when joy sits on your chest and squeezes all the air out of you



photo from here

So, yesterday was Rosh Hashanah...the Jewish New Year. I'm not Jewish, but I totally get that. This always feels like the time of year when things are starting new to me, too. I think it traces back to childhood and going back to school in the Fall. School WAS life back then. The world around me transformed in color and texture and smell. Getting dark earlier meant spending more time inside with my family, playing games or coloring or watching Barney Miller or Disney on a Saturday evening. As I selected my new clothes, shoes, pencils, backpack, and Trapper Keeper, it all felt like an opportunity to remake myself, decide who I was going to be THIS year as a 5th or 8th or 11th grader. Everything felt fresh and new and organized. Opportunities were seemingly limitless. Anything could happen. It was Fall.

*****And it still feels that way.*****

More than any other time of year, I seem to have such moments of clarity and peace and utter joy in the Fall. Like collapsing into a soft chair and being given a drink of cool water after crossing the long desert of  summer.

Just last Saturday, I was in the kitchen chopping red peppers to make my first batch of practically famous Chili. The house was freshly cleaned. Vince Guiraldi's Charlie Brown music was playing quietly on Pandora. The boys were in the next room watching a Halloween episode of Bob the Builder (yes...even my 13 and 11 year olds :) ). My lungs were still stretched and strong from the  great hike we had gone on with Dr.  Yummy that morning, and I was eagerly anticipating the drive we were planning out to the country to visit family and friends that night. So, I'm there chopping and chopping, when all of a sudden I have to stop and just have a short, happy cry... because I was so darned overcome with joy. With the sudden realization of how wonderful the world was and is, and especially my little spot in it at that very  moment. My bank account was still dwindling. I was still unemployed. My body was still not the size or shape I wanted it to be. My van still sounded like it was breaking in a million places. I knew within the next ten minutes, some squabble would probably break out between the boy squad. There would be a new mess to clean up. I still didn't have any real answers to the big questions in my life. But, in that moment--none of that mattered. Or maybe it all mattered. Maybe it was because and despite of it. But I was happy. Blown away happy.

Then, there was what happened on Monday. About a week earlier, I had mentioned (via Facebook) that I frequently left out paper hearts for my boys to find in the morning. Inside, I would write things I thought were great about them, or things they had done recently that I was proud of. The boy squad loves getting them. Anyway, I had mentioned that I could sure use a paper heart of my own that night, and wondered if I left one out, if God would write something in it. I came home from my run on Monday to find this....

My yard covered in paper hearts--each one saying something nice about me: Great Mother, Good Writer, Faithful, A Friend to All, Creative, Kind. And my favorite: "You're on the right path. Keep going."

I plucked each heart out of the grass one by one, read it, then stood there clutching the bouquet of them, and yeah...bawling.

Things are good. In the midst of the scary and the unknown, things are still so, so good.

The leaves are just starting to yellow and red. The smell of dirt being turned over by tractors and chaff being burned by the farms at the edge of town is just starting to fill the air. The mornings and evenings are just starting to require fluffy socks and a blanket thrown over my shoulders like a shawl. The possibilities of this time of year still feel sort of magical and limitless.

Thank you, Fall.
Thank you, secret heart leaving friend.
Thank you, little moments of joy.
Thank you, perspective from God.
Rosh Hashanah.
May all things be new for you, too.

all i want to say is this (and this and this)...

*that I've had some punches of good luck over the last two days. I don't want to say anything more about it and jinx it, but I hope to have good news to report to you at some point in the near future.

*that you should not buy those triple/double Oreo things with the three cookies AND chocolate filling AND vanilla filling. You will not want to stop eating them.

*that I got my first magazine article published(!) Two of them, actually. If you want to have a look...go here for an online sneak peek. I'm on 58-59 and 84-85. Can't say I especially liked working with an editor for the first time. She added some stuff that didn't sound like my voice, and took out some good stuff that I'd put in, but I'm still pretty thrilled that I now have a fairly major, non-poetry publication under my belt.

*that I am so happy it is Fall, even if only the mornings and nights are cold right now. Soup and hot chocolate and fluffy socks and cute hoodies and leather pants and scarves...I have missed all of you very, very much.

*between watching Top Gear and Arrested Development on Netflix and figuring out how to finally use Pinterest...I'm enjoying the occasional lazy afternoon. And I love it.

*my boys make me happier than anything in the whole world.

*that epsom salt baths work wonders for hips a little strained by rounds of continuous round kicks in kickboxing class. Of course, since only the boys bathroom has a tub, I have to pull all the toys out first, scrub it down, and light some candles so it doesn't smell like a hobo...but then the epsom salts do wonders.

*that every time I find a maxi skirt I love, I end up looking less like this...

and more like this...

(that's Mrs. Roper for those of you who don't recognize her and her house dresses :) ) Some fashion trends were just not made for every body. Also, enough with the skinny jeans already, please?!

