt I felt when Brad left. Yet, when I really consider it--it was nowhere NEAR as painful as that was. What it was, was equal to the *softened* version of how I now remember my divorce. Pain dulled by years, good happenings, and priceless experience and faith gained as a result of being single. The Dr.Yummy break up was significant, another little turning point showing me where I'd been and where I'm at now--and the amazing, heart-warming/wrenching distance in between the two points.

Funny that it's raining today. It rained on my wedding day 17 years ago, too. No one wanted to take after ceremony outdoor pictures with us. Only my mom followed us around with an umbrella, removing it from over my head long enough for the photographer to snap a picture, then putting it back on. Bless her heart. The rest of our friends and family went across the street to our catered after-wedding lunch. And they ate it all. Yup. By the time we got there, there was one sad, solitary breadstick left for us to split. We went through the Wendy's drive-thru on our way to check in at our hotel. Good memories. Funny memories. It really was one of the happiest days of my life and will continue to be so independent of anything that happened afterwards. But does feel like it happened much longer ago, to a different person. Or that maybe I dreamed it all,or wrote it in a story. One observation: I generally feel so youthful, happy, and drunk with possibility that I laugh to think I could ever be one capable of celebrating a 17th wedding anniversary. Only the face in the mirror reveals I'm not as young as I feel :)

Seventeen years after saying I do as a nineteen and a half year old who thought herself ever-so-mature, here I sit--on lunch break at one of my five exciting jobs. The blessed mother of 4 beautiful boys. Still close as I can be with the Peterson family. Comforted by the support of wonderful friends. Fueled by the dream of writing. Pained, at times, to see pictures of my ex-husband with his new family, but comforted by the fact that God is aware of me and has put some wonderful opportunities and people in my path. One day, someday, I'll start over again with a new guy, and a new date, on year one. All good things in time. And it feels like I've got plenty of time.

dear future husband, part 3

Dear Future Husband,

Hi. Are you still speaking to me after I practically banished you in my last letter? I was pretty hurt when I wrote that. Truth is, I'm still pretty hurt-y inside--but it's steadily mending, only making appearances when I see or hear certain things that remind me of you in the various forms you've taken.

Most of the time, I'm blissfully content. More than I have been in a long time. Content on my own. In that type of way that scares me a little bit because it's exactly what I wanted--to get to a place where it didn't feel like I needed you anymore. Where I could do it on my own emotionally and financially and spiritually. I can't hug myself very well (which sounds less awkward than "do it myself physically." *Insert snarky laugh*), but I'm learning to be ok with even that. I feel in this for the long haul, unafraid.

I guess the thing is, though... I still want you. There. I said it. ok? I really do want you. Eventually. I want you to be the right man at the right time who likes me in the same way I like him. I want all that perfectly imperfect mushy stuff I said here. Which is what worries me about this level of comfort--that you'll get forgotten along the way as I keep settling into a type of happiness that doesn't require anything but my boys and myself and my writing and my friends. How do I keep wanting you without needing you?

Also, how do I trust I'll find you when my track record as of late seems to indicate that there is generally something glaringly wrong with every man who likes me?  Without meaning to, and yet out of self-defense, I have learned to love everyone but trust no one. I have learned how to be friendly but not to bond. Have no expectations. Make no plans. Assume if you're spiritual, smart, funny, talented, and I find you attractive--you will have no interest whatsoever in me. Either I will not be pretty enough. Or I will be too quirky. Or not quirky enough, if quirky is your thing. Or you might possibly be a big fat liar, liar pants on fire.

Is it any wonder I feel better, safer, more confident on my own?

I really have too much to be doing to be worrying about this, right? Like six personal essays to write, and three critical essays, and one advanced thesis proposal, and polishing up both my Fiction and Poetry portfolios, and locating the source of this mystery smell coming from my family room which I'm pretty sure is some dead animal in my chimney...

I guess this is just a heads up that when all the stars have aligned and it's time for you and I to finally get together (I'm picturing me carrying a bundle of packages and you crashing into me with your Dutch bicycle and turns out the packages were filled with live doves and the lids burst open and the doves fly free while we laugh through our mutual concussions) --you might have to bring along a rolled up newspaper and hit me up alongside my (concussioned) head to get my attention because while my trust and heart might able to be pried opened again with a  sustainable amount of effort and time (and dark chocolate), if it's anything less than a bike wreck with a dove release followed by a newspaper bonk...I might miss it. I might miss you.

Don't let that happen, alrighty?

Ok--now go keep doing awesome stuff and I'll do the same. True love will find us in the end, at least that's what the song at the top of my playlist says. See ya when I see ya, baby.

Love,
Me

i love you, christmas. but i kinda hate you, too.

It would be practically  unAmerican, maybe even unHuman to say I hate Christmas, right? I don't. Really. I promise. It's just that when you're trying to balance five jobs, and grade final papers, and organize the application processes with various essays to write for 6 different MFA programs--well, Christmas is like one more giant thing stuck on your plate---a wonderful thing like a head-size slab of cake, but still, you didn't  have room for it.

Decorating was the main thing that seemed overwhelming. Even though this is my third Christmas being single, I've had a male figure of some kind to help me with the tree assembling and house lighting the previous two years. This year, I knew there were some guys I could call on for  help, but I really wanted to do it myself. I'm feeling fiercely independent that way as of late.

**Fiercely independent=Stuff takes a while to get done.**

So, I finally haul in all the dusty Rubbermaid totes from the garage on Thursday night and drop them in the family room. And they sit there.

Friday, I opened them up and started to sort out what I for sure wanted to put out and what I could skip this year for the sake of ease and speed. And there were the Spiegel candlestick holders Brad bought me our first Christmas together. And the tin container full of the clay ornaments my mom made with the boys her last Christmas with us. And the reindeer fashioned out of paper hand prints I made with Z and E when I was still homeschooling. All those reminders of what I'd lost brought me to un-Christmas-y tears. So I put the lids back on the boxes and I cut out some paper snowflakes for the front window. That was all my heart could take on Friday.

Saturday, the previous day's pain was softened by the sheer joy my L and J exhibited in the simple act of me re-arranging furniture so the tree could fit in the big front window. It was as if the couch were some *magical play place* now that it faced the opposite direction. And Z grinned from ear to ear when I told him that he could back the van out of the garage so I could get up to the attic.Every 14 year old wants to drive. Even a van... in reverse... for 30 feet :) The tree got drug down from the attic and sat next to the pile of Rubbermaid totes.  And it sat there. This was still progress...

