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 :)

meaningful

This last Monday, my 12 year old asked if he could teach the lesson for family night. He said he had something that he wanted us all to watch. Of course I said yes. And he chose...

Veggie Tale's "It's a Meaningful Life."

My kids have watched Veggie Tales for the last thirteen years, and the minute that opening theme song starts, a feeling of innocence and peace always spreads through our home. But, I admit, it had been a while since I'd sat and watched with them. Our joint TV watching as of late has gravitated towards AFV and episodes of Top Gear. So, it was nice to be all snuggled together and listening to something positive.


And what a perceptive child E is to have chosen that particular movie...because it was exactly what I needed to hear.

In it, a cucumber named Stewart spends much of his adulthood wondering how much better his life would be if he'd just made a winning football catch 15 years before. He wonders so much that he ends up earning a ticket to the "what if" train, which takes him to see just how different things would be had events in his life gone differently. Based on a Wonderful Life, you can probably guess how it all ended :)

Although I try not to, I do find myself frequently asking WHAT IF?. "What if this or that were different?"  What if my mom hadn't died? What if I hadn't divorced? What if I hadn't broke things off with Haute Cakes? (who's engaged, by the way) What if we hadn't bought this house? What if we hadn't left the farm and moved to the city?  What if I hadn't accepted my husband's proposal in the first place and instead moved to Germany like I'd planned? It's a dangerous path to set down on because you know what...

I have no doubt that I have lived my life, every day, in the very best way I've known how. I have always believed the best of people. Served, smiled, sacrificed. Laughed. Learned. I have tried my hardest to right any wrong and mend any hurt feelings. If I've fallen, I've gotten right back up. I have followed God when it was easy. And when it was hard.

And because of those things, how can I doubt that I'm anywhere but exactly where He wants me to be right now?

I don't understand why I'm here. It's not a fun place. He sure has heaped a hefty share of trials on me. But there really is a purpose in all of it. And if I don't kick too hard against the pricks--I'm pretty sure I'll find out the reasons soon enough.

I also know that while I  have moments where I feel pretty loser-ish in the circumstances I'm in, my life is still meaningful. I make the world a better place by being in it. I share the talents I have. I am needed and I am loved. Most people like me (gosh darn it! :) ).

It's ok for me to get discouraged, and self-pity-ing, and angry, and impatient, and hurt. All of that is part of being human. But it's not ok for me to get so immersed in those things that I lose sight of the purpose of my life. That I stop looking back with pride or forward with hope.

And the day after watching the movie, I woke up and  calmly told myself it was time to get out of this funk. Stop crying. Get up and do my determined, don't-mess-with-me thing. To go on my favorite hike to the place I always gain a little clarity. To go do some volunteering at the VA and get a little real perspective on what is most important in life. Then to stop just submitting aplications via the computer, and instead put on something nice and go down and actually talk to some of these places I want to work, try a little Jennifer P. charm. Then, because I'd eaten close to nothing in the last 3 days, to come home and have a piece of pie. And write.

The result?: I start work November 1 doing (amongst other things) PR/Marketing work for a great brokerage firm and some writing-based stuff as a bonus. It's only part time for now, but those of you who know me know all I need is a start and I'll make something bigger of it. I'll figure out how to make it work.

For now, I'm holding to this..and closing my eyes against everything else.

what do you say when you don't know what to say?

My boys have been asking a lot of questions about Dr. Yummy's whereabouts lately. I knew they would. They'd grown as anticipating of and accustomed to his daily presence in our life as I had. Within the last two hours, three of the four have come to me at separate times, wondering if he was coming to the pumpkin patch with us tonight. Even our cat was used to being fed by him. My first inclination was just to brush my kids questions off, say he was busy or that he'd moved or something. But, they're smarter than that. I'm pretty sure they've felt the heaviness in my smile over the last few days. Caught me crying in my room before I had the chance to wipe the tears away and smile fast enough.

But my oh my, what baggage from my past this situation dredges up.

My dad died when I was 4, and my mom didn't remarry again until I was 23. But she did date off and on. I can recall six or seven men whom she dated seriously enough that they became part of our lives. She never had them sleeping over or anything--in fact, she was always (like I am) very discreet in her physical affections towards "boyfriends", but we knew that they were important to her somehow.