*that, despite the rough patches, these last 6 months really have been spectacular. I have taken some huge risks and accepted some huge defeats. I have ran head-long, full-steam at love and just sat quietly waiting for it to come at me. I have had the highest highs and lowest lows. Some good friends have sadly grown more distant, and some new good ones have stepped in to fill the gap. I have grown to know my extended family better. I have learned to say no when I need to BUT also to say yes even when it's uncomfortable though still the right thing to do.

*I have learned just what awesome, adamant-like stuff I am made of, just what I am capable of accomplishing. And while I would still love my life to find a more settled, less scary place to hover for a while--even for just a few years while I catch my breath; how can I also not be grateful for this time when I've learned so much about myself and life and people, in general? I know what difficulties might still be ahead, but I think they will continue to serve as stepping stones to get me to that place I'm really supposed to be. And I'm ok with that.

Of course, check with me about those feelings in a week...who knows how I'll feel then ;)

*that I am looking forward to some fun, less intense blog posts

*that I am very tired now.

Good Night :)

bumps in the road

A few days perspective since my last post...and I admit I'm still afraid. BUT, the blessing of  a little time, prayer, and  words of encouragement from those who are always so generously mindful of me have gone a long way to making me feel hopeful again.

You see, when you're dragging emotional baggage/damage from past experiences around the way I am....sometimes bumps in the road can seem more like catapults.

And I hate admitting that. Because I really do feel strong, healed, healthy, happy, forgiving, loving, loved, and able to trust 98% of the time. But like a combat soldier still rattled by sudden gunfire or the thwapping of helicopter blades, so too, do I have things I'm learning trigger my repressed fear. Things that make me throw up a wall as quickly as I can to keep from being hurt.

Dr. Yummy and I hit the first bumps in our road...and necessarily so. In fact, I was starting to worry that things were too ideal. I mean, I loved it, but I know that's not real life either. He expressed some concerns and insecurities--ones I fully expected him to have--but they still scared the bejeebers out of me. I didn't want to be hurt or rejected again, even though those were not his intentions, it just brought up a lot of yucky emotions from my divorce, from past relationships that ended less than ideally. It intensified the strain of my unemployment and reminded me again of how scared I am without family to lean on, how alone I really am or could be in the worldly sense. I did a lot of nothing but crying and feeling sorry for myself for a day and a half, feeling very heavily my own vulnerability.

I got angry at myself for falling for him so quickly. For getting swept up when I didn't mean to get swept up. For letting myself look too far forward and assume too much. For the complicated nature of being 36, divorced, in the midst of rebuilding my life, following my dream of becoming a writer, poet, and professor, and having 4 kids that tend to get as easily swept up as I do. I got especially angry at God for continuing to give me such wonderful things, situations that come together ideally and mercifully, only to seemingly yank them back and say, "ha! ha! Pscyh!"

All of that was and is me doing defense.
                                               defense.
                                               defense.

There's more to the story,too. Not about Dr. Yummy, but about me and things I'm struggling with in my life and in my testimony. Things that justified the intensity of my last post.

Anyway, long story short--we decided not to give up. Not yet. We figured out how human both of us are, even humorously borderline neurotic at times. We learned some stuff about eachother's weaknesses. We figured out (hopefully) better ways to communicate with one another. We threw fear out on the metaphoric table in front of us for the first time and gave it a good, hard look.

I learned just how quickly my wounds can be re-opened and what I need to do to seal them up a bit better.

During the awful first days of my separation, I remember my beloved, stalwart, usually quiet father-in-law just weeping and weeping, holding his face in his palms, apologizing for the actions of his son. He said of he and Mom Peterson's 50 plus year marriage: "Marge and I have had our share of fights, bad ones even, but I was never afraid that when she walked out the front door, she wouldn't come back."

That's what I want.

That easy, safe understanding of knowing, no matter what, you can count on that person you love the most to come through. You can trust them. Explicitly. You know they'll tell you the truth. You know they'll always be cheering you on. You know they'll be doing their part to make sure your marriage stays strong, just as you are. You'll be there for eachother. Happily. Willingly. Peacefully. You may not always like them...but you'll always love them.

I think it's worth waiting to see if Dr. Yummy and I can find our way to that point. And, just like I said in the post where I introduced you to him...if it doesn't work out, I'll have no regrets for trying. For walking, without fear or distraction, for once, towards the thing that has made me the happiest I have been in three and a half years. 

Thank you for your prayers and encouragement. Once again, you've made more of a difference than I can express.

Here's to pressing on...and on still.

things we do not choose

It's the year 731. Abbess Eusebia and the 40 nuns under her care at the ocean side monastery in Marseille, France receive warning that Saracens of Arabia have invaded. Knowing that they could not escape, and knowing of the infamous cruelty of the invaders, Abbess Eusebia and those women under her make a drastic decision: In order, they hope, to preserve their sacred virginity--which they view as an integral part of their covenant relationship with God--they cut off their noses, believing their disfigured faces would thwart their would be attackers. And do you know what happened?

They were raped. So far as the historical records indicate, all of them were raped. Then killed. And their monastery burned to the ground.