Sunday, the boy squad and I started  up the Jazz Holidays station on Pandora and figured out how to assemble the tree. It was another one of those things that seemed harder to do than it actually was.  We got it done in less than an hour. I put out some more decorations. We even got their smaller tree put up in the family room and all trimmed. We were pretty proud of ourselves.

That night after the boy squad was in bed, it was time to get started hanging ornaments on the big tree. I plugged in the strand of lights...only to find half of them didn't work. I fiddled with moving and replacing bulbs, breaking two of them, then muttered under my breath as I wrapped them around the tree, half-lit, jokingly telling God that if He wanted to perform a Christmas miracle, He could make my lights work. I got everything up at nearly 1 am, smiled that I had finished and our house finally had a little holiday cheer, then sat down at the computer to sort through my bulging inbox. And guess what?

As I was sitting there--the non-working lights...came on.
Not all of them, but about half of the half.

Yeah.

It was as if God was nodding his approval. And showing me He cares. Even about the little stuff.

So--here I am on December 15. I haven't watched a single Christmas movie, there are no lights on the outside of our house, we haven't decorated cookies, the advent calendar isn't hung, and I still have a lot of presents to buy. But, I'm ok. I'm happy. I trust I'll fit it all in, somehow. And my boys will have all the simple, sweet memories of Christmas they deserve.

 I trust in myself. Because even being "fiercely independent"... I have the best Helper I could ever have.

there is no fear in this dojo

You know that scene in Home Alone where Kevin crawls out from underneath his parents bed and shouts, "I'M NOT AFRAID ANYMORE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I SAID, I'M NOT AFRAID ANYMORE!"

Yeah. That's me.

I think.

I hope.

The tide of my life is turning...again. Blessings seem to be pouring in from every direction. As if all the hard work, preparation, and prayers I have put in are all paying off at once. I fashioned a new bow when the old one broke, asked where to go get food, and finally...I'm eating. Now the trick is to just try and enjoy it without continuing to constantly glance over my shoulder, wondering when it's all going to get snatched away from me again.

So, yeah, I'm still a little uneasy. Maybe a little paranoid. I for sure still experience longing, and frustration, and feeling overwhelmed,and the occasional burst of anger (which I channel into kickboxing and writing "bad guy stories"). But you know what I'm not feeling anymore?

Fear.

I mean, if a tiger (or, if I'm being completely honest...a moth) chased me down the road or whatever, yeah--I'd be afraid. But the unnecessary fear, the worrisome kind that turned my insides to bile at night--It hasn't been around for quite a while now.

No more ulcers bothering me. No more waking up multiple times in the middle of the night. Much less heart cramping and palpitations.

 I think, after almost four years of learning one lesson after another about how God works (generally a sweep in at the last minute, dramatically save the day type guy in my case), I'm finally "getting it."

I have to do my part, of course. I have to wake up every day, and work hard, and build upon my talents, and have faith, and serve and be nice to people. But the rest just...comes. Needs get taken care of or suddenly don't seem like needs anymore. Big tasks may not get done in the timeline I want them to, but they always, always get done. I'm even beginning to see the answers to why some people come in to my life to stay, and why others come...and then go. It all has a purpose. If I just sit back, take a deep breath, and trust, somehow it manages to work out in happy ways.



For now: Living without fear has put me in a powerful place.

I'm not afraid to take chances. To send out work and have it rejected. I'm not afraid of where money is going to come from, even if it means I work my patootie off at five jobs. I'm not afraid of my boys making any worse choices than most kids make at their age. I'm not afraid of being single--in fact, I find the longer I'm left alone, the more awesome stuff I accomplish. And even though I'm not dating right now, I'm not afraid to try again at some point. Even if it means another heartbreak.


Of course, this is a much easier thing to proclaim when it feels I'm nearly to the top of a particular mountain rather than only standing at the base of it--but it really is true. All the time. My heart knows this. And I hope it remembers.

angels in our midst

Today a miracle happened. They happen every day, or at least on a regular basis--this I am certain of--though most times we're not even aware of them. But sometimes, like today, BAM! They happen in a way they can't be missed.

Driving home from work this afternoon, I let my mind wander to Christmas. Usually I have my shopping done by October. Not this year. In fact, I wasn't even gainfully employed in October.

Thus far, I'd only bought Z's gift, and a small thing for L and J. Since I have stayed out of debt for 3 1/2 years now, I was dreading having to pull out a long unused credit card to buy Christmas. I knew while the (stupid) credit card was out I was going to have to pay my (stupid) tuition with it as well. Seeing as how it's the last week of class and all, I figured that should be taken care of. I'd hoped for enough income from a design job I'm working on weekends to go towards both Christmas and tuition, but then my (stupid) van needed (stupid) new tires....and there went all that money I'd saved (though I must insert my brother-in-law was able to get me a MUCH better deal on tires than the place down the street, so I can't complain too much. See...miracles! :) ).

Anyway, I didn't like the situation but was grateful I had the means--even if not ideal ones--to take care of it. Then a deep impression came to me: Don't worry. It's going to get taken care of.

Yeah, I thought. I'm going to go  home and pay for stuff with my credit card (once I remember where I put it). It's going to get taken care of. You're right. Thanks!

Then I got home and there was a UPS envelope waiting for me. And in it...a generous amount of money from some anonymous angels in Southern California, accompanied by the most beautiful letter expressing their belief in me and in my boys, and asking that we accept their gift with graciousness and the understanding it was their pleasure to give.

Miracle.

A BAM! kind of miracle.

The amount is enough to cover my tuition, take care of Christmas, AND cover the expenses my paycheck doesn't for two months.

I stood simultaneously laughing and weeping at the kitchen counter, the boys taking note and running over to ask what was wrong. I read the letter to them through my tears, and we all shared a big hug. If you'd run some background music and faded out slowly, it would have been like the happy ending to a holiday movie. Only it was real. My real.

Anonymous angels--thank you. From the bottom of my  heart. My words feel so inadequate. You have no idea just what you've done for the boy squad and me. Not only financially, but the impression you have left spiritually. My children won't soon forget what it means to give, even when it's uncomfortable--for truly there are a lot of things you could have purchased for yourself with what you gave to us. We won't forget. Ever.

There have been many angels at work in my life over the last several years. Angels who fix computers, or blow out sprinkler lines in winter, or clean up the giant branch that falls off my tree, or repair bike tires, or help me with my lawnmower. Angels who show up at my house late at night to visit and just tell me they're happy I'm around. And now the angels who saved Christmas and kept me from going into credit card debt.

