Six Years

I woke up from a horrible dream last night in which I had lost this entire blog due to lack of use. I think that has  actually happened to a few people, and I *have* gone from posting daily to weekly to monthly to oops! I missed a month, so it wasn't an entirely unbelievable dream.

And golly gee! Did it ever hurt! Can you imagine losing almost seven carefully documented years of your life? I guess that A. I need to find a way to back up or print this priceless piece of my history and/or B. Get writing more, buddy (!)

April is a good time to catch up here. Both it and August are months that I mark major changes: The start of my single life, the anniversary of recovering from Rheumatic Fever and living with a heart condition and PTSD. Surrendering to God's will.

Naturally, the sting is lessened each year, sucked into the daily mechanism of my blessedly normal life, and spat back out as a twinge of pain and reflection instead of the all consuming beast it once was. I am different. In mostly good ways, but different nonetheless, and I am glad to forever have a record of where I was and am at these intervals in my life.

Year 5

Year 4

Year 3

Year 2

Year 1

So, where do I sit in year six?...

Still happily (re)married to the most perfect-for-me man in the world, happily mothering six amazing souls--I wouldn't change any of it. Except the pee around the base of the toilet, but I know there will be a time in my life I will miss even that.

I have had to face some emotional/physical damage from my previous marriage and even some junk that happened to me when I was single, but it hasn't been impossible, especially when I have such a kind and patient spouse who is dealing with some of the same things himself who is willing to listen and talk. We try not to lose too many days to dwelling on what was. Our trust in one another, in our future together without tragedy, continues to grow.

Another difficulty has been letting go of the things I knew I would miss about single life--namely regular intervals of time to myself. Though I always hated sending my kids off to their dad's for evening visits and every other weekend, my mind and body became acclimated to having that time to throw myself into my writing, my housework, my physical exercise, and my social life. I got ahead in these times, recovered my introverted self, and was able to get back into parenting revived. Caring for seven other individuals in various capacities and for a home that seems absolutely unable to keep itself clean, while working and homeschooling and taking very few breaks has had its chew-me-up-and-spit-me-out moments. I have put on weight without the time I had to devote to trail running and kick boxing (and those post break-up depressions that left me without an appetite, but I don't miss those at all!). I have a dozen stories written, awaiting endings or middles or editing. My head is full of ideas that there just isn't enough time to get down. Most of my wants are trumped by the needs. I haven't had a haircut in nearly five months because I also don't have the money I once did to spend just on myself. The heels are all worn off my shoes.Sometimes my husband eats my ice cream... ;-)

All trivial and easily forgotten most days. Not all of them--I'm still human, but hardly worthy of complaint and easily compared to the struggles of wives and mothers everywhere.

On top of those things, I'm still adjusting to my new home--trying to build friendships in a place where most people already have friends, and where the well was already semi-poisoned against me depending on who was team my husband and who was team his ex-wife after the divorce (I hate that, but it's a sad reality all divorced people have to face). I'm looking for new writing friends, always. None yet.  I miss Boise like a dull ache that never quite goes away, but, again--if you asked me to go back, I wouldn't. A visit would be nice, but I'm committed to blooming where I planted myself. 

I learned this weekend that I am made of eternal stuff and therefore resist endings. I am always finding a challenge or a handful of challenges to force me to the next level. It doesn't mean I'm not grateful at all times, always, just that I am not really happy until I am pushing and being pushed up against by that next big thing. 

I feel absolutely certain I am in the right place, surrounded by the right people, that I need to be to get me chasing that next dream. And, now that I'm one post down, I'm also certain I won't be losing my blog and can move back to dreaming about all my teeth falling down and having to remember high school drill team routines.

five years

My years of singleness have officially passed but April 1 is still a day that's hard to let pass without recognition. Five years ago today Brad left. I thought it was only going to be for two weeks but he never came back. Still goes down as the worst April Fool's Day prank on me in the history of ever, ever, ever.

Once I was able to get beyond just surviving from hour to hour, and then day to day, I started to think about my future. Where would I be in a year? Three years? Five years? Though at times forward thinking overwhelmed and terrified me, most times--I felt okay looking to my future. Wishing. Planing. Working for stuff. Envisioning who and where I would be and who would be there with me.

At my worst times, I saw myself in poverty, lonely, with wayward children. In my best times, I saw myself at year five feeling more settled than not, providing adequately for my boy squad, comfortable in my circle of friends and in a community of writers, serving in my Church, making the very best of what I had been given.

I still marvel at all I accomplished, all I became in five years.  How much I learned about myself and my faith and the power of the Atonement to strengthen and make up the difference. 

I finished school with honors. I made a whole new group of friends in both Idaho and California. I landed a highly sought after internship and then a fast-paced, multi-faceted job I really enjoyed. I hosted a radio show and learned all the technical components it entailed. I won a well-known fiction contest, twice. I published on a regular basis. I ran the literary side of a magazine. I hung out with best-selling authors and up-and-coming musicians. I threw some legendary birthday parties. ***

*** I was blessed financially enough to be able to give to those who needed, and then--when financial hardship struck me--I learned the deep and humble gratitude that comes from being given to. I cared, as a single mother, for four children, my home, yard, car, and bills. I started to run and worked up to running 10-20 trail miles a week. I danced in front of a crowd. I read my work in front of a crowd. I learned to play the ukulele. I drove a car through the car wash with the top down. I drove on the 405 in Orange County. I white water rafted. I learned to kick box. I got into one of the best MFA programs in the country. I broke hearts and had my heart broken. I took the biggest, scariest risk of my life in pursuing Mr. Perfect, who had only ever looked at me as a friend--and then (once he figured out I was pretty awesome after all!) in agreeing to marry him and start all over again, voluntarily giving up the bulk of all that stuff I had built up in the previous sentences.