At first, I liked it. I wanted to have a step dad. I embraced them enthusiastically, wanted to spend time with them. But, over the years, and due to many factors (not excluding teenager-y self-centeredness), I learned to hate these men. Learned that they weren't worth the emotional investment,they'd probably not stick around longer than a year, that at least a few times they left due to my brother and I and the responsibilities that came with taking on another woman's children. And that, when they would *disappear*, my mom would be very sad. I didn't like people making my mom sad.

I can remember so vividly my grandmother and other adults talking to me about how wonderful it was that my mom had ___________ (fill in the name) in her life. "Don't you WANT your mom to be happy?" they'd ask.

And yeah, I did. Surely. But I didn't get it. Why couldn't she just be happy with us, her kids? Why weren't we enough? We weren't going to go away. We had fun with her.

Of course, now I get it. How happy my mom WAS with just us, how content she was in her life and with her hobbies, but that there is a difference in the type of happiness you derive from your children vs. the type of happiness you get from being in a committed, romantic relationship that ideally leads to marriage. How there are so many things you don't want to burden your children with, or that they wouldn't grasp,but that you need to share with another person who loves you  no matter what. How a hug from a child warms your heart, but a hug from your husband can let you just be weak for a while, or set your body tingling. God put the divine longing for companionship in the soul of every man and woman, then commanded them to go out and "cleave unto (one another)" THEN to "multiply and replenish."  Though they can share certain heavenly characteristics, they are two different things--love for a spouse and love for children. Passion vs. affection.

Most of all, as a child, I just wanted someone to speak the truth to me. Maybe they did and I just didn't understand, but it always felt like everything was getting sugar-coated somehow. Like they didn't think I  could sit with the truth when I think I could have. When sometimes what I guessed was going on was much worse than it actually was and it would have been nice to know.

So, I'm trying to figure out what to tell my kids. *I want them to understand the divine longing I do have in my  heart to one day, some day,  marry again, and how that takes looking and testing, and not settling for just anyone.

*I want them to know that I take whom I introduce them to very seriously. That I really thought each and every one of these men thus far had potential to be "the one."

*That (and this I know for a fact) the ones I have chosen to date exclusively have loved my kids very much--or at least found them delightful, even if they were uncertain as to how to function as a step parent.

*I want to explain why it's hard to maintain the same type of friendship with someone after you have been more than friends, and why it is that these men can't come to visit the way they did before. But to acknowledge that I know how much the boys miss them.

* I want them to understand that they, my boys, are the focus of my life and my first priorities, and that dating, while important, has never taken precedence over them. But that I also need to interact with adults on a regular basis, too--to go to my writers groups or out to dinner with friends.

*How I would never have chosen this life for us--that I wish it could have stayed just me and their dad and none of this to deal with--but that I'm doing the best I can and following the direction I receive humbly in prayer. And that we can all still live awesome lives.

Is that too much for children? Too many details they might rather not be told?

*And I guess the big question is...do I tell them I don't plan on dating anymore until they're grown? Because no one holds you to your word like kids do, so I don't want to say it unless I mean it. And it might be a good thing--when things get rough down the road and I'm feeling terribly lonely again, I can just remind myself that this was a CHOICE I made. Like a nun. No backing out of it. And shrug it off, shut down, and keep plugging forward.

But honestly...oh, what a hard thing to picture living for years and years and years a shrugged off, shut down, plug-y kind of life, void of human intimacy. Is it the best thing? Ugh. What a mess.

I made Dr. Yummy very aware from the beginning how frightened I was to get serious with him, knowing it was more than likely my last run at trying a serious relationship. But that I thought he was totally worth it. And he was. In the end though, it was easier for him to leave, not risking much, because it was obviously not his last run. He thinks he can do better. That hurts. And these are a lot of questions with no answers...

I guess for now I just inch along in the direction I feel most inspired to go and see what happens. Open my mouth and see what comes out. Does anyone know where I can purchase a "just make it all better" kit? If so, I'll take five of them. I could use one, too.

breaking.

I went to a hockey game tonight (Saturday). I went with Dr. Yummy. Yes, we have continued to date. Hoping. Seeing. After our last break up, we barely made it two days before realizing we were miserable without each other. We decided to give it a little longer, but I was still in it to succeed, and he was still in it just not to fail. Every time I seemed to happily settle into what and who we were again, even if it wasn't what I'd hoped, he'd feel the need to remind me that "something just didn't feel right." I missed the man from a month ago who showed up with purple tulips and washers for my leaky hoses and who looked at me like no man has ever looked at me before.    But now, while he made me feel happiness and laughter and anticipation, I made him feel discomfort and uncertainty. Hardly seems a fair trade, right?