I know that prayers aren't always met with such rapid miracles. Trust me, I know.  But, you know what...sometimes they are. Believe. And do your best to act the part of an angel every day, too.
--

 (p.s. The angels specifically mentioned I get/do something for myself. I'm going to bring back our Netflix subscription so we can finish watching all the episodes of Top Gear and Yo Gabba Gabba. I may also treat my werewolf toes to a pedicure :) )

it's good to be me

It's been a really good week to be me, yesiree. I don't often get those weeks that go right,every day. So I'm really letting this one sink into my heart.

Thursday, I got to help my friend (and now boss) with her interview radio show "The Writer's Block." She taught me to run the sound board, record, cue, etc BECAUSE....I will be guest hosting for her on February 1. An hour to talk writing with guests of my choice...um, yes, please! I'm very excited. Green Eyes also met us down at the station that day to give me a copy of his newly completed (and most excellent) CD. My friend was so kind that she took it from him and played three of the songs during the music slots in the show. Hooray for being able to help out!

I got the call on Friday that I'd placed in the 101 word fiction contest I entered. It's sponsored through a widely read, local, weekly newspaper, and it's kind of a big deal around here to win it since all the really good but not yet professional writers enter. I will find out on January 4 when the winner's issue comes out just how I did, and then will get to participate in a special reading the next night. If I happened to get first place, there's a $400 prize. Not too shabby. And enough to cover the cost of the tires I had to replace on my van.

Friday night was my annual Festivus party, surrounded by old friends and new, sharing lots and lots of laughs.

Then Saturday, I was offered the Literary Director position at Fusion Magazine, where I've freelanced and run social media since April. It doesn't come with a lot of pay, but some, which is good for working it into my nights and weekends. And I get a huge say in shaping the tone of the magazine. Would love to steer it towards the direction of Harpers or Esquire. We certainly have the pool of writers around here to do it.

Anyway, I was really happy. It was so nice to have a week where nothing/no one pushed me down . Of course, I'm resolved to always see my blessings and be happy, no matter what--but wow (!) What a nice feeling when it's an EASY thing to do :)

Then, tonight, I did one of the hardest things I've had to do. Ever. And I didn't even know I would have to do it. It was Z and E's Christmas piano recital, and I sat in the same room with my ex-husband and his new wife and their baby. I've never had to do that in the two and a half years they've been together. Brad has just come to family stuff alone. But tonight, he brought them.

 I hadn't seen his baby before. She was cute. Not as cute as our kids, of course--but cute like babies are. I watched family members fawn all over said baby (which is fine--I strongly encourage baby fawning!).  I listened to Brad two rows behind me introducing "his wife" to people who hadn't met her, and heard a voice not mine saying, "Hello ______." And I sat there, alone, in the front row, being brave.

I held it together. My boys played brilliantly. I came home. I put them to bed. I stood over the sink and had a brief, intense, shoulder shaking, silent cry; my mind trying to wrap itself, again, around the fact that this is my life now.   For now and for how long I don't know, it will be just me and the boy squad. Then, I took one giant inhale/exhale and...let it all go.

And I was fine again...

Perfectly comforted in the fact that one day Brad WILL feel what I have felt, just as I have felt it. More than being thrust down to hell or made to roll a rock eternally up a hill or whatever, that's the only "justice" I ask for him from God. To feel without filter. And understand what he's done. Not just to say he does, but to really, really understand.

A rough situation that may have taken me days or weeks or even months to get over a few years ago, I now got over in the space of a half hour.  I think that's some great progress.

Yeah. A series of happy victories and one awesome display of strength and grace. Good to be me :) Hoping you all had a good week of being yourselves, too.

why i'll never be skinny

Me: college: 1993

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving. My tummy was happy-- full of warm, starchy comfort foods, and my heart was happy to be surrounded by loved ones. I enjoyed leftovers of my famous pumpkin cobbler with the ginger-maple whipped cream for three days afterwards. Following an extended weekend of indulging, I'd put on 3 pounds, which I knew meant wearing my *big pants* for the next week while I ran, kicked, and climbed it off.  It's all part of this continuing love/hate relationship I've had going with my body for about 22 years now...

When puberty finally caught me at age 15, I went from a boney kid to a hip-heavy 145 pounds in one summer. I stayed there for the next two years--eating both well (salads and fruit) and not so well (entire jumbo bags of peanut butter M&M's). I always stayed active dancing or biking, though not really giving much thought to the idea of what exercise was or what it did. My body was just comfortable where it was. I didn't even think to compare myself to any of my friends.

Fast forward:
When I married the last week of 1994, I was 103 pounds soaking wet. That number was a result of a solid year subsisting on 900 calories a day, and at least two hours of intense exercise--most of it involving sprinting the stairs of my college's stadium at midnight.

In October of my freshmen year of college, for some reason, I just decided I was fat and I wasn't going to be fat anymore. And I wasn't going to be fat anymore as quickly as possible.

 At my worst, my periods became sporadic, my hair started falling out in big clumps, and I nearly passed out every time I stood up. I tried binging and purging, but with no gag reflex, I couldn't throw up, which only served to tick me off and send me further restricting my diet, counting even the calories in the toothpaste I used and the stamps I licked.

 I can remember being so hungry that I'd pour sugar substitute and a little cinnamon in a bowl and eat it by licking my finger and dipping. I thought about food all. the. time. About eating it. About not eating it. About how I'd rather die than put on a pound, and yet obsessed about when I could eat my  next 100 calorie "meal."

People complimenting me on how I looked (which was actually not too bad since I always wore clothes too big for me) only fueled the fire.

Then, about 110 pounds, something changed...people stopped telling me I looked great and started telling me maybe I needed some help. A friend from church calmly suggesting I get help after I fainted in the foyer. An old roommate. My now fiancee. Thinking I was fine and that I'd prove them all wrong, I made an appointment to see a counselor on campus. The session did no good, in fact, all I remember is the counselor talking about corn on the cob and some other nonsense.

Months passed. Then a year. Then two. I got married. I settled into our new life. I didn't get any more formal help, but I did go inside myself and realize the motivating force behind it all was being in such out of control circumstances as were my late teenage and early 20's years.Eating (or not) was one thing I felt I COULD assert some power over...but it wasn't making me happy.  I started to let go of the compulsive need to control. I started to believe my  husband when he told me I was beautiful. I started to be ok buying larger clothes. And the scale settled upwards, once again, at 145.

The one thing about my years as an anorexic I took with me was that the alternative to fat or thin can be STRONG. I appreciate the beauty in going to the gym every day--or at least regularly--rain or shine, snow or wind. I know the machines will always be there for me, and that if I insert myself in them and go long and hard enough, they will nearly always make me feel better. I know I can take a kickboxing class and beat the crap out of someone in my mind, I can lift a weight a little heavier than I was lifting two months before, and I can lift it a few more times. I am fit enough that I worked out the day before having all my babies, and would be back and working out 2-3 days after.