Yup.

Hard to understand, isn't it? It's one of those stories that makes many throw up their hands and say, "there is no God. If there were, how could he let such horrible things happen to those who love and serve Him most?" It's a question we believers have some answers for---but that we can't fully reconcile in our hearts either. We try, I'm certain, but we fall short, knowing that there are so many questions we will never have answers for in this life. But that we have faith WILL be answered one day, somehow, by the only One who can answer them. Perfectly. Usually, that explanation doesn't go over so well with those who don't "get it."

So, it's one thing to hear a story like Abbess Eusebia (now a saint) and think, yeah, well, she was a nun. That's practically like signing on to be a martyr. We reason the same for the apostles who met horrible deaths. But not us, right? We just want to be humble followers. We agree to give, even to give until it's uncomfortable---but certainly God will never try us to the same ends as abbesses and apostles, right?

Well, I am not being asked to cut my nose off, nor being asked to endure torture and imprisonment for my beliefs. But, I do worry God is calling me to pass through more than I am able to, more than I am even able to comprehend passing through. And I am struggling desperately to figure out why?!

Why does God say, Here are things that I have sent to make you most happy: security in a family unit, marriage, the blessing of raising children together as a couple, prosperity in order to be able to help others. Yes, these are the very best temporal blessings I can give, says God. Look around you and see evidence of that everywhere.  But you....you cannot have them. I know you want them more than anything, and that they're righteous desires but they are not meant for you. No you, you will be one who has to walk a different path, a lonely path. I will walk with you, and you will feel my divine presence when you need it the most, but you will also feel terrible, horrible loneliness that you will need to find a way to crawl on top of so it doesn't eat you alive.

And what do you say to that? You can't run away from what you know and believe--you'd forever be a shadow of yourself (ask Jonah!) but how, too, do you find the courage inside yourself to answer, "Well, I've lived my life in faith and devotion to you hoping one day you would deliver me, in a sense, in this life, and set me in a blessed and secure place, but you are now saying you're not going to do that and that this is my 'fate'? Well, that's ok, Lord. I'll still follow you. And be happy about it."

I'm not to that point yet.  I can't answer with that surety. For as strong as my faith is, I'm just not there. I'm like the girl on the pinnacle of the largest hill on the roller coaster screaming, "STOP! STOP THE RIDE!" all the while knowing there's no getting off at this point. Not without a lot of damage. And haunted with the sick feeling that , although it's a roller coaster, I'm not going to 'enjoy the ride' all that much.

Cryptic post? Yes. I'm sorry about that. But even without being given all the specifics of how it relates to my life, can't you feel how it might relate to you? Do you ever ask yourself, what would I really give up to follow my faith? I mean, really , really? And what is your answer...?

friday fotos: foto roulette

L was sitting on my lap this morning while I was looking over my blog, and he said, "where are all of the pictures?" Which reminded me...it's been a long, long time since I've done a Friday Fotos post. So, for today, I thought it would be fun to just open up my picture files without thumbnails and choose 8 random pictures from all different time periods (my computer files go back to 2003), and see what I come up with...


This one made me smile right away. Here is the same L who sat on my lap this morning, a big boy all ready for school....only this was 7 years ago, when he was just learning to sit up :)

This one was from just last spring--hiking with Ninja and the boysquad. This is a pretty famous hike to go on around here, ending with a spectacular view of the valley....and this very worn out bench :)

My Z and E...back when I tortured them with bowl cuts. This was after finishing a homeschool lesson. What wonderful days these were...

 My sweet baby J in his binky days....

This one is from the vacation the boysquad and I took to Mammoth Lake with Haute Cakes and his family, August of 2009. We were sniffing the bark of a special, high-elevation redwood that smelled like butterscotch :)

Here I am spinning my baby L at the park...before my hair went gray :)

The "mantle" wall of my old house, probably 2004. It took me 27 hours of painting to create that stucco-like texture. And I remember that art project on the table I was working on--using paint swatches long before others figured out that they're free and fabulous :) I also made the dining table with my now deceased Grandpa. It wasn't big enough for my new house and growing family, but it still waits in my garage for the day I can re-make it into a desk. Love it.

Guess I couldn't have played roulette with my pictures and not come across one with Brad. This was the last family camping trip we went on. I think he and J were listening to a football game on the radio.

And finally, one of my most recent favorite pictures. Dr. Yummy and I at our date to a live taping of Prairie Home Companion. And yeah...I'm as happy as I look :)

And that's all I got folks! Get out there and do some ~Happy Weekending!~

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.

unemployment agrees with me

As a young girl, maybe 7 years old, my favorite day of the week was Wednesday. The bus doors would squeak open, I would bound down the metal steps, then run--as fast as I could--all the way home, my best friend, Emily, yelling at me to slow down. Down one street I would go, zoom by the canal, down the hill, around the corner, and then past one, two, three houses, to my home. So, so excited because...Wednesday was my mom's day off. I knew she would be waiting for me at the table, working on a crossword or paying bills. I knew the house would be clean, vacuum tracks still fresh across the carpet, and smell of dinner cooking. I knew my brother and I wouldn't fight, or fight less, because she was there to intervene. I knew she'd want to hear all about my day and look at what I'd made in school It all felt so safe, so put together, with her in the middle. I remember how my little heart broke in silence when she told me she'd have to start working Wednesdays because we needed the money.