So he finally ended it tonight. For real. Said it was him, not me. Though I've heard that so many times now I don't know that I can believe it. I guess it feels better not to wonder who made it not work, just to accept it wasn't meant to be. Just one of those things that's supposed to happen for some yet unknown purpose. Again. I'm not angry. I have only wanted the best for him from the beginning. I think he's completely and perfectly wonderful. I loved him from the top of his curly head to the bottom of the toes that he hated to have tickled. My J even asked the other day how to spell Dr. Yummy's name because he was "making a list of our family." So, yeah. I guess it's best it ended now. Before anyone got hurt. More.

How could I be such an idiot as to let this happen again? I promise I do not go into these things willy-nilly. I promise I do a lot of praying about who I choose to get serious with. Nothing had ever felt as right as this, gosh darn it.

Anyway, we went to that hockey game. And had a great time, too. I didn't see a break up coming. Maybe I started to feel it on the drive home though. We exited the freeway and passed the Sizzler in front of the mall. Suddenly, it felt like I had been transported back in time six, maybe seven years. In my mind, I was getting out of the van and walking into that restaurant with my three boys (the fourth not yet born) and my husband. We were going to eat Malibu Chicken and Steak. Brad and I each had hold of one of the bigger boys' hands, and I was carrying little L. My mom lived just around the corner, and we talked about going to visit her afterwards. I could feel it, all of it, perfectly.

It was all so familiar, so near, but also like it had happened to someone not me.

Like I have lived a million years in the last 3 1/2 without any recollection of how I got to where I'm at now. I thought of all the things I had in that flashback that I don't have now---not just people, but situations, emotions--security, safety, the luxury to worry about small and insignificant things like saving for a new couch, or what kind of tile to put in the kitchen.

Now those things are gone. My husband is gone, married to someone else, with another baby. My kids, in a way, are gone--not having the same opportunities I saw them having before. Mom is gone. I haven't even eaten at the Sizzler for four years.

And then I thought of all the things that have happened since. The people who have come in and out of my life--Haute Cakes, Green Eyes, Ninja, now Dr. Yummy. Other friends and acquaintances, too, who were so important for a short time and then gone. The myriad ways I have seen and hoped and planned for things to settle back into a comfortable place, to end happily again. And how they have all unraveled. How, I can count on one hand the number of mornings I have woke without fear.

And I worry, that type of worry that balls me up inside, into this thing that makes me shake and shake and shake.

Who am I anymore? What is going to happen to me? How can I keep doing this? What am I even doing? And who cares? When I look down at them, my hands seem foreign. Sometimes I catch a reflection of myself in a window and wonder, who is that woman? How can I continue to meet the emotional, physical, and spiritual needs of those around me when my well of all those things is dry?

It is unsettling. Disorienting. It really does make me want to go to bed and not wake up. Sometimes I even pray for that--not that I would ever consider taking my own life, just that I want God to know I'm ok if He decides to take me now. Quickly and painlessly, preferably.

But that is selfish, I know. And selfishness is an unfamiliar emotion to me, like rage. You know, when soldiers try out for the Navy Seals, they usually start in a group of 200 plus? By the time they're finished, there are generally no more than 20 left. It's not because the others weren't strong and capable and qualified. It's that it comes down to character. The ones that didn't quit, didn't quit because they cared too much for the man on either side of them. They cared as much about getting them through as they did themselves.

Not that I'm Navy Seal material. I'm a poor shot and a weak swimmer (I've got soul but I'm not a soldier...), but I do care more about these men, these boys of mine, on either side of me, than I do about myself. As long as they need me, which they do, I'm going to keep going. I will live through the disorientation, the frequent bouts of being unrecognizable. I'm going to keep getting up and trying and smiling my brave smile. Keep being that annoying type of cheerful that people get when they have no other choice but to be cheerful. When they've walked through hell and learned to shrug their shoulders and chuckle. When they've learned to accept God's will isn't usually the same as theirs but it's still the only way to go. I'm going to keep believing that something wonderful is always just around the corner. Because you know what? Sometimes it is. But for now, stuff really sucks. Guess that's why they call it *breaking up.* That's just how it feels.

life out loud

Thought I'd share this random smattering of things that made me smile, laugh, and feel darn right happy about myself this week. We all need a record of those things, right? 