And after five years, I still carry some deep scars from my divorce. Some I didn't even realize I had until I got married again. I imagine they will always be there in some form or another: The fear in trusting again, the panic, the walls that can involuntarily go up to prevent me from ever being hurt again. Blessedly I recognize them for what they are--old scars, completely unwarranted by Mr. Perfect--and I am thriving in spite of, and maybe because of them.  I choose to let them go every day.

My boys, too, still carry some hurt. We all miss our Peterson family, and I miss the recognizable place I once had amongst them. The boys still bare the weight of shuffling between two people they love most in the world. Have still never fully grasped what happened or why or when. It is my most fervent prayer that they will be able to choose wonderful, faithful, kind women as wives one day, have 8794 children and stay married forever and ever. And I do feel ever so blessed that they still have a mother and a father who love them dearly, and a step father who loves and cares for and mentors them like they were his own. And we all got some awesome sister/daughters out of the mix as well.

At year five, I am happy. The boys are happy. Good things are behind us, good things are ahead of us, good things are right now. Healing is real. Progress is real. Forgiveness is real. Trials are relentless and fierce but miracles happen every day. I have collected pocketfuls of them.

And to show where I've been:
Year 4 
Year 3 
Year 2 
Year 1 
 

happy 37th birthday, me

Sitting on the driveway in folding camping chairs the other evening with my neighbor/close friend, watching our children make up some game with a hula hoop, a Barbie bike, and the half-blind cat, she said something that got me thinking:

"You're everything you were six years ago when I met you, but better. You're the same. But you're something completely different."

Hmmm...

I know she meant it as a compliment. And I took it as one. I've even blogged about how frequently I feel the same but different. Even look like someone different. But it was weird, to hear it that way. From someone not me. Made even weirder when I happened to pull up one of my random first blog posts circa 2007 to read. Back when I was using the blog as more of a personal daily journal. I read the words and thought, Who is that woman? The one worried about the decorating particulars of her house? The one who spoke in terms of "we" and didn't mean her and her children? The one who sounded fairly sheltered, reserved? (though, I guarantee I've never been that way--just more guarded about revealing my kookiness and vulnerabilities than I am now.)

There are still lines I walk regularly:

*Feeling blessed to feel so comfortable in my single-ness / Feeling scared to feel so comfortable in my single-ness.

*Happy to be so content alone / Worried that, were my kids gone, no one would find me if I died until I started to stink. And that my cat would probably eat me.

*Humbly proud of the recognition my accomplishments, writing, and ideas receive / Worried that I'm getting too busy accomplishing and  losing myself in what I do and not in who I am. Worried that I am alienating myself from others with my ambitions.

I suppose the jumping back and forth between those various emotions is what has created this 'something completely different' of a me, that really isn't something different at all--but just me, being me in a different situation than I ever have before. Not really changed, simply more tolerant and expressive of the woman I've been all along. Even from girlhood. It's been the same voice in my head. The (mostly) same things I'm drawn to. The same way of approaching life and problems. Of loving people, without question. The same spirit inhabiting my body. Just getting wiser, more perfected, is all. I think this is what it is, to grow old.

So, this is me--teetering just days before my 37th birthday. I'm still the same person I was at 36, 35, 30, 28, 17, 12, 7. All the years just compound on top of each other. And the cakes become increasingly more flame than frosting.

I am throwing myself a big, cheap, but spectacular party. Again. I look forward to it every year. It feels good to see and involve friends, to celebrate myself in a way I can share with them. So it's more like a giant party for all of us, not just me. 

I'm also going back to California, where I've managed to go about this time every year for the last 4 years. Like a birthday sabbatical. It's a good place, a peaceful and reflective place. With food. And salt air. And sand to stick my feet in. And a hug waiting.

Happy Birthday, Me. I'm glad you're still you. And something completely different, too.

four years

Brad left four years ago April 1st. It was supposed to just be for two weeks, so he could "sort things out" and "reconnect spiritually," but even as we circled the date of April 15th on  the little calendar Z and E kept pinned on their bulletin board so they would know when to look for him to come home (he'd never left us for more than a few days at a time), I knew in my heart of hearts he wasn't going to come back. Ever.

Though, like Fred Armisen's old Saturday Night Live character, Fericimo, I did hope at some point he would  and say, "I'm just keee-ding!," throw his arms in the air with a smile, and we'd both have a good laugh over the extent he took his 'joke' to.

But, no changing the past, only trying to make some sense of it as I move into the future.