Were it not for the whole "we need money" thing, I would say I am about the most content woman alive right now. A week out of work, and I couldn't be happier.

Taking 25 credits last semester (equivalent to an 85 hour work week), followed by graduation and immediate employment, it really had been EIGHT MONTHS since I'd been at home for more than 2-3 hours a day. I hadn't realized how 'bare survival' our lives had become--nearly everything focused on what HAD to be done: meals, cleaning, homework, yard work, grocery shopping, baths--until I had something to compare it to. Now, suddenly, I have this thing called "time" again. Not that I'm without things to do, in fact I've still been as busy as ever, but it's a different kind of busy. It's a *happy busy*.

I run errands at less than breakneck speed. I'm reconnecting with my home and yard--cleaning and purging, even scrubbing baseboards and decorating for fall (which I don't think I've got to do in two years). I'm taking a few hours in the afternoon when all is clean and quiet to work on my writing. I'm baking fancy desserts for friends (including raspberry bread pudding with homemade vanilla sauce for Dr. Yummy). Last week, I actually sat down for an hour each night and watched TV (introduced to the world of Top Gear on the Netflix Dr. Yummy installed on the wii). It had been months, maybe even a year, since I watched an entire show without worrying what else I should be/had to be doing. Also, my laundry now gets washed AND dried AND folded AND put away. I know, right?!

Best of all has been the looks of joy on my kids faces when I wake up early with them, make breakfast, and have prayer and scripture study before sending them off, and that I'm still here again when they come home from school. Their faces remind me of what mine must have looked like on those Wednesdays when I was 7. The other day, L showed me some pictures he'd made on the computer and told me it would be neat if I hung them up like an art gallery in the hall. "Maybe you could even put a sign here," he said (pointing to a spot on the wall) "that said THIS WAY TO SEE THE ART." Normally, such a request would have gotten lost in the hustle and bustle of my day. Not saying I wouldn't have gotten it done, but probably  definitely not right away. But, on that day--I got it done. Right away. And the first thing out of L's mouth when he came home was an excited, "Look, J! Mom did it!"

My heart smiled.

I think I remember this woman, remember this life. I can vaguely, happily recall what it was to be able to give my life and my time to my family, home, and service. This always felt like the life I was created for. Unless I spontaneously win the lottery which I don't play, I know this can't last. Especially with Brad requesting now to pay me nearly half of what he does in child support/alimony, I have to be able to support myself and my boys. We will have to return to the survival only mode. It wasn't ideal--but we made it work and can again. 

For now, however, I am enjoying every second. I'm giving myself till Monday before I hit the ground running sending out applications. In the mean time, I'm going to finish getting everything cleaned and purged, wipe off the top of the refrigerator and scrub beneath the stove, play a few more extra games of Hi Ho Cherry-O with my little boys, go on a few more longboard/scooter rides with my big boys. Enjoy a few more quiet, still moments where I get to just sit, observe, and listen...and remember. Grateful to my Heavenly Father for this blessing wrapped in a trial.

changing directions

From age 6 to age 11, I used to spend nearly every Friday and Saturday night at the local rollerskating place. Round and round I'd go with all the other kids, and the teenagers with their hands in each other's back pockets, clapping and singing along to Kool and the Gang's "Celebrate" and Prince's "Little Red Corvette," the disco ball throwing flecks of light across the worn, wooden floor, the scent of lemon disinfectant spray heavy in the air.  Every half hour, a loud bell would ring and the DJ would announce, "It's time for everyone to turn around and skate in the reverse direction!" And, obediently all of us would drag our rubber-stopped toes along until we had slowed enough to turn and go the other way...never giving any thought as to WHY we needed to change directions...just doing it, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to completely reverse directions on a regular basis, as though it were interesting and even....fun.

My nearly perfect summer is coming to an end in several ways, but only one that I'm ready to talk about.  As much as I wanted it to last, it really has felt like I've been waiting these last two months for that bell to ring. That mandatory call to switch directions. Things had been far too easy. Far too happy.

Sooner than I thought, and even sooner than they'd expected (due to budget rearrangements), my freelance internship job at the PR/Marketing place came to an end yesterday. I did great work, and I go with stellar recommendations--they'd even hire me if they could--but, like everyone else, even the  best companies are hurting and having to stay slim for a little while longer. I have loved every minute of it--my co-workers and their creativity, my boss and his high fives, my orange desk and comfy chair, free parking, ping pong tournaments, the vibe of being downtown every day, lunch breaks where I got to walk to some great little cafe and sit and observe and read or write. I think most of all , though, I will miss the security. And the money.


Yeah. Money and security are nice things to have. Especially with four children and a mortgage. And no one to fall back on.