1. L ( age 7)  pulled a mini container of Blood Orange Sorbet out of the freezer and asked me, "is this good?" I responded, "I like it." His answer, "yeah, but did you LOG ON to like it?" Ha! I guess no one can just like something anymore without letting everyone know on the computer :)

2. A woman who works in the Sunday school at my church shared this story with me: E (age 12) and two other boys were talking to each other, waiting for singing time to start. One boy was lamenting that he missed his dad who is in the military. E said, "yeah, I miss my dad too. He's always with his new wife." The third boy then piped in saying, "Yeah, only I don't even get that because that lady is not even as pretty as your mom!"

Hey...I got to take those little ego boosts where I can get them :)

3. L and J fight as to who gets to sit on my lap every morning for prayers. I'm sure they love me and all, but mostly the fight over me is because "I'm warm."

4.  Perhaps I get too giddy over little things, but the other day I looked at my feet and noticed that the loose thread on my slipper socks had twisted itself into this...

A perfect heart. If you're one who doesn't believe in randomness, then this must have certainly been a sign that I was loved. Hopefully by more than my feet...though they do appreciate I cover them up when it's chilly :)

5. Tonight I gave a poetry reading. 75 in attendance. The fourth or fifth I've given. I'm getting better, I think. I like that people laugh in some places, and look as though I've punched them in the gut in other places. That's what my work is meant to do. I love that my poetry is challenging but accessible. I love that when I'm kind of emotionally between cheerful and heartbroken as I have been lately, I read that way. I like that I have one poem that uses the words "corndog" and "Facebook" and "small pox." Afterwards, I had two separate men say they were 'taken with me.' I like that my poetry makes men get 'taken' in whatever way....that's practically Emily Dickinson worthy, man :) And no...nothing came of those. They were just compliments meant to make me all blushy. Which they did.

And that's all I got. Besides the story ending with J declaring "then you'd have a purse inside a purse inside a purse!" which turned out to be too long to tell. But just by typing that ending line, I'll remember. And believe it or not, sometimes I write just for me ;)

~Happy Weekending!~

how to proceed

I just have to say how thankful I am for the kind comments and advice I've received on my last two posts. Do you know how much I LOVE advice? Seriously. I am an ardent collector of other people's wisdom, and (generally) that's where advice comes from--wisdom from experience, given because someone cares. And my readers don't give it flippantly, so I really pay attention to what y'all have to say when you say it.

It doesn't mean I will always take said advice, but I WILL listen, consider it carefully, and use it to shape and/or re-shape my plans.

And I am always a woman with a plan....

Or a vague outline of one. Some direction to walk. A prayerfully-made outline.

What I've got now is a bit of all of those cobbled together. This is how I'm planning on proceeding with the next small chunk of my life:

1. Continue in my spiritual growth. These big life swings, especially so close together, REALLY test my faith. They make me question God and his nature. But there can't be testimony without test...so I'm going to trust that I do indeed and always matter to Him, and that He is completely aware of where I am and what I'm going through, and He's going to show me what to do to 'level up.'
 
2. Continue in my efforts to get the type of job I know I am qualified for and would rock. Of course if things get bad enough, I wouldn't be above working at the Wal Mart or the mall, but my resume is too strong, my education too solid not to fight to do something that would be a better match for my family's needs, have some possibility for promotion, and a level of creative flexibility. I have been wise enough with my money that I am blessed to have a little more time to get things figured out.

3. MFA applications. If I end up with a good job, I may not be able to take the acceptance even if (when?) I get it, but the process of refining and perfecting my fiction and poetry in order to submit a portfolio will only strengthen me. I would LOVE to be able to dedicate my life to the craft, and to the teaching of it--and I need an MFA or PhD to do that. But if that's not how it can go right now, it doesn't mean I won't continue to write and edit and share and improve the way I am. The city I live in is an AWESOME place to be a writer--lots of support and opportunities. Of course, Southern California is also an awesome place to go get an MFA, so, yeah...sounds like I'd win either way.

4. Dating. I have gone long periods of time not dating--letting myself heal or focus attention elsewhere. In fact, I'd just gotten off of one of those in late spring/ early summer (partially forced by the insanity of my school schedule, and also by getting over ten months of dating Ninja that ended in a pittering of smoke and rubble.)

I had reached a point where I felt ready again, in fact not just ready but like it was time to introduce the fabulous, fresh me to the world again. That's why it made everything so hard this last few weeks. But, I do know how to live focusing on my family and myself, with a more distant focus on the *hopeful* . I don't picture my life without men in it--some of my best friends have been and are men, and my boys need good male examples around. I have always felt more comfortable around men, too. But it is one thing to have a friendship with a man, even a close and bonded one, and another to seek attention in a romantic way.