I'm really proud of what I have accomplished in this last four years. I pulled out of the near-constant but functioning depression that hung around me for the first five months with a little counseling and no medication. I went back to school and graduated with honors. I took all 4 of my boys on a plane by myself to go to Disneyland. I stepped out of my comfort zone and found a new group of friends to support and be supported by in my trials and successes. I fulfilled my dream of getting to write for a living. I'm still working waaaaay more hours than I'd like, but I'm providing-even enough to do a few fun family things. I've been divinely given the strength, patience, spirituality, wisdom, and ability to raise four boys on my own--doing all the housework, yard work, finances, homework, laundry, errands, driving, planning, and everything else that is designed to be handled by two...on my own. On very little sleep. 

I have got to date some really incredible men, even if none of them have quite been "the one" yet--learning something new about myself and the world from each:

~From Haute Cakes, I learned how to just buck up, let problems roll off my back, have fun, and keep looking to the future with optimism, letting go of those things I can't control. And that I love California.

~From Green Eyes, I learned that it's worth chasing a dream you thought may  have gotten away from you in your youth.

~From Ninja, I learned that laughter can bond two people and soften hard times, and that it's ok to look foolish trying new things. Also, that thoughtful gifts, no matter how small, mean so much.

~From Dr. Yummy, I learned that I can be in a relationship without fear again, that I can trust and overlook flaws, what "right" feels like.

There have been others I've dated briefly along the way who have also taught me in various ways, friends--male and female--I'm ever so grateful for. I've watched several of my dearest friends get engaged or married and though (humanly) felt a tinge of  when will it be my turn?, also felt genuinely elated for them.


And now--life feels normal like this. Being single. Though I never thought I'd still be here four years later. I thought maybe I'd have to 'endure' single-ness for a year, two at the most. But, once I crossed that *year three* line, I thought,  This could be it...either you keep thinking of it as enduring, or you start treating it like living.

And so live I did. And do.

I adore being a mother. My boys are my greatest blessings and biggest helpers. I adore the deep relationship I enjoy with God, who has become my best friend and confidant. I adore my work and the incredible opportunities I see in my future. I adore serving and learning and growing in my talents. I adore the laughter that flows so freely.

And although it is pretty cool to do things my way, in my time frame, I long for the emotional, mental, spiritual, and maybe even financial stability that only a happy marriage can provide. Still, how blessed I am to have found a comfortable place to wait. I know all blessings will be mine in this life or the next.

And Brad, married over a year now, with a baby---I don't doubt he still hurts and/or regrets what he did at some level. I see it manifest as occasional anger towards me, which he never once exhibited when we were married. His challenges have not been the same as mine, but I don't doubt he's had them. It's hard to feel sorry for him since so much of the difficulties he's faced or is facing are a result of the choices he made to leave his marriage and family and try something different, but I hold no malice toward him. No love anymore either, not in the hold-out-hope type way. Just grateful that I had with him what I did for 13 years, and what that marriage produced in the way of our children, what I learned, and who I am now. I honestly wish him the best and trust that, one day, he will feel exactly what I felt in the way I felt it. It's the only "justice" I ask of my Heavenly Father for him. 

 I was a good wife. I know I will be a good wife again one day, to someone else. I know emotional wounds will never go away, but will continue to soften as they are given perspective and time.

Year Four. Yeah. You done good, Jennifer. You done good.

**If you're interested, here's how far I've come in my journey (some are based on the date he left, April 1, and some on the date our divorce was final in August).

Year One
Year Two
Year Three

arrowed

Amazing artwork by my friend, Erin Ruiz

Oh, where do I even start? *The two stories waiting to be edited, plus the one I still need to write. *Mount Laundry waiting to be washed, folded, and never put away. *The dirty dishes, the dirty floor, the dirty counter, the Goldfish crackers all over my carpet as though my family room were suddenly an ocean. *Every closet, drawer, nook, and cranny of this house in need of a good purging and scrubbing. *The pile of bills sitting here next to the computer screaming, "Pay us!" *My hair that needs cut.  *My poor cousin's novella I've been dragging around with me for three months promising to read and edit that I'm only 5 pages in to. *A design client's project that needs researched before Saturday. *Backpacks to look through with papers to sign and homework to go over. *A Valentine's mailbox to make before tomorrow morning. *Dinners to plan, and lunches, too, should school happen to be serving "gross stuff." *And the second round of MFA applications hovering over my head--something about a critical analysis of a poem in one of them.

And admidst this two things happen:

1. Like an arrow to my heart, my son said the other night, "Mom--You always seem to be really happy to come home from work and see us and then by night time you look all depressed."

Ouch.

I'm going to chalk it up to junk teenagers say when they don't want to go to bed, and the fact that all the mental hardwiring that allows kids to interpret emotions correctly doesn't really come into play until their early 20's.

I'm really not "depressed" in the sense that I'm debilitated mentally in any way, the word he's looking for is....overwhelmed. I look overwhelmed. And burdened. Even though I don't feel (or, in my defense, LOOK) nearly as overwhelmed or burdened as I SHOULD for what I'm asked to carry--it would be impossible for the circumstances not to make their mark on me.

2. I get an email from Brad saying that, "For as many jobs as (I) work, (I) should be able to support myself. Single mothers do it all the time," Yadda. yadda. yadda...he needs to adjust how much he pays me every month.

And I continue to kick myself for EVER declaring that any portion of his monthly payment be considered alimony--which I did at the recommendation of my accountant as a "favor" to Brad for tax purposes. Back when I still felt all the tenderness and pity in the world for him--believing he'd never, ever hurt me.