Following my bout with Rheumatic Fever 3 years ago--the 6 weeks it forced me to stay in bed in excruciating pain, the 30 pounds (of post baby and depression from my mom dying weight) I lost in a month, and the resulting heart damage it left me with--my doctor told me I probably shouldn't do any more than walk or moderately exercise for the rest of my life. I couldn't and wouldn't believe that. And so I ignored his advice and have pushed myself harder and further than ever before, now running 25 miles a week in addition to classes and weights. Unlike college when I exercised just to be thin, now I do it because I cannot seem to live with being weak. And though I workout hard, and generally 5-6 times a week, it's still just a PART of my life, not it's entirity.

Currently, at 5' 7", I fluctuate between 135 and 145. When I'm heavier getting lighter, I feel focused and motivated. When I'm lighter getting heavier, I'm eating some marvelous food and generally feeling settled and content. Up or down, my pant size stays the same. I'm comfortable in my skin once more...mostly (I mean, I AM human :) )  I have been tempted to get all crazy about my eating again. It's hard competing against thin, beautiful women for the small amount of eligible men, and I think maybe the control over something would be nice again...Then I look back on my super skinny, size 2 photos and remember what it felt like to be consumed by food that I wasn't consuming. If the trade off for a  slight badonkadonk butt is a balanced life and the ability to eat a piece (or three) of pie....I'm ok with that.

i'm back...in more ways than one

Hi.
I'm back.
I hope.
It sure feels like coming home.
I left in a really, really dark place. I think probably the darkest place I've been since my divorce--maybe even more so since it was piled on top of the scar-tissue like experience of the divorce.  Some of it was Dr. Yummy, but a lot of it was just the point in life I was at--thinking that there would/should  be "more" somehow because of the exhausting efforts and tireless faith I've put forth. My heart felt all gristled and broken.

Every morning I'd wake up I would think: No one wants you. Your best has been and never will be good enough for anyone. And the few people who need you--namely your children--you are letting down horribly. You have nothing. You are nothing.

Lovely thought to wake up to, right?

And that  nasty thought would stay all. day. long. Eating and eating and eating at me. And of course I knew the source of it. I knew God would never want me to believe those things about myself. But the statement seemed to make such sense that it was brutally hard to push away. I honestly did feel unwanted, a failure, like nothing. I think the worst part was how POWERLESS I felt. Like no matter how hard I worked or how much faith I had, nothing seemed to be changing. Or, as soon as it would, it would change back. What was the point in trying anymore? In even getting out of bed?

That's an awful feeling--feeling like you're without choice. But I clung to whatever fragments of hope I could find, I kept getting up, smiling. Talking ABOUT the mountain of my trials didn't seem to be helping anymore, so I left blogging to go talk TO my mountain for a while. I needed to tell it, as many times as it took, to move--to move by the power of  the only Source able to move it. There was no way I could get it over it and my attempts to move it weren't working.  I needed help. I needed Red Sea parting-like miracles.

It didn't work at first. The darkness stayed. It deepened. It lessened. But it never seemed to go away. Then, this last week, things started to change. I started to change. And then tonight, I had put into perfect clarity how much power I still have, regardless. Now, and forever, I will always have power over the following things:

1. I can choose to be happy. Yup. No matter how bad things get, happiness is always more of a choice than an emotion. And I'm good at it, too--holding to moments of joy, recognizing even the smallest of blessings. I just need to let those things seep into the center of me and go to work.

2. I can choose to serve. In big ways or small, there is  nothing that will flip a mood faster than helping someone else. I haven't been able to continue my service at the Veteran's Retirement Home with my new work schedule, but I can still help out countless others in countless ways, including and especially my own boys.

3. I can choose to unpack my bags. Meaning, I can stop looking at this point in my life--being single--as something I just had to cheerfully endure for a few years, and start looking at it as an ending in itself. I've kept my metaphorical bags packed, waiting for someone or something to come rescue me from this situation, but in doing so, I think I've kept myself in an unnecessary state of uncertainty. From here on out, I'm going to just let this life be as if it will never be any different. I'm going to unpack my bags, put stuff away, and enjoy it, unless and until I'm certain it's time to pack them up again.

4. I can choose to remember what I know. The stuff I don't know still dwarfs the bit I do, but what I do know, those truths that have been tried and tested, I know for certain. And it's good to remind myself of them. They're like treasures no one can steal.

5.  I can choose to have hope. Right now, and for the last several years, it's been hard to see the forest for the trees. My trials feel like a life sentence. But as I look back over the years, all my trials have felt that way. I remember thinking no one would ever want to marry me after the first guy I was engaged to called things off. I remember thinking we'd never get to buy a house. That our business would never make money. That I would never feel better after my Mom passed away. That L might die of a brain tumor. And yet, somehow, every problem, no matter how large, has found a way to work itself out, and usually without me doing much more than getting up each day and doing my best. This too, shall pass. It really, really will.

Things are going to change for the better. Soon.  I feel it in my bones. But even if they don't, it is enough that *I* have changed. And can continue to change and grow for the good.

When I allowed my fears to eat up all my hope, I ended up not only feeling weak and pathetic--but looking it, too. And really, no thanks. While I have  had (and probably will continue to have) my moments of pathetic weakness that temper into humility, I KNOW I am neither weak nor pathetic. This difficult point is where I am in my life, not who I am.

 I may not be wanted in the way I want to be wanted, but I'm still wanted, by God in particular. And I may not be able to give to my children the way I most desire, but I need them and they need me and I won't let them down.

I am someone. I have everything.

 Welcome back, Me. Welcome back.

not as the world giveth

You know you're in trouble when you start sympathizing with the Israelites. There you are, with an incredible abundance of blessings promised to you. You're excited and all...but for now you're sitting in the wilderness. And you have been for what feels like an eternity. Sure, you're getting manna and being sustained from day to day and all...but you're impatient. You want the safety of that city you just came out of. You want it's entertainment. You want it's... cucumbers (and all those other strange things they were missing). You start to think that maybe going back to a life where you were less than what you are supposed to be sounds better than waiting for God's promises in His time frame.

Yup.

That's me about now.

I am tired of this wilderness. Being sustained from day to day is awesome, but it's also exhausting--always fearing, wondering--will it come today? And looking around you and seeing others less faithful (like the Canaanites) prospering, and wondering, Heeeey! What about me?! I want some safety and security and fancy food already!