So, I will keep a distinction between the two until the time is right. I also have close friendships with women which I will certainly continue to develop, deepen, and rely on. Things will get balanced out again and we'll see what happens, including with Dr. Yummy and  me given a little more time. I really do feel good, confident, at peace (mostly) with whatever happens and when. Whether in 6 months or 13 years....I know I am a great catch and someone is going to be awfully lucky to catch me :)

5.Finally, I will keep swinging from moment of joy to moment of joy, like monkey bars over a crocodile-infested pond. In the words of one of my mentors, the poet Fanny Howe,
What is a poet if not someone who lays on the ground and laughs? And listens. And receives without expectation?

That's me. For sure.

I wanted to share one more quick thing. This picture:

This is of my hand, eating a snow cone :). If you look closely at my middle finger, you can see the scar from the cut I got almost 3 years ago. It happened when I nicked a sharp corner of the metal toilet paper holder in a campus bathroom. I remember I had to go back to my Poetry class with a big wad of paper towels wrapped around it, and how it kept bleeding and bleeding. My professor, who would also become a friend, laughed and called me a bleeder. So, now I refer to it not as my "toilet paper scar" but as my "Poetry scar." It's much more glamorous that way, and serves as a reminder, every time I look at my hand, what it is I'm working towards. A chance to change the world, even just a bit, with my words.

And that is how this whole part of my life can continue to serve as well...as perhaps an un-asked-for and unfortunate scar, but one that can continue to motivate, and  remind me of just what I've endured..not perfectly, but pretty darn well.

the cold side of the pillow

Some people talk about silver linings, the rainbow at the end of the storm, the rose found amongst the thorns. I agree with all of those. I also like to think that for every mushed-down, head-sweated pillow you flip over-- voila!, fresh, re-fluffed, cold side.

I know my last post was hard to read. It was hard for me to write. I know, once I fully make that choice to stay single, I won't go back. I am one highly committed individual. It's why I've worked out 5 days a week, rain or shine or sick or pregnant, since 1993. It's why I have never broken the habit of daily prayer and scripture study since I was a teenager. It's why I homeschooled my kids for seven years until I absolutely couldn't do it anymore after the divorce.It's how I managed to stay married (happily, even) for 13 years to a man who obviously didn't love me as more than a 'buddy he had kids with'. It's why I've written this blog for four and half years now. If I make up my mind to do something, and lay out the plan to do it...I do it. Period.

Scary to think about making that commitment because if I do--I will do it. And with it comes the fear I'll turn into the cat lady with the long, grizzly, silver-streaked hair who wears tennis shoes with everything and stands way too close to you in the elevator, and her kids are all afraid to leave home because she so obviously NEEDS them. I have seen that woman before. I don't think she meant to become like that. So, I'm kind of teetering right on the edge of that choice now, trying to picture a different, not-cat lady that could emerge from such an experience.

Anyway...

My main reason for writing this is for two people (who probably represent more of you.) First, is a commenter and new reader going by the name "Me." She's newly divorced and, frankly, my last post scared the bejeebers out of her.  So, Me...keep reading my blog, and go back and read some of the old stuff. Yes, single life sucks but it also has its moments of totally rocking. My situation is mine, determined by the choices I have and haven't made. I have had to start my new life completely from scratch. I am always in a constant battle with my heart and mind--my heart saying everything is right, and my head that says none of it is. Hopefully, Me, you're a little more balanced in that department and you'll do just fine. Also, I have oodles of divorced friends who have very happily remarried, blended homes and families, figured out finances and how to make it all work, and are even  having new babies. If that's what you want, there is hope. There is always hope.

Secondly, it's for my friend, Mr. Perfect, whom I've stayed in touch with off and on over the last few months, who says it wasn't very nice of me to make people cry :). He didn't want to see me being the melancholy single mom martyr. He suggested a different letter for me to write to Future Husband, and it's so awesome, I'm leaving it just as he wrote it:

Dear Future Husband,

You're rad! Plus, I thank you for honoring your priesthood, being the best righteous stepdad ever (the boys adore you), bringing home sooo much bacon and making out with me so unselfishly. You are really hot and I'm glad at my age to have you keeping me cozy all night. Love to love you, baby.