Not that I'm angry or hateful towards him now...or at least hateful, I just laugh. Let's see--I sleep between 3 and 7 am, I suppose I could find some job that would occupy those hours to make up for the monetary difference? Ya know, because my current 5 jobs aren't enough...

Fraction wise, I take betwen 1/3 to 1/2 of each of his checks. But that is to raise FOUR of his children, whom I have 85% of the time. While he has the benefit of being married to a second wage earner and has ONE child in his full-time care.

I have come up nearly $500 short every month since October as far as what I owe and what I make, and yet-- thus far I've been blessed with extra work of some type to make up the difference, and kept myself out of any major debt. It's not easy. I'm exhausted, and I HATE taking time away from my kids who now read me as "depressed", but we're doing it--and I'm doing it FOR them. It's just so, ugh, to figure out how on earth I'm going to make up yet more of a difference.

Good things are on the horizon though. A possible raise at work promised once housing sales pick up again. A possible acceptance to a funded MFA. A new, HUGE design project that I just took on. Steady work coming in from the magazine if we can pull off a killer March issue.

I should be afraid. But I'm not. I'll fight the adjustment as much as is reasonable. I do not plan on dueling lawyers in court, winning us both empty pockets and angry hearts by the end of it, but I will do what I can to make sure he pays what is reasonable and not just what is comfortable. And I will keep trusting God to make up those gaps.

I would give anything to go back to being just the  nurturer of this family. I would love to just hold my boys when they cry and tell them to go ahead and cry. I can do that now, but with my additional *fatherly* roles of protector and provider thrown in, I feel compelled to follow it up with a  "quit your crying now and be brave."

We all have to be brave. And quit our crying. There will be a time to rest soon.

And in the mean time, living the way we should keeps us--if not ideal-- at least happy. And I say that with all the honesty in my heart. :)

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.

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

entwined

I got a letter from Brad the other day accusing me of taking pot shots at him on my blog. It stemmed from the statement I made on my last post about his request to pay me half of what he currently does in child support and alimony (which is true, but which he has informed me he has postponed  until I am employed again.) Money has been a point of discontent with us for at least a year now. He says he pays too much, I say that as far as I'm concerned--unless he is paying me every penny he earns, which is the condition I would have been in in our marriage--it isn't too much. I am NOT looking to go after every penny he earns, I'm just saying that IS the way I feel. Money is a poor, poor substitute for the husband and full-time father that the boys and I lost, but it's all we have to fill the gap.

I think what Brad was really looking for was some praise from me--some acknowledgement  of what he has and is doing that IS good. And I can give that. Easily. Thankfully.  I know he loves his children. He has never just not shown up to get them when it's his turn to take them. He does about 98% of the picking up and dropping off. He has worked with me if we needed to change nights or weekends because of class or other obligations. I have always received birthday, Christmas, and Mothers Day gifts or cards from the kids. He tries to spend one on one time with each of the boys. So far as I know, he always speaks kindly of me to them. We treat each other with a degree of respect and civility I know is missing in a lot of divorce situations. We can be in a room together if we have to be. I'm certain a large portion of the stress he is under right now stems from the deep desire he has always had to be a good provider, which I'm sure is more difficult than ever with his money and time and efforts spread between two families.

In his own way, I know Brad is still a good man. He is good to those around him. I know he loves his family and serves generously. I think he still loves God. He is, somewhere inside, still the sweetheart I married. On the other hand, I must live with the fact that he is also the man that did terrible, horrible things to me through his deceit--who hurt me deeper than I ever imagined one person could hurt another. Who refused to try again. He made me want to end my life rather than try and go on with him here, but not with us. He nearly put out the light in me.

I will never be able to make him understand what it is to be the one left behind. To be the woman he covenanted to care for all through this life and eternity, and now be reduced to an ugly, dark burden on him--one he would love to pass off onto someone else already. What it is to ask myself every single day what I did wrong, what I could have done better, and how I could have changed things, and to find so many answers, find so many things wrong with myself, but none of them awful enough to justify having done to me what he did. Or what it is to have to shoulder the sadness and confusion of our children trying to understand what marriage and family are in the context of a broken home.  To be afraid and alone in the earthly sense. I don't think he has ever had to be afraid, or at least not alone.

I never have nor ever will never wish ill on Brad. I am glad he is happy in his new life. There are times, though they are much less often now, but times still, when I miss him. When I can still see his smiling face, and those kinds blue eyes in front of me. Times when I hear his laugh in the other room, then realize it is our  oldest son who is growing to be so much like him. Brad will always be a part of me--the companion of my young and happy years, and I am glad he is the father of my children. I wouldn't change that. I wish I could just live with those pleasant, lingering memories--and not have to keep depending on him for all I do. But I do. And I don't know what more I can do about it. I don't know how to live on less than we already do, nor how, right now, to earn more. So, for the time being, I will have to keep depending on him, and appealing to that man who cares for me--for us--the one I know still exists in some form, pleading with that portion of him to not give up quite yet.