I'm not doubting, mind you, nor feeling sorry for myself. Knowing I did my best,  I'm surprisingly at peace about the whole thing. I picked up another design job to get me through October. I will continue to do what I can to help Fusion magazine (whom I write for) take off to the point they can start paying competitive rates. I've updated my resume to now include strong organizational and research skills, work with nonprofits, and solid training in social media marketing. I put together a list of possible leads and contacts. My job will now become to find a job.


I have no idea what will happen...but I hope it will be something good. I have to trust there's a reason and a time for everything.

Am I weary of living in this constant state of uncertainty--physically and emotionally? You betcha. Years of it can take a toll on even the best of us. But, just like the call to skate in the reverse direction, if I don't stop and turn when I'm told to, I'll get ran over. Skating upstream is no good. So, I continue to make the best of it, to see the adventure in it all, to embrace the possibility. To try and be strong and optimistic, especially for my boys.

And when I feel the most threadbare and worn and doubting, I picture myself wrapped in my Savior's arms--much the way Brad used to hold me when I was afraid--and Him holding onto me for all He is worth and reassuring me, "It's ok, Jen. I'm the one asking you to do this, and we're going to get through it together. Trust me." Then, because I am ever prone to silliness, I even picture the Savior wearing roller skates. And Mr. Roboto playing in the background. And I smile. I think He's fine with that :)

Here's to my reverse direction. My next adventure.

sometimes heaven gives us a little sign...

It's been a quietly nostalgic week for me, spurred by the woman I saw at the Costco on Thursday. She was standing near the exit and, with the way the sunshine backlit her, I swore she was my mom--so much so, that for just a moment I forgot my  mom was dead and began to walk toward this woman to say hello, to hug her.

Then, this weekend I went to meet Dr. Yummy's parents for the first time. At one point, we were all sitting around eating sno-cones when I asked them to tell me some good, embarrassing  stories about him. They told a few (he was practically an angel so they didn't have much to work with :) ), and then they asked me to tell them some of my own embarrassing stories. I came up with two or three, afterwards thinking, I wonder what stories my mom will tell about me when Dr. Yummy meets her? And then I remembered again...she's not here anymore.

Maybe it's a case of when someone is such a part of your life and then just...gone, it takes your mind a good long while to really grasp it---if it ever truly does. Or, I like to think, when I have moments of remembering, of recognition like that, it means my mom is closer than usual. Maybe it really is her I'm catching a glimpse of.

Before she died, Mom told us that we didn't need to be afraid of death. While clearly in a lot of pain, she described the sensation of slowly slipping over to the other side "like butterfly wings on (her) cheeks." She told us that after she was gone, every time we saw a butterfly, we should think of her. We even put butterflies in her casket flower arrangement. So, you can see why my heart was so delighted that, following telling Dr. Yummy a story about my mom, this happened....

A butterfly came flying willy-nilly across the parking lot where we were standing and landed on my shoe.

I'll take that as a sign that I'm on the right path. I'm sure you've got a lot to do where you're at, Mom, but I appreciate you looking in on me. I hope you're proud of the woman I continue to become.

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.

jumble

Sunday, Dr. Yummy, the boysquad, and I had dessert with some dear friends I hadn't seen in probably a year. They're those type of friends that no matter how long you've been apart, you still pick right back up where you left off when you do get together again.  Aren't those types of friends just the BEST?! :)

Anyway, one of those friends was asking me what I was doing now, after graduation and in life, in general. I think her mouth kind of dropped open a bit as I kept adding and adding things to the list of what I do. I run my interior design business with two projects booking me out till September. I work full time for the PR/Marketing Firm. I freelance write for Fusion Magazine. I will be starting my graduate level Poetry class and assistant teaching position at the university this week. I'm preparing to take the GRE (grad school exam) and putting together another writing portfolio to submit in the next few months. I write spotlights on various women at my church. I volunteer at the Veteran's Retirement Home weekly. I still run 25 miles a week. I still run my house and my yard and my bills.

Did you see what was missing from that list?....

I did.

When people used to ask me what I did, though my interests have always been varied and I've always worked to build on my talents, I only had one answer: I'm a mom.

I am still a mom. Really, I am. Even if it wasn't the first thing that came out my mouth on Sunday. I don't know how good of one anymore being so busy, and yet--I don't really have much of a choice. Nearly everything I'm doing, I'm doing for the boys: to stay physically and emotionally healthy, balanced, and socially engaged. To garner the education, skills, and experience I need to build a career that will provide adequately for them and afford me a flexible work schedule so I can continue to be there for them as much as possible--to drive them to school in the morning, see their performances, take them to church every Sunday. It's still not ideal. It's still not what I would choose for my boys. But it's the best I can do for now, and pray God will make up the difference.

Today marked a huge milestone for us:

 I now have no kids at home.