The thing is, for as frightened and impatient as I am, I KNOW God is going to take care of me. He showed me in a way I could understand just a week ago:

Every day for almost a year, I've worn my ipod nano. I use it as a pedometer/running tracker. It has my whole music library on it. I adore it. And last week, while sitting in the Fiction class I assistant teach, I noticed....it was gone. It wasn't clipped to the top of my skirt where it had been. I checked the floor around me, checked my pockets, checked under me. Nowhere.  I had covered a half mile of campus from my parking spot to the classroom, crossing a busy street, and rode in an elevator. Three hours had passed. There was no way I was going to find it. But a feeling came immediately into my heart speaking, Don't worry. You'll find it.

BUT HOW? It was impossible!

At 9pm, class let out. I started backtracking my steps as accurately as I could. When I would reach dark stretches of sidewalk, I would turn my phone on and shine it all around. I even went briefly into the library Starbucks where I'd stopped before turning quickly around (not wanting to wait in line behind eight people for a cup of hot chocolate). I thought of some guy finding it on the sidewalk and thinking, SCORE! Free music loaded nano!

Still, the calm feeling persisted...It's going to be ok. You're going to find it. And now it was even more specific, You're going to find it right by your van.

Still I searched all the way back thinking, This is stupid! Tons of students walk the parking lot where I park. I'm not going to find it there. And sure enough, I reached my van and...nothing.
See? I thought, I knew it! I can't even catch a small break lately!

I put my bag in the back and climbed into the drivers seat. As I settled my weight in, I felt something cold against my back. It was my ipod. It had been there all along. My skirt had just shifted around so that it wasn't in the front where it was normally was.

And then God really spoke to my heart: My child, don't you recognize the feelings of comfort I'm sending you? If I say you're going to find your ipod, you're going to find it. If I say I'm going to take care of you, like I have been...I'm going to do it. I have you.

I sat there in my dark van and cried for a good ten minutes, so sorry that I'd doubted. God's going to take care of me. Of my boys. I don't know how. Nor do I know  how long he's going to keep us sitting in the wilderness, on the borders of those earthly blessings I so desire, nor what else he will ask us to pass through, but I know if I'm patient enough, remain faithful enough, all things will be mine in time.

And that's where I want to leave you all. That's WHO I want to leave you all with--the girl who still has some hope left in her.

 The Peterson's who have gone public for 661 posts now, need to struggle in private for a little while.


This blog has been my therapy, my small piece of salvation for so long now, my good friend and lifeline to the outer world.  I don't know how to leave it. It has been such a blessing to turn tragedy into triumph in whatever I can, and to help others know they're not alone. But I just don't feel like me anymore. I look at my new group of single friends--many who have only been divorced for a year now, and they are so positive and so optimistic, like the world is completely open to them.  And I think...that used to be me. Not that I still don't have hope and optimism in my heart, there are just too many things pressing down on me right now. I see other single friends losing their houses and jobs, unfairly having time with their children taken away, or surviving for two weeks on Ramen noodles. It just all seems so...unfair. That's the yucky doubt in me eating at my faith.

I want to remain a source of inspiration and hope MIXED with trial...not all trial. I don't want people reading just to find out what the next tragedy awaiting me is. I don't want to be the Jersey Shore of the blog world.

So, I'm going to take a few weeks, or maybe months off. I'm going to see what I can do to either settle comfortably in this wilderness, or go knock that freaking wall to Jericho down already. I'm going to heal as completely as I can from the ache I still  feel from Dr.  Yummy's absence. I'm going to serve more. I'm going to try and earn enough income to save my house and maintain a semblance of the modest lifestyle we've had.  I'm going to spend a lot of time learning to recognize that divine whispering of, "I got you," until I believe it enough that I'm not afraid anymore.

Thank you for sticking with me. Thank you for believing in me. May you all be blessed with only pleasant surprises.

this is why...

My dear beautiful boys,

Do you know how much I love you? I know I say it every day--but I hope you know I never just say it out of habit. I mean it every time. I am so in awe of each of you. How you have grown from such tiny babies into these smart, energetic, talented, handsome mini-men. Regularly, I still come into your rooms after you're asleep and get down on my knees in front of you so I can look at your precious sleeping faces, and I ask God for the strength to bring you up right, for Him to make up all my shortcomings and weaknesses and inabilities. That may creep you out a little bit now to think, Mom watches up while we sleep?! But trust me...you'll understand when you're older :)

When my mom was still alive, I loved listening to her stories. I wanted to hear them all the time. I wanted to know what it was like when she was little--what she wore, what games she played, what music she listened to, who her friends were, what it was like to be the only girl with four brothers. She liked to tell those stories.


As I got older, I wanted to know more about who she was as a grown up. How did she live through the death of her mother, then her step mother, then a divorce, then the death of her second husband? How did she figure everything out? And when my brother's friend, at age 11, was hit by a car while spending the night at our house,  and his parents--in their desperate grief--yelled in her face that it was all her fault that he died.... How did she survive that? How, despite all the grief and trial that she went through, was she remembered most by everyone for her constant smile, her optimistic attitude, her sense of adventure, and her tender, always thoughtful actions towards "the least of these" ?

I was afraid to ask though. I don't think she had many answers as to how or why except that it was the best option. Also, a lot of those stories made her cry. And I didn't like her to cry.

When we found out that she had cancer and was going to die quickly, I gave her a book to record some of her memories in for me. She filled out a little of it, but by then she was weak and all her memories became good, peaceful--she would leave this life soon, she knew, what was the point in writing any of the pain? I don't think you think of your life quite the same when your days are numbered.

So while I write to help those in my situation whom I think could benefit from knowing they're not alone in their struggles or weaknesses or even humorous situations--  I also write this blog for you, my sons. This, and all those boxes of journals accumulating in the garage that I have written almost daily for the last 30 years--for you, for your children. I want you to understand who your mother is and was, all along the way. What I have passed through, and how I have done it, or failed at it. Things I love. Things that make me laugh. Things that have made me angry. Precious moments we have spent together. I want you to know how much I loved your father, despite our marriage ending in a way I never dreamt it would.  I want you to know how very imperfect I am, but also the deep faith I have attained in my struggles.

I never set out to be so candid. I take about as much open or silent criticism for it as I do praise, but I would not have continued to write in this manner if it didn't feel right--divinely appointed---somehow. It's not been easy to crack my soul open, and a lot of sacred things I have allowed to remain private. Part of the reason I blog things is so you can read the comments from other people. So you will have a record of what others thought of your mom--good and bad. I don't want you ever to put me on a pedestal, but rather to say--If Mom , as human as she was, could manage to do it, so can we.

I want you  all to go do wonderful things in your lives. Grow into good, faithful, kind men. Remember always who you are--children of God. Love one another. Love the Lord. Be smart. Go find sweet wives one day and love them, cling to them with all your hearts. Get down and wrestle with your kids, read to them, try and remember what you felt at their age, and always be patient and attentive toward them.