I know there are some of you who would like to hop over to my side and say a few not-so-nice words about him at this point--but that's really, really not what I want. I don't want there to be "sides." I have never wanted there to be sides. I do want, even NEED, kind and caring support. I need to be able to write through my emotions and come out the other side. I need to know there are people who stand behind and with me, and who are cheering me on, but that doesn't have to be to Brad's detriment.


It's also never been about retribution of any kind. It's about coming to terms with my life in the present--what it is and what it is not. It is not the one I would have chosen. It is not the one I worked for. But it is. And I honestly love it. And since Brad chose not to be a part of it as my husband, I will find a way to live it in a parallel way with him.

Like a Slinky that accidentally gets all tangled up, so is trying to untangle two lives that were fully entwined for 14 years. We might be able to do it...but not easily. And not without the bent coil-type evidence to witness we were once part of each other.

year three

Today started busy as usual--made even more so by the fact that I woke up late, and had a son to get ready for a camping trip, and a load of clothes with necessary Boy Scout shirts in it to dry. I made kids french toast sticks and picked up neighbors on the carpool route and got them off to school and made it to work on time by the skin of my teeth. There, I completed two big projects, I went and did my weekly lunch hour volunteering at the veteran's retirement home. I had lunch myself. I went back to work and was doing a quick check of Facebook when I saw it.... A little sidebar that said what my status was on this day last year. Two words: "Two Years."

It was August 25.

The day, three years ago that I went out to my mailbox and pulled out that stiff, ugly manila envelope full of papers with signatures that ended the covenant of my marriage. That divided my once full, beautiful married life into increments of time and property and custody.

I went from remembering the significance of the date the moment I woke up  on year one. To making it till almost noon on year two. To 2:15 and only brought to my memory by Facebook on year three.

This is progress, I think. Healing. Although I've felt healed for quite some time now, it really is a process that keeps getting stronger with time. With distance. With perspective. It is why, I've noticed, most older people can shrug off stressful situations, seem above them somehow. They just know by much experience what it means to break and mend. To lose and gain. To have seasons of joy, sorrow, discomfort, prosperity, and then to loop back through them all again. How in the scheme of life, somehow, everything and nothing can matter.

I am  not that wise yet. But I am starting to understand. A little.

I will never really be the same person I was before my divorce. I will probably always tremble inside and out if I let myself relive the circumstances surrounding it for too long. I will probably always feel a deep sorrow in my heart, however briefly, when I see my husband or consider choices he's making, the things he continues to force me to sacrifice on the alter of his selfishness. Probably always consider "what if?" I will probably always have a seed of fear in me as to the nature of other people--what they might be hiding or how quickly they might be able to change or if they may ever hurt me as intensely as Brad hurt me. But the difference now is....I'm ok with it. I've got some good coping skills in place to know how to deal with it all, or when not to deal with it and just let it go. Although it is not in my  nature to close myself up emotionally, I know how to do it now and use it when I need to.

I am strong.
I am happy.
I am found.

I am still the positive product of 13 good years of marriage.

And, I think most importantly--although frequently disappointed, I still choose to believe in the inherent goodness of others. Though I have seen and been the target of flippant evil, I still choose to believe that people are genuinely kind at heart.

Three is such a symbolic number, and I think it especially fits in this case: a beginning. a middle. and an end.

Here's to that all healing balm of time.

things to say...and not to say to divorced people

I haven't got the question in a while, but it used to be one that people asked me on a regular basis: "My friend is getting divorced, what should I say to him/her?" I usually answered, "Nothing. If they're just going through the divorce and they're reaching out to you, they probably only want you to listen at this point. And maybe offer them a Kleenex every few minutes to wipe the snot and tears off their face."

But fast forward 6 months, or a year, or 6 years. And that friend is still divorced. They might even be referring to themselves as "single" now because they've moved beyond wanting to be defined by the big D. And you still feel like you should say something to them. ok, then. Here's a helpful, tongue-in-cheek (and where the heck did that saying come from anyway?!), I've-lived-through-it-so-I'm-practically-an expert list of things you should and should not say to a divorced person.
~            ~           ~

SHOULD NOT SAY:

1. "Well, you're so pretty/gorgeous/smart/funny/cute/ a good parent/ a good friend/ level-headed/ fun to be around/ talented/ handsome (if he's a dude. I hope you don't have handsome lady friends) that I'm sure you'll find someone soon." 

Instead, just give the compliment without hooking it to whether or not they'll meet someone. Because darn if it doesn't make a single person think, "Yeah, you're right! I am all those things! So, what's wrong with me then?!?!"

2. "I would NEVER have thought you would be divorced. You seemed to have such a strong marriage."

Gee, thanks for reminding me. I thought I did too. Now buy me ice cream because you made me cry, darn it.

3. "Oh, I am so jealous of you. You get to do such fun things. Married life seems boring in comparison to what you do!"

No. No. You're not jealous of me. If you are, there is something wrong with you. I play musical chairs with other adults. I sing karaoke to "Islands in the Stream". I have learned more line dances than a woman my age should know. I go on scavenger hunt double dates like I was 16 again. Single life has it's moments of fun. And as a married couple, you should never give up having fun, so get to work on that(!)  But you, married person, in addition to all that unconditional love and devotion stuff, get to have 'relations', whenever.  And we, single celibate people, get to go out in large groups and eat pancakes at midnight. And you want to trade? Really? Really?! Moving on....