J started all day kindergarten. He was my last one at home. Somehow, someway, in the blinking of an eye...my baby grew up. I've always homeschooled kids through kindergarten but don't get the opportunity with  him :(.  I think he'll do fine...he sure was excited about today, but it marks the start of the period of his life when a teacher will see him more than I do. When opinions his friends and peers have will begin to shape his thoughts about himself. When he will have to give up so much of his independence to fit into a schedule. So bittersweet.


I just hope in the jumble of all my life is and may still become before it settles down a bit more, I don't miss this precious time. I like to think of myself as one who treasures the moments and appreciates the present, I also realize I need to work harder to create more opportunities for quiet time together with my two  youngest the way I had with my two oldest boys. And remember my two oldest STILL need that kind of time with me and to find those opportunities as well.

I really don't know how it's all going to work. I'm just one person, and no matter how capable I am, I still have my limits. More than I'd like to admit. I just stay committed to the fact that no degree of success I may achieve outside the home could ever compensate were I to fail within it.

My boys are my life, my heart, my joy, my trial, my wisdom, my all.....may this always be a sentiment I back up with my actions.

jumping out of my comfort zone...voluntarily

Isn't that a nice title for a post? I especially like the *voluntarily* part. I like that I have not been forced out of my comfort zone, nor pushed, nor drug from it. I guess I'm even impressed that, for as crazy and undecided as my life is, I even HAVE a comfort zone to begin with. But I do. And although it has been a very different place at different times of my life, it has always been there.
I decided it might be time to move out of it though. It was time to chase a dream.
It was time again to see what I could make happen. This is the how and why of it...


I have lived in Idaho nearly all my life, just a short drive away from picturesque pine-dense mountains lining twisting, churning, frothy rivers. ~A sportsman's paradise.~ And yet I have never been whitewater rafting. I remember my mom and brother going several times, so I don't know if the invitation was never extended to me knowing I was too busy, or if it was and I just turned it down. Anyway, rafting was not in my plethora of experiences. And I was honestly ok with that. I've never been on a roller coaster that goes upside down either and don't feel like a lesser being. But, Dr. Yummy has been rafting and loved it and thought it a shame the boys and I had never experienced it.

He didn't force. He didn't tease. He didn't beg. He just suggested. And a week or so later...

That's me in the bandanna with the look of joy on my face, Z in front of me, E across from me, and Dr. Yummy in the conductor's cap taking up the rear next to our guide (and also some dude from Chicago riding on the front with his 25-years younger girlfriend in her purple string bikini hiding behind him because she didn't want to get wet or paddle...yeah...they were delightful or something).

And guess what?

I had a blast! I would do it again in a heartbeat, string bikini girl and all. Although I make sure I'm always having new adventures and adding to my cache of life experiences, many of them, I have realized, are still adventures of my choosing-- great, but all relatively within my comfort zone.

So I stepped back and considered my life under the lens of this new realization. Was there something I really wanted but was afraid to try?

There was.

Remember back in January when I worked myself to the brink of complete mental, physical, emotional, and creative breakdown getting my application in for the MFA program in addition to mothering, working, and taking 25 credits? And then remember how I got rejected come April? That was rough. Really, really rough. Yet, I have begun to see the why and how of why it needed to be--the happy jumble of blessings that have come as a result, including becoming an even better writer as I had another semester under my belt to learn and read.

But you know what? I still want to get into that MFA program. I am terrified to try again, and I am honestly happy where I'm at right now, but what if....what IF I jumped out of this comfort zone and just saw what happened if I tried again?

So, I got to work.

With only a week left until school starts, one of my good and incredibly talented professor friends invited me to TA for his Fiction class--guaranteeing my continued and needed exposure to teaching, reading, and writing. Then, on a whim, I asked permission to take a graduate level Poetry course. NOT easy to get in to--those MFA students are a tight, exclusive bunch. But, I sent some samples of my work as requested by the professor and...guess who will be taking a Masters-level Poetry class starting next week? If you guessed me, you're right :)

So, with the much appreciated support of Dr. Yummy, I'm making one more aggressive run at getting into an MFA program...just to see. The worst that can happen is that I'll be pitched off the metaphorical raft and into the roiling, summer-warmed water and I'll float around, laughing and enjoying the sunshine, until someone yanks me up by my life jacket and pulls me back into the raft.. And I can think of worse places to be :)

things every woman should experience ...

I am the mother of 4 males. I was the girl in her cheerleading outfit skateboarding with the boys during lunch break in junior high. I have always been more comfortable around men than women. Not that I don't have some wonderful girlfriends, it's just that males are generally easier for me to understand. And yet, I've never forgotten that I'm a woman. And, as a woman, I offer you my list of THINGS (I THINK) EVERY WOMAN SHOULD EXPERIENCE:

1. Having a fabulous picture of herself taken. One that she's proud to show off. Not so photoshopped that she doesn't look like herself, but taken by someone who managed to capture how beautiful she really is in the first place. One where her personality comes through her eyes. My blog avatar is that picture for me.

2. Owning a pair of expensive shoes. Maybe that's $40 for you, or  $400---but to buy one pair of shoes (preferably a bold color and dangerously high) that make you own a room when you walk into it.