Boys, I don't know what's going to happen to us. This is a hard, hard time. I'm so sorry to ask you to do the amount of sacrificing we will all need to. I know it doesn't seem fair, that most of your friends will have more and get more than you do. I hope you will understand that I will still always protect you and bless you in every way I can, in ways money has no bearing on. Those things that are most important can never be taken away from us. Grandma Delores and other angels will be  helping us from heaven, doing things for us they couldn't do here. Somehow, somehow, we will find our way and we will do it together, and be pretty proud of ourselves for doing it, too.


Thank you for loving me. Thank you for giving me a reason to get up and smile every day, for making me laugh. Thank you for needing me. And being grateful for even the simple things I do for you. Thank you for thinking that socks are as neat a Christmas gift as electronics. Thank you for thinking frozen burritos are the best dinner ever. Thank you for being my family at times I feel I have none. I am so spoiled as to have gotten the four best boys Heaven had to offer.

I pray I never let you down. And if , in my weakness I do, that you forgive me and know I would never, ever do it on purpose. That I'm here in this life, struggling along just like you--just a few years ahead is all.  And I hope when you think back on me, in these my younger-ish years--you see me with a smile on my face, in my silly fur covered boots and too red hair, riding my longboard while you came along on scooters and bikes, baking cookies and pancakes in the shapes you request while singing along to Doris Day songs, all our great years homeschooling. Not that tired lady in her gray sweat pants who cried all the time. She's part of me, too...but not the one I want you to recall.

Thank you again for all you do and are, for being my only sunshines. I love you all a bushel and a peck and some hugs around your neck,

~ Mom

what now?

For those of you who have been reading for some or all of  the last three and a half years, you know I've struggled with forgiving and letting go of my ex-husband, emotional healing, single parenting, school stresses, heartbreak and loneliness,and some setbacks in my physical health and spiritual growth. But through all of that, I have always been blessed to be financially secure.

Following our separation, my brother-in-laws (and for this I will ever, ever be beyond-words grateful) stepped in on my behalf and forced the sale of my husband's shares of his business, and gave me the money. "You want to leave your wife," they said. "Fine. Stupid, but fine...but you're not going to leave her with nothing." My ex was more than willing to give it to me at the time, too, racked with guilt as he was.

It was enough money to care for the boys and me--allowing me to stay mostly at home and finish school--for six years. And for the first time in a long time, I finally had enough money to live without constant worry of where the money would come from. I paid off all our old debts, then immediately learned how to work the Dave Ramsey cash-only budget to make sure I would be the best steward over the money I could be.

It was such a relief that if my kids needed shoes or clothes, we went to get them (always on sale still, of course). If they needed haircuts, they got them. Their school costs could be covered with a little left over for a fun night out as a family once a month. If something broke that I couldn't figure out how to fix myself (which was surprisingly very little, thanks to Google), I could pay to have it fixed or replaced. I didn't have to burden anyone asking for help. I even got to have the occasional, much needed indulgence like a pedicure, or throwing a party, or being able to take a friend to dinner. I could plan for it and work it into my budget.

I never mentioned this on the blog before because announcing that, "hey! I have a big pile of money over here! And I live alone!" isn't very smart.

But then things started to go wrong. First just 'normal, unexpected life things'--my ten year old van breaking down or needing new tires (again), a son who had to have major orthodontic work, a broken air conditioner, medical expenses that insurance decided not to cover. I was able to take care of these things and go on. Then bigger stuff started to happen....

In a complicated re-sell of my ex's business, I ended up losing a year of income to loss of interest. Then taxes came due and I lost another year of income. Then, my cousin ran off with the inheritance I was to receive after my grandfather's death--which was going to cover my school costs, and I lost almost another year's income in paying for three years of ever-increasing school tuition, books, parking, and overload fees. And Brad stopped paying me alimony for a time to the tune of nearly $10,000, as well as not helping with child care costs or uncovered insurance payments as was dictated by our divorce. So, six years income had been whittled to three.

*It's been three and a half years now.*

Taking on extra  design and writing work, as well as my summer internship, helped me stretch out what I had. I took out a small student loan to help out my last semester. I let my insurance go (a HUGE expense trying to cover myself). I've stayed away from credit cards.

But today I sat down and paid the bills and the last of the money is now....all gone. And from December on, I have no idea what we're going to do. Yes, I have a new job with a LOT of promise, but it's only part time at first, bringing in about a third of what I need. No matter how I've worked the budget, I come up a little over a thousand dollars short per month every time. AND THAT'S ONLY IF BRAD CONTINUES TO PAY US THE AMOUNT HE HAS BEEN, WHICH HE HAS HINTED HE DOES NOT WANT TO DO FOR MUCH LONGER. I'll look for a second job to supplement but that breaks my heart since I'm already stretched so thin in my parenting time and abilities.

This is a step into a whole new level of challenge in my life as a single mother. Now, to add to the continuing stresses of parenting alone, trying to answer questions I don't have the answer to, and remaining cheerful when I would rather just bawl my head off and give in to the sucking hole of depression that's been trying to drag me in for years...I will have to deal with stuff like: Where will we live? What will we eat? How will we stay warm and lighted? How will we have money to put gas in the van?

Serious stuff.

With no parents or other invested parties to give advice or help.

And you can probably guess that I'm petrified with terror. I really don't know what to do. I'm sick to my stomach all the time over it. I'm trying to smile and have faith here. I know God COULD make it all better....but I also know He's just as prone to saying, "Trial time. Level up, girl" and letting us struggle. I don't understand why God does that. But he does. A lot. It shakes my faith to the core. Makes me want to drop to my knees and sceam, "Oh please, God! Not here! Don't make me go here, too!"

If it were just me, I would be fine. I'd look at it as some kind of fabulous adventure, but I don't want to frighten my children. I don't want to take them through this with me. Kids need to feel safe, secure, taken care of.  I feel so useless.

It was another reason I was so grateful to God for bringing Dr. Yummy into my life when He did. Dr. Yummy talked (a lot) about marrying me, and I thought--Yes! This must be the answer to my prayers. Someone who loves me and my children, and whom I love so deeply in return AND who could help turn this ship around? Perfect. Blessed. Grateful. With him in our lives, I could even do the MFA program if I got accepted. Almost too good to be true...and yeah...yeah. I guess it was. And since he decided against me, not only am I now too heartbroken and disenchanted to try again but who the heck is going to want me now? In this situation?