4. "My husband went out of town last weekend and I thought I was going to DIE trying to do everything myself. I know how you feel!"

Yeah, not so much. Because for as near death as you felt, you knew he was coming back. Try sustaining near death until it becomes *normal.* Look at your kids, your dirty dishes, your unfolded laundry, your house, your car, your animal that needs groomed, your pile of bills, your unmowed yard, every errand that needs run. Now picture it alllll yours to take care of. All of it. A l w a y s. No breaks.    I do very much (no sarcasm involved) appreciate people trying to appreciate my circumstance. But it's not one that can be fully understood till you're in it. Like the sweet thing pregnant for the first time who think she knows all about what labor is going to be like because she read a book. ha. ha. And, really, I don't want you to fully understand. Honestly.


Now...THINGS THAT ARE O.K. TO SAY:

1. "You look happy." or "You seem content." or "I'm really proud of what you've accomplished."

This says, in a classy way, I realize you probably want to get married again and are working at it at your own pace. But in the meantime, way to enjoy the journey :)

2. "What can I do to help you?"

This is good, but please, PLEASE don't say it unless you mean it. It's hard for most single people to ask for help, and even worse when we do finally muster up the courage to ask for you to help us only to have you act put off. Note: That's different than being genuinely unable to. We understand if you're busy. But, yeah, if you're not really serious about the offer, don't make it.

3. "Would you like me to set you up with so and so?"

This one could go in either category... Yes. I would appreciate being set up with someone you can vouch for. It makes me feel safe. It helps even more if I can look him directly in the face without cringing and if he's not living in a van down by the river. However, if he is your widowed 70 year old father. Or your 21 year old RM brother. Or your Uncle Larry fresh off his 4th divorce though, "it's clearly never his fault." Then, um, no. I'm really doing good on my own, spank you very much :)

4. Finally, we divorced single people always appreciate being told "You aren't married because you stink"

Don't believe me?....

And if you have ever said any of those things on the *DON'T SAY* list to me before....please know I still love your guts :). I appreciate all  verbal love or support thrown my way. Thank you for thinking I'm cute. Thank you for realizing what I do every day is really, really hard. Thank you for noticing that I get out and have fun rather than succumbing to my bitterness and self-pity by never leaving the house. Thanks for reminding me I'm totally lovable.

And though I deemed it ok to say, thanks for never telling me I'm not married because I stink. Though, if you'd like to get me a gift, I use the Fight Club brand of soap.

Overall, remember that we're still the same people you knew when we were married. We may act a little differently, by necessity, but our hearts are the same. Don't worry, we're not going to steal your husbands (or wives). And although it might be scary for you to consider...our roles could just as easily be flipped. So, just take a minute to think what you would want to hear and say that.

Now, go hug your favorite divorced person. Chances are they could use it :)

dear future husband

My sweet, fellow single friend recently wrote a letter to her future husband as part of her Facebook status. It made me a little teary. It also made me think of what I would want my future husband to know. Maybe this sounds like something Ingrid Michaelson would be strumming a guitar to and singing, but it’s from my heart…and sometimes you just gotta let your heart hang out a bit to remind you it's still there

---------------------------------------


Dear Future Husband,

I realize I have been garnering a lot of attention from very young men lately, and I guess I’m flattered in kind of a weird way, but please do not be 25. Please be old enough to remember actually wearing parachute pants. Please look a little like Brian Setzer circa 1984 and a little like Sportacus. Please own at least one hipster t-shirt and one goofy hat and wear them on a regular basis. Please be a lot like Jesus (in a trying to follow Him sort of way, not in the robe/ sandals/ beard way. Also do not be able to walk on water because that would probably freak me out a little). ~~~ Please take me to the temple. Please take me to the roller derby. Please bring me home heart-shaped rocks you find while out on walks. Please take me on some of those walks with you and lace your fingers through mine. Please scratch my back before I go to sleep. Please dance with me in the kitchen. Please let me ride standing on the back of the shopping cart as you push it really fast through the parking lot.

Future Husband, please know that being overly spoiled makes me uncomfortable but being acknowledged doesn’t. When you walk by me, pat me on my head, or better yet gather me up in your arms, and give me a sincere compliment. I need those. Catch my eye from across the room and momentarily make me think we’re the only two in it. I promise I will always be as wonderful as you think I am. And for crying out loud, let me help you in whatever way I can, too. Let me be your soft place to land emotionally. Your helpmeet. Put me to work, let me make things easier for you. I’m one tough cookie and we’re in this together after all.


If you happen to have kids, trust me enough to love them like my own. That's an easy thing for me to do. My heart has so much room in it. And my boys…please love them too. They are the very best parts of me. Show them what a man is supposed to be, how he should treat a woman, how he should treat people around him, how to tie a tie and cut something down with an ax and maybe belch the alphabet (I will pretend to be offended at that last one, but secretly I will be laughing).

It’s been three years of fighting this battle alone, Future Husband. I’m a bit war-worn. I have a feeling you might be, too. Let’s spend a lot of time laughing, ok? And singing badly to songs on the radio. And talking. And praying together. And doing a lot of shameless kissing. Drinking in the safety after such a long journey.