3. Wearing false eyelashes. You might love them and feel like a vixon. or you might hate them and feel like you have some insect perched just above your eye all day. But every woman should for sure have the false eyelash experience.

4. A kiss that, even for just a few moments, makes you forget your name.

5. Finally, (and I've been advocating this one for a while!) every woman should throw herself at least one splendid, over-the-top party.

I started throwing myself a birthday party the first year after my divorce was final. I needed a reason to celebrate my victory of transitioning into single life. It was such a hit, I repeated it again last year (a grown up carnival!). Then, this year I ran off to California for my birthday instead. I was fine with that, but had several friends request   demand that I put on my usual spectacle of a party when I got back. So... I did! And here's just to prove that, if you call in some of your talented friends and make a few initial investments, you can do something spectacular for under a hundred bucks...

3 years ago, I invested about $60 in paper lanterns and fleece material for blankets. The blankets make for cheap, plentiful seating; and, with some care, I've been able to pull the lanterns out each year and have them still be in partying shape. Here's my backyard ready for this year's shindig...

Froofy flavored pop in froofy glass bottles was probably my largest financial investment, but I find that when you're throwing a party with no alcohol--people still want something fancy to drink :)

I'm sure you have a friend who does fabulous things with cakes, right? Well, call her and place an order. You're supporting a friend and getting something unforgettable out of the deal. This cake just said "me". AND it was lemon with raspberry frosting--as yummy on the inside as on the out.

People appreciate silly party favors, like stick-on moustaches. Looking goofy immediately puts a smile on guest's faces. Worth the $15 I spent on them (with leftovers for my boys to play with!)

Now, think of your talented friends and see if they would want to come do some performing. Do they dance? Put on a magic show? Sing? I'm blessed to be surrounded by musicians and got 4 of them to agree to come perform. One of them graciously provided all the sound equipment for the others to use.

In lieu of birthday gifts, I asked that my guests please donate to the "band fund." I then passed the money on to two of the bands who spend a lot of money traveling around. It felt good to hand over money to people for doing something they love. Below is Lisa of Finn Riggins fame. I wrote an article about them for my magazine job. They're pretty much the awesomest.

Another friend's band came in from Utah to perform. So, so grateful. They were fabulous!

As the sun went down and the temperatures dipped, I handed out giant sparklers. My insanely attractive single friends had a blast with these. I love the joy in their faces at something so simple.

And here is me...portrait of a birthday girl who knows she is loved and greatly blessed to love back. Who has crossed off all those things on my opening list, and who is anxiously anticipating adding a few more things to it...

So, WHAT SHOULD I ADD? What do YOU think every woman should experience?

the story of dr. yummy, part 3



the face of a happy woman...as taken by Dr. Yummy


Well, you may not think this post as exciting as the last two, but I promised it would come...

After declaring our love for one another,where are Dr. Yummy and I now? In a good, good place. Publicly claiming one another in a relationship. Having so much fun together. And waiting to see.

I'm sure it would have made for a lovely fairytale had it ended with a proposal...but I'm glad real life doesn't always follow plot lines. Because, in real life, it has still only been a little over a month, and Dr. Yummy and I--though quite smitten--have a lot yet to learn about each other. A lot more memories to make. A lot more belly laughs to share. Probably a few disagreements to resolve at some point. Families to meet. Memories to swap. Etc, etc.

And while there are no red flags for me, I realize I am probably DRAPED IN THEM for him seeing as how he could go out and snag himself a much younger, much prettier, never-been-married girl as opposed to the 36 year old divorcee mother of 4. But, I'm really happy he decided to choose the boys and me anyhow. To give us a whirl and see what happens... He sees the best parts of me.

I know what I have to let go of to allow myself and my life to get slowly tangled up with someone else's again--mostly the fear and anxiety that come with trusting after having been deceived to the degree I was in my marriage, and the hurt I've experienced and learned to dread and avoid several times in relationships since.

Also, I have come to realize just how much of my identity is enmeshed in being a strong, single, super-woman and mother. For as difficult as it is and as much as I would still love to find "the one", there is a great deal of strength I have drawn from being able to do so very, very much on my own. From having all my spare non-kid/work/church/housework time to devote strictly to myself and developing my talents (and shoe shopping :) ). From the way such a situation has produced some of the most powerful fiction and poetry I've ever written. And especially the strength  in letting God take over the major male role  in my life.  Now, I work to find that balance of holding on to all the best parts I have cultivated over the last three years--my increased spunk, determination, fearlessness, skill sets, and spirituality-- and temper them with the blessings of letting someone else in. Of letting him help out when I need it. Letting him carry a bit of the emotional burden. Of letting him into my world, my thoughts, my tiny circle of people whom I trust implicitly.

**And trying not to be too scared in doing so.**

I fully believe the risk is worth it. If it works, it works, and will be like a dream come true. If it doesn't, I still feel like I'd be able to be grateful for the experience, cry it out, pick myself up, and eventually go on with no regrets.