Never thought almost four years ago when I was the wife of a successful business owner, stay-at-home homeschooling mom, serving in my church and decorating my dream house, that I would so quickly end up a 36 year old working single mother living on five hours of sleep a night and wondering if she and her children would end up bankrupt and hungry in a subsidized apartment somewhere. It's like I have stumbled into a George Saunders story and can't find my way out.

I have worked so hard and sacrificed so much and been so faithful so as to not get to this stage. I don't understand. I don't.

I just don't see how this can end well.

But, we go on. We have no choice but to go on.  It won't always be like this, right? Right?!?!

I know everyone has their trials, their junk they have to deal with--stuff far worse than mine and without the benefit of Belief to aid them. I'm sorry to complain. Sorry to feel so alone. Please bare with me.

It would be lovely to have someone swoop in and rescue me, make the suffering go away, but  it looks like that's not going to be the case.  That doesn't mean that *I* can't rescue me though. Some of the biggest barriers in my way are ones I create in my own head with fear and doubt. I won't doubt me. I'll take what I'm dealt and make the best of it. I'm too hard working and too smart and too talented and too resourceful not to figure this out. I am my mother's daughter. I am my Father in Heaven's daughter. That is a powerful lineage. Somehow I'm going to do this...or die trying.

to dream perchance to live

Every now and then, on those afternoons I don't have the boys, I indulge in a Sunday nap. I stretch out on my couch by the big front window and turn my face toward the light. I cover up in my soft sherpa blanket. The cat usually comes and lays at my feet. Soft classical music plays from my computer. My house is clean and quiet. And...here's my favorite part: I dream.

I used to dream all the time. I loved my dreams. But now, I'm generally so exhausted when I sleep that I have no recollection of thinking anything else but zzzzzzzzz.

Sunday afternoons though...they were made for dreaming.

I think sometimes God uses those times to talk to me in pictures. I pay attention.

So, this last Sunday, I dreamt my mom was still alive. She came to pick up the boys for a day in the park. I was helping her buckle them all into carseats (yes, even my nearly 14 year old) , then waved good bye as they pulled away, happy they were getting to spend time with her.

After they had driven out of sight, I came back into the house and (just like I was actually doing) I laid down on the couch and went to sleep. Only then a man came and lay next to me, facing inward, toward me. He reached his hand out and placed it on my cheek. "I'm here. I'm real. We're happy," he said. "Please don't forget about me." I reached over and mimicked his action, placing my hand on his cheek. I could feel his skin, warm  and a little stubbley under my palm.  "You exist?," I asked, "You really, really exist?" Except now (in the dream and in actuality) my eyes were closed and I couldn't pull them open. I wanted so badly to see the face of this man I felt so connected to. Struggling, I forced them open for one fraction of a second and I saw him--just his eyes, looking right into mine in the kind of way that seemed to  be trying to make me understand. He nodded yes, in answer to my questions about his existence. Then my eyes closed again.

Time forwarded and it was Halloween. The boys and I were going to the house of this man I now knew I loved. We were going there to trick-or-treat. He opened the door and I held open my bag. Instead of candy, he produced a small, velvet-covered box and dropped it in. I couldn't stop my tears. I reached into the bag and pulled out the box, then went to look into the face of the man I would spend the rest of my life with. I expected to see someone like this:

But instead, I saw this...

Yup. God decided to end my lovely dream with the idea of me marrying Chewbacca. I then awoke to my stomach growling very loudly. It sounded like a wookie.

So maybe that whole dream came because I was visiting my mom's grave that afternoon. And the carseats because I'm always worried about my children's safety. And maybe the man had Brandon Flowers eyes because I've been re-listening to a lot of The Killers music lately. And maybe the trick-or-treat thing came about because that's the way I had  girlishly fantasized about Dr. Yummy asking me to marry him. And maybe my stomach growling primally really was the cause of the whole Chewbacca thing.

That all makes sense, psychologically speaking.


But the part where I said "you exist?" and he nodded, and his eyes held so tight to mine, and his hand on my face. I can't forget that. All the rest of the day, I tried to forget and I couldn't. So, God--thanks for that. Whether or not it ever comes to pass, it felt so wonderful and so real at the time. I desperately needed a moment of connection and protection and intimacy like that. And thanks, too, for the laughs with everything else.  You really are the best. I'm sorry if I limit Your power in my life through my fear and perceived self-strength. I'm sorry if I complain too much about the way you operate. I'm sorry for being so impatient. I'm sorry for getting angry at you in my ignorance. I'll try and be still and let you do your thing. Try ;).

it's a process, to process

It's been a little over a week since the break up. I'm not dead yet. But...

This whole healing thing is quite the process. I haven't had such a hard time reckoning the man I thought Dr. Yummy was versus the man who kind of tucked tail and ran since my ex-husband. Not that Dr. Yummy had done ANYTHING like Brad , just didn't see it coming is all. At all.

 I'm glad I'm practically an expert on the Kubler-Ross stages of grief and can identify where I'm at in the process, and keep as calm and rational as possible--but it's kind of like knowing that getting a shot is going to hurt... the knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.

Out of habit, Dr. Yummy is still the thing that comes to my mind first thing when I wake up. Used to make me smile, now kind of feels like a good morning punch in the gut.

He used to be at the top of my text list--ready to share words of encouragement or tidbits of funny things going on in my day with. Now he's moved  to about eighth. I have to scroll down the screen to see him. The last thing he texted  me was the word "sure."

J had a very unique way of saying Dr. Yummy's name in a way that only an adorable 5 year old with a lisp can produce. He hasn't said it in several days. I miss the sound of it.

I'm taking on as much freelance writing work as I can, but that's meaning more late hours in front of my computer again. That old familiar, palatable silence that closes in on me like a choking fog is starting to be my companion again. I'm back to talking in a British accent to a picture of Jaime Oliver hung on my bulletin board. I think that's more sane than talking to nothing.

The other night, while I was at a poetry reading, the poet said something I found hilarious--but which was supposed to be  very serious. I knew it wouldn't be appropriate to laugh out loud, so I went to stifle my sudden laughter in Dr. Yummy's shoulder...only to realize that it wasn't him sitting next to me but one of the poetry professors who probably wouldn't have been cool with my face in his shoulder. Suddenly, I didn't feel like laughing anymore.

Most of my close single friends got married over these last seven months. I've had to kind of push out of my comfort zone to try and make new single friends. And they really are so, so nice--all of them, and funny and great to be around. I'm lucky to have them and will be there for them whenever they need me. After 3 1/2 years of this though, I just grow weary of the singles scene, especially when reminded how awesome it is to have one best friend and confidant like Dr. Yummy was.

One of the Christmas presents I ordered him arrived. It's sitting in my closet, unopened. Nonrefundable.

My hand misses his.

My feet are cold without his leg to tuck them under.