Finally, thank you for giving me a chance. I know I’m usually like the 20th most attractive person anyone knows—which means you probably had a lot better options than me physically speaking, so thank you for seeing and appreciating the things in me that don’t fade with time. And yet thank you, too, for loving the gold behind the brown in my eyes. Loving my smile and that one freckle on my stomach next to my belly button. For telling me I look just as beautiful when I wake up in the morning with my hair poking up at odd angles and still wearing my retainer as I do when I’m all glammed up. I will love you too. Even if you lose your hair or take to wearing sandals with socks. Even if you gain 20 pounds and your hipster t-shirt doesn’t fit anymore. Just promise me one day, you’ll sing this song to me and mean every word. That will be enough for me.

Also, I will be as patient as I need to be to make sure you get to me when you’re supposed to, in God’s time frame and in His way, but also—will you hurry up already? That is all.

xoxo,
Jennifer P.

my adventure in the world of online dating

It's been nearly a month since I joined the dating website my mother-in-law wanted  begged me to (throwing in the plea that she was going to die soon enough and just wanted to see me happy before she did). She was certain I would find a handsome, church-going millionaire. One relative in our family actually DID meet someone just like that (they recently built their 14,000 square foot home in Arizona and fly in their private jet wherever they go)...which led Mom Peterson to think those types are a dime a dozen, I suppose. Bless her heart.


 Guess what the web site yielded me?

1. A few awkward letters from men aged 21-25 (I know that May-December thing can work out, but I'm clearly no Demi Moore)

2. A few letters from men aged 55-58 (that would be 20+  years my senior, and I'm clearly no Catherine Zeta Jones)

3. A few letters from men a little closer to my age bracket who, in their pictures, always seemed to be flexing in tank tops in front of their bathroom mirrors, their hair gleaming from the amount of gel in it; or straddling a bullet bike with a suave 'don't you want me baby?' grin on their face; or proudly displaying the bloody head of some dead animal. Attractive.

No movies. No dinners. No flowers.

I would say the one redeeming moment came when I ran across this man's profile (these are his words):

A lot of people are afraid of heights. Not me, I'm afraid of widths. I think it's wrong that only one company makes the game Monopoly. And I drive way too fast to worry about cholesterol.

I'm a recently divorced father of the three greatest kids in the history of eternity.

I love the Gospel. I love the plan of happiness. I love the temple. I love my kids. I love my Wheaten Terrier. I love Cap'n Crunch with Crunchberries. I love dancing in my kitchen with my kids.

I love the Office, Modern Family, and Parks and Recreation. I love the Twilight Zone. I love mountains. I love hiking. I love canoeing. I love baseball. I love the St. Louis Cardinals. I love virgin pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

I love scratching someone's back. I love playing with someone's hair. I love deep conversation. I love ideas. I love politics. I love news. I love blogs. I love history. I love books. I love technology, always and forever.

I love punk music. I love the Bouncing Souls. I love Thrice. I love ol' skool AFI. I love A Day to Remember. I love Face to Face. I love the Ramones. I love Joy Division. I love the Beatles. I love concerts. I love the pit. I love catching a drum stick (or at least I bet I would). I love to bring on the dancing horses.

I love being the life of the party. I love giving public presentations. I love telling a great story. I love hearing a great story. I love Primary. I love Captain Kirk more than any other Captain (excluding Cap'n Crunch and maybe Captain Stubing). I love watching cartoons with my kids. I love my grandma.

I love Batman. I love Dr. Strangelove. I love tubing down a lazy river. I love Converse All Stars. I love dill pickle potato chips. I love chocolate Oreo shakes. I love hot sauce. I love popping bubble wrap. I love taking long car trips so I can listen to books on tape. I love westerns. I love Jim Gaffigan.

I love sarcasm. I love satire. I love wit. And every so often, I love to go to the window, look up, and smile for a satellite picture.
----
HELLO?!?! Can you say PERFECT FOR ME?! The man has the type of dog I would pick. He loves to mosh to the Ramones. He likes to be told stories. He knows who Captain Stubing is. He READS. BLOGS. for crying out loud! And in all of his pictures he has on some great campy t-shirt and his hair combed into a faux hawk.


Alas, he lives far, far away in St. Louis. And, when I boldly sent him a message (the only one I ever sent to anyone)....he never replied back.

Sigh.

At the close of the month, I suppose I could keep my account active on the website a little longer, wait for that handsome, church-going millionaire (not that that's what I'm looking for, though I wouldn't turn it down)-- but it just doesn't sit right with my head or my heart. It feels impersonal and 'meat markety'. And if anything, I'd say it dented my self-esteem rather than bolstered it. I'd rather someone I trusted set me up with someone whose character they could vouch for. Or let an existing friendship develop into something more. Whatever it is with whoever it is, right now....it just feels a long, long way off. And I am powerless to hurry it along any faster if I want to do it right. For as cute and funny and interesting as I think I am; for as much as I think I have to offer another person-- no one is exactly standing in line to get first dibs on the three years divorced mother of four. Or at least no one whose been able to do anything about it. And I'm ok with that.  As long as I keep my focus in the present, I'm good with it just being me and my kids. And playing with my own hair.

Really.

Mostly.