I guess that attitude comes from feeling so strongly that this thing with Dr. Yummy is....different. Terrifying and yet perfectly safe at the same time. I can't really describe it beyond that.

So, again, we wait. We see. I will return you to my regular blog postings on humorous flashbacks, attempts at writing, and  the struggles and hilarity of single life (because although I have a boyfriend, I am still "single" enough to not kid myself that he's going to sweep in and suddenly make everything easier. We still live in two separate places and maintain the healthy degree of autonomy and independence we need to). I promise to update you on us from time to time, and who knows--maybe I can even get him to write a post sometime. He's got good stuck in Katmandu/ cadaver/ women who come into the ER at 3 am to hit on doctors stories :)

I've found myself a nerdy-cute, longboarding psychiatrist who donates time to orphans with AIDS, who works to meet my children on their level, who takes amazing photographs, and who will drive through an automatic car wash in his convertible with me...because I tell him I think it will be fun. As far as I'm concerned, right where he and I are at this moment deserves a big, fat, "and they lived happily ever after..."

The End. :)

p.s.  No...I'm not making any of this up :)

the story of dr.yummy, part 2

**Part 2...I should be charging y'all a quarter a read. This is good stuff :) **

I decided if Dr. Yummy was worth taking a chance on --I needed to see how he interacted with my kids, not only for my sake, but his as well. We're a package deal, remember, the boys and I. Someone can like me, but to really make it work, they need to be able to like all the parts of me, including the four best parts. I know it can be a little overwhelming--four boys(!)--so I needed at least a sneak peek into his patience and capabilities with children. Did I mention he's never been married? And he's three years younger than me? Yeah. BUT he is from a family of four boys, so I was really hoping he could handle it. Like really, really.



I took him with us to a dutch oven cook out a friend of mine puts on regularly throughout the summer in the rural-ist location you can imagine. It's the most unglamorous event, full of dust-covered, sticky, hyper children having fun doing dusty, sticky, hyper-y things. Including my own children. Dr. Yummy passed with flying colors. He soothed my crying J after a fall and helped me doctor up his scrape. He pushed L on the tire swing. He rescued Z's football when it got accidentally thrown into the creek. Not to mention the fact that he pulled at least two spiders off my back at various times that night.


We had now gone out 7 or 8 times, had hours worth of phone conversations, settled comfortably into one another's presence...but he still hadn't kissed me.

Hadn't even tried.

I thought at first maybe that meant he didn't like me the way I thought, but that was quickly replaced by the reassurance that somehow it all still felt right. Like, it was this magical thing we could just keep anticipating. Like he was courting me :).

We thought it would be fun to go to a drive-in movie--nostalgic. There was a chill in the usually hot, latenight July air, and a distant storm flashing lightening about in the dark clouds.  It had been so long since I'd been to a drive-in, I'd forgotten that you needed to bring lawn chairs and blankets and other things to be comfortable. So, he and I attempted to get comfortable in the opened trunk of my van. Not an easy task! I ended up having to kind of snuggle close and put my head on his chest. It was the only way we'd both fit...yeah...that's it....the only way :) The movie was the X-Men prequel and it was pretty bad. At one point, we were both laughing at how bad it was ("Mutant...and proud!") when we happened to look at eachother and things got suddenly quiet. I kind of nuzzled his nose with mine, playfully, to break the tension, not expecting anything, but....he kissed me. Short, simple, sweet, but WOW!!! Lightening flashed somewhere in the distance. Or maybe it was just inside of me...

I was a goner.

Although we had not declared we were in an exclusive relationship, he became the only person I really wanted to spend time with. I was walking around with this goofy smile on my face all.the.time. What I liked most was that I didn't feel like there was some type of game to be played--that I had to keep constantly chasing him or running from him to keep him interested. He just seemed to like me for me, and I felt the same way about him. We liked eachother...equally. Easily. Knowingly.  **And that was such a nice feeling.** One I hadn't experienced with anyone since Haute Cakes or Ninja. And there were no huge red flags or obstacles that kept me forever second-guessing moving things along despite liking him. Shared faith, shared values, shared sense of humor, living in the same place, plus varied enough tastes to keep things interesting. Beyond that initial spark of chemistry over his looks, I loved how brilliant, yet funny,humble, and down to earth he was (he finished his undergrad work with degrees in Anthropology, Zoology, and English, and could have easily thrown Portuguese in there...but didn't want to overdo it :) ). He can fix anything.  He loved that I was creative, and quirky, and spontaneous, and kind. He thought I was a great mother to my boys.

One night, as he was helping me to vacuum my floor (yes, he was actually vacuuming...without being asked!), I had to go up and pinch him just to make sure he was real. He said all the right things. He did all the right things. He was just awkward enough to be believable, but still pretty darn perfect as far as I was concerned.

Then the words started to come. He "like-liked" me. He was "very fond of me." He "wished that he had more words to express how he felt..." I was returning the sentiments. We were tip-toeing around the way we really felt...just making certain. We both wanted to say it. We were both feeling it.

We were in love.

**Part 3 to come....maybe :) **