My smile is heavy.

I am lonely.

I actually did go to see him again. This last Saturday. I was going from a reading on my way to meet up with some friends, using my GPS to navigate. It ended up taking me right by Dr. Yummy's house. It felt weird to not stop when I was so rarely on that side of town. So I did. And we talked for a little while.

He did his psychiatrist thing where he asked me how I was and what I was thinking and listened with his chin on his hand, nodding appropriately. I answered as honestly as I could, knowing the real answer probably wouldn't change anything. That answer being: Actually, I'm miserable and I don't understand why you won't let my boys and I love you the way we want to  and the way you deserve to be and why are you  such a chicken and how come you don't trust us to keep a really perfect relationship perfect and how can you just run away from something this good and and are you ever going to change your mind and come back? But I guess there's no fixing the guy who fixes everyone else. Also, I have accepted that no one comes back for me.

So, we shared a brief hug before I left. I think he smelled my hair. He watched me drive away. He didn't try to stop me. Then he went back in to race cars on the XBox, and I went to have dinner with my big group of single friends where I was hit on by  another guy eating at the same restaurant--a 25 year old bass player  in a revenge death metal band with a faux hawk and stretched lobes. And I couldn't help but think: Jennifer, this is your life now. Again. Swallow it down. And don't look back.

Lest you think I'm without hope though, wait for what comes in my next post. God either has some plan up his sleeve, or a perfectly strange sense of humor. Maybe both.

nuggets of joy

doodle from here: http://www.parkerjacobs.blogspot.com/

I love that term: Nugget of Joy.  I've used it before. I like that it makes me think of something you find after you separate it from a bunch of  dirt and junk and polish it off. Something rare and of value. I like to think of carrying it around in my pocket. Yeah, sometimes I even think of it more like chicken that I dip in Thai Chili sauce. But that's usually just when I'm really hungry.

Anywhoo, one of my bestest friends, Elena, left me the kindest comment ever on my post before last. Hopefully she doesn't mind me sharing:

I think you just tell them the truth. That finding the right fit for your family, and your family for the right guy takes time and testing. And in the process you'll get the opportunity to love and know lots of good people. You'll get to take the good you learn from each and everyone. But you'll also experience some hurt if they aren't the right person for the family. I think you just be honest; that's always the best policy. I'm so sad that Dr. Yummy didn't work out; I know how much you truly loved this one. I keep praying for you. Have done so ever since that awful phone call a few years back. Just know that there are so many people praying for you and asking for the powers of God to hold you up. I don't know why some people are asked to shoulder harder burdens than others. It isn't fair. And I know it feels like God has abandoned you and like the powers of Heaven may even be working against you. But that is Satan feeding you his great lies. Look at all the good you have amidst the bad. (And I know you do this already.) Great, darling boys; a home that you are still in for the time being; you are in the best shape since I've known you; your heart is going strong allowing you to shoulder all you have to do; the amount of work you are able to accomplish on the small amounts of sleep you are getting; the miracles are there. They may feel small in comparison to the heart ache, but they are they regardless. God loves you, and we love you. And that is the sermon according to Elena. :)




 Elena was the one who first got me into blogging a million years ago. We've been friends since the early 90's college days when Brad and her now husband were roommates. She knew me when I had nine piercings. I knew her when she drove a blue Geo Metro with blue hubcaps. And we love each other anyway :) She knows me...really knows me, and so I take her words of advice and comfort very seriously.

Her comment made me stop, take a breath, and reflect (again) on all the good things about myself and my life. The little miracles I get almost daily. And yeah, I've done posts similar to this before, but how refreshing it is to have a list of good things in the middle of a roller coaster of trials. So, here are my NUGGETS OF JOY:

*Somehow, for the last 3 1/2 years, I have subsisted on no more than 5 hours of sleep a night. And that's on a good night. Last semester, when I was so insanely busy, I could function fairly coherently on 3. Even though I get tired, I can manage to push through it. Maybe that's not a big deal, but it sure seems like a miracle to me to have the luxury of  squeezing a few more hours out of each day.


*I finished school, as a single mother of four, at age 35. I graduated with honors. I am now looking towards grad school in the form of an MFA program. I am smart. And I was even accepted not only by my professors, many of whom were in my age range, but by all those 20-somethings I went to classes with.

*Despite having a heart condition, I am in the best shape of my life. I dance, I do step aerobics, I bike, I hike, I run, I kickbox, I lift weights. Twice last week, I ran UP A MOUNTAIN, then ran back down it again (then, one of those times, realized in my exuberant downhill running, my phone had fallen out of my pocket and I had to hike half way back up the mountain until I found it and then come down again...but that time I walked :) ). It was 7 miles of intense cardio. AND not too long ago, during a powered jab-cross-hook-hook combo in kickboxing class, I split the seams on the bag. That, in my mind, is the equivalent to killing a man with my bare hands. A very, very bad man.  And so what if I was just diagnosed with a stress fracture?  I'm going to ignore that for the time being admire my abs a little more ;)

*My boys are well-adjusted, charming, talented, and intelligent.  Not that they aren't loud like kids can be, or sullen from time to time, or able to make it through an entire day without having an argument of some kind, plus they can't hit the toilet to save their lives....but they're good, they're resilient. They love God and life and  the people around them. We have sooper-dooper adventures together. They'll dance silly with me and let me dress them up. They are my heart.


*I have fabulous hair! Frequently people stop to ask me what color of red I use because it's too red to be believable but not Rhianna crayon red either. It's *superhero red*.  Which is better than the gray it would be if I let it grow out. (the answer, by the way, is Natural Instincts Medium Auburn washed only with sulphate-free shampoo and glazed with John Friedman product daily to keep it shiny... :) ).

*There are lots of leaves to crunch right now. And I will go out of my way to step on every one.

*I am on the cusp of some really amazing opportunities as a writer and poet. I feel like I've honed my craft just about enough to start on that piece that's going to make the break through to publishing for me. I have a great support system of talented local writers/poets to draw on (Alan Heathcock, Anthony Doerr, Mitch Wieland, Brady Udall, Janet Holmes, J. Reuben Appelman) as well as some great friends who are at the same stage as I am in their writing. Pretty sure in the next 10 years, we'll be taking over as the local mentors for younger writers. That's cool.

*Pumpkin pie exists

*I own 7 pairs of fabulous boots, all bought over the last three years at least 1/2 price.

*When I lay my head down on my pillow at night, no matter how many worries or troubles might be crowding around in it, there is an overall feeling of contentment. A re-assurement I've lived that day void of offense toward God or man. Lived it to the fullest.

Yup.

All Good.
Now go find your own nuggets of joy :)