And that's all there is to say about that.

the depths of loneliness

I notice a difference in the tone of my blog posts depending on the time I write them. If you happen to get a morning or afternoon post, it's generally going to be happy and upbeat. If you get an evening post, it's going to be about food (because of the dinnertime proximity). But, if you get a late night one--like this one (and like most of them, sorry about that)--chances are its going to be very self-reflective and maybe even a little sad...wrapped up with the lesson I've learned from it. These late night hours are my deep thinkin' time.

Because they're so stinking quiet.

Seriously. It is 12:05 am right now and it is so quiet in my house I can taste it. It tastes like grapefruit and toothpaste. It's the type of silence that's so silent, it can't be covered up with the sound of music or television.

It's very, very lonely.

By this time of day, I have been in classes for 3-6 hours with equally as much time doing homework (remember, I'm the idiot incredibly ambitious woman taking 25 credits in one semester?) Class means getting talked at. Lots and lots of getting talked at. And when the professor says we get a turn to talk, we have to talk about books and writing, since they are English classes and all. During our 5 minute breaks, I might chat with students in my class...usually about more books and writing...because we don't generally know each other outside of a school setting, and they look at me weird if I start talking about my son's french horn concert or my kidney stone. Then, I come home and my kids talk at me. Because they're kids, and that's how it should be. I like to hear what they're thinking (and now have an incredible working knowledge of all things Lego Star Wars). And even though they usually ask me how my day went, they're really asking what happened that was funny or that they can relate to--so that's what I tell them. Because I'm not the type of mom who's going to unload all her cares or problems on her children, even if I have them.

Then it's their bedtime and ....

I'm alone.

After a full day of being talked at, I have no one to talk to. Just me and this nasty-tasting silence. (Well, and sometimes the cat, but we haven't learned to span the language gap yet.)

I had a bit of a scare this past week. I kept hitting a sore spot along my jaw when I would wash my face. I thought I must have bumped my face on something and had a little bruise. Then I actually pushed on the sore spot and felt...a lump. I called my dentist who was worried because of my family history of breast cancer. The same type of cancer that attacks breasts attacks lymph nodes, and where I was describing the lump was exactly where there would be lymph nodes.

So, I went to see him, mostly knowing that things were going to be ok, but a little scared too. Because you just never know.

Thank goodness it was just a blocked salivary gland. I was instructed to use a moist heat pack, eat some sour stuff, and give it a week. Not too hard.

But it got me really thinking. What if it HAD been cancer? What then? Who would go through that with me? What if I were ran over by a bus tomorrow? Who would bury me? My parents are dead. I only see my siblings 2-3 times a year and, as wonderful as I think they are, we are largely disconnected from one another's lives. My aunts and uncles are scattered across the country. My in-law family still loves and claims me but are too busy with their own families to check in on me. I have great friends but, again, they have their own lives and families to worry about. I understand. Honestly. It's just a little scary when I realize: No adult really has a vested interest in me.  I know there would be plenty of people sad if I got cancer and/or was plowed over by said bus, but no one willing to call my problems their own, because that's what spouses and parents are for, right? Isn't enough just to deal with your own stuff without taking on another person's who isn't really "doing" anything for you?

A divorced orphan is about the loneliest thing to be. Thank goodness for my wonderful children, but they are still...children.

I would be lying if I said I didn't get angry sometimes that Brad got to go right from me to someone else and never had to feel that weight of loneliness. I bet he never sat in a right-before-midnight house, heavy with silence, and just had to be ok with it because there were no other options. And to know it would be that quiet the next night and the next and the next. As co-dependent as I'm sure it makes me sound, I have to say that: The times I have been in relationships have been really nice. Having someone to call me at the end of the day or stop by to see how I was. To listen. To give me something to listen to. That felt like the way it should be. But, thus far, none of those relationships have worked out. Ninja is still my best friend and a great helper in my life. He has saved my behind more times than I can count...but the other guys and I have all parted as friends too...and they soon go on to find new girlfriends, and their visits or calls or texts get fewer and far between until they stop. Again, I understand. That's called 'moving on' and it needs to happen. No hard feelings.

And now...my boys need someone to put them first more than ever. They're still very hurt and confused over the things their dad has done, which means I have to be the one to step up again and be there for them, and put my own romantic pursuits on the backburner for a while. It means having to sit with this thick, lonely silence for some time longer. And hope I don't get cancer or ran over by a bus. And have to look at everyone's Facebook profiles on Valentines Day, smiling as couples, proclaiming their love for one another. Truly, genuinely happy for them...and yet sobbing into my oatmeal at the same time.

I  don't think I'm doing much here to make myself not sound pathetic, am I? Look, I know I'm **pretty darn wonderful**, and one day, when the time is right, I'm going to find someone who agrees with me, and things are going to click, and all the stars will align, and all this silence will be filled to the point that I'm wishing that Mr.Wonderful would be quiet already :). Until then, God is doing a great job of keeping me company. If He didn't want me right where I was, then He would take me out of it. I trust that. I take comfort in His spirtual arms until they can be joined with a pair of physical ones. And a warm chest to lay my head on. And a  hand to stroke my hair.

The waiting is the hardest part. Just waiting for the Lord to make things happen on His timeline. Which always means....patience. Hmph. Patience, again.

 Until then, thanks for letting me talk to you...in a round about sort of way. And for listening.