You loving wife in the not too distant future named Jennifer.
---

Perfect, right?! I especially like the bacon part. Except that I hope it's ACTUAL bacon and not the slang for money kind :)
So....there you go. A little cold side of the pillow. Melancholy isn't my style. I don't deny when I'm feeling it, which sadly has been too often lately, but I'm committed to not letting my circumstances deter my plan for happiness.

 I'm not really sure what it is I'm walking towards anymore. Limited in where I can go to chase my dream of being a writer. Really in need of employment. Whatever it is, it feels very, very far away and difficult to traverse with four children in tow....but I'm still walking. And that is for sure the important part.

dear future husband, part 2

Dear Future Husband,

I liked that last letter I wrote to you much more. You know, the one I wrote when I was certain you still existed. When I thought I had found you and then thought it again...and again. But I see now, that life is just too complicated being divorced, with children, at 36. It's too full of wisdom for us to be. I looked at my boys the other day and wondered when on earth they'd gotten so big?! I realized how, unknowingly, so much of my time, emotion, thoughts, and energies had gone into trying to find you, that 3 1/2 years had zoomed by. I thought you would complete us as a family again. I thought you would fall in love with my almost perfect boys and find them as absolutely amazing as I do. But, all the men I've thought might be you thus far have been afraid of stepping in to join our family. And I get that. I'm glad you told me. I would be miserable if the man I thought I loved didn't love my boys. We're a set, the five of us, a darn good one, too. But I know it's a lot. I've known that all along.

So, Future Husband, I'm going to have to ask you to wait for a while. Probably a long while. Like, my youngest is 5, so 13 years type of while. I need to give all of me to them. It's an answer I've felt looming inside me almost since the beginning but haven't wanted to accept. I hope I can find the emotional, spiritual, physical strength to do it...that's where you were supposed to come in, you know--the part where you become that source of joy and fresh strength and perspective, that trusted second hand, that manly example I so needed. But, I've managed to do it, just God and I, this far and I guess we'll figure out how to keep doing it. Improv-ing and improving.

I hope I'm still attractive enough in 13 years. I hope I still have enough spunk left in me to have some fun with you. I hope I haven't closed myself off too much to let you in when the time is right.

But, for now, I have to forget the picture of you hunched over a jewelry case somewhere, wondering what ring you should pick. I'm going to have to forget the image of you coming home every night, and me being so excited that I run out to hug  you while you're still in the driveway. I'm going to have to stop seeing you standing in a card aisle helping my kids pick out a Mothers Day card, or standing by the flower bins at the grocery store trying to remember if it was lilies or tulips I liked (it's both, by the way). No more thoughts of you and your too-small hipster t-shirt and goofy hat and gazes across the room meant just for me. And once I've forgotten all those images, I have to forget what it feels like to be held. The warmth and security of it. Or that dizzy feeling I get when I get kissed just right. I will need to forget how helpful it is to have someone listening to my silly dilemmas, someone on my side even if they don't agree. I will be ok buying my own Christmas and Birthday gifts. I will keep scratching my own back. I will wear socks to keep my toes warm in bed.

Don't you know you could have made all the difference in not one, but FIVE lives? Why didn't you believe I really am as good as I seem? Why didn't you believe my kids could really love and accept you? My Z needs someone who can throw the football better than I can. My E needs someone to watch his magic shows. My L needs someone who likes math and Legos. My J needs someone to wrestle around with and burn off some of his boundless energy. We all needed some extra spiritual bolstering you were capable of giving. Why didn't you believe that, had you just loved me, just given me a chance, there's nothing I wouldn't have done to make sure we built a strong, joyous, healthy marriage where we got most stuff figured out?

But, even more than I want you, Future Husband, I want God's will done in my life...and it just doesn't seem to be His will that we be together yet. I wish I could keep waiting and hoping and dating and seeing...but I just can't. My poor heart can't take it anymore. I can't live with the yearning of finally finding someone worthy to be you, only to have it not work--either right away or (worse yet) after I've fallen deeply in love with you. My boys, they can't take good men like you coming in and out of their lives anymore, either. I swore I wouldn't be "that" woman doing "that" to my kids...and I won't be.

I won't.

So, keep working and growing and increasing your cache of cheesy jokes, Future Husband, and, if you're out there wondering where on earth I am, too...and you're willing to wait for me....we'll find each other one day. I promise. And we'll understand perfectly why it all had to work the way it did.

With all my heart,
~Jennifer