all is calm, all is bright

I received a blog comment in my inbox the other day: "Where are you? I miss your adventures!"

Had I really gone more than two months without posting? Did I really let Z's 16th birthday go by without mention? Mr. Perfect's book deal? Thanksgiving? My first anniversary?

Yes. Yes. Yes. And yes.

Though, credit be to me, I did record them all in my journal. Which is an accurate reflection of my life lately: Less public, more private. Though "The Peterson's Go Private!" just doesn't have the same ring to it, I know.

But, for those wondering, for those who have kindly, mercifully stayed on this journey with me all these years, I will step forward from time to time, even if it feels less familiar to do so.

Mr. Perfect and I celebrated one year of marriage on November 24. Our brilliant children surprised us by covering our entire kitchen with white paper hearts bearing the sweetest (and funniest) messages of love and well wishes. I couldn't imagine any better gift!

In many ways, marrying was as much a trauma as getting divorced was. Not in the heartbreaking way, but in the way it was a complete life change that I couldn't have possibly prepared for. I was ready to leave behind my dream house, my city, my jobs, my friends, my place of belonging...but I didn't really KNOW how that would feel day after day, especially when so many unfamiliar things get scary in the sort of way that makes me cry, "I just want to go hoooooome!"

Both of us came into our union a little tweaked from damage done to us in our previous marriages, and it is a process to learn trust, to not let small things trigger large fears. We've been gentle and forgiving with one another, partnered with God and are willing to let time prove our character, and that has made all the difference. I truly couldn't ask for a better friend, companion, helpmeet. So much laughter, so many smiles, so many moments I could live in forever!

Over the last year I have slowly learned where I am in my new world. Learned to navigate the 405 (but only going south), learned what grocery stores sell the best this and that, the best spot for body surfing on the beach, best vintage clothing, best places to go running. I went to the garden store and learned the names of all the plants and flowers that grow here so I could give names to things I was seeing. I learned to call a "neighborhood" a "tract." I learned the slight but distinct flow of seasons in a place that at first seems like an endless summer.  I learned that there are a lot of homeless people here and no shelters and so they sleep in vacant lots and on bus benches but that doesn't mean they are dead and so I don't need to call the police and report a body... (true story)

I hope soon to discover who I am in my new world. Self-defining and achieving was such a major part of my being single. Now, my time has returned largely to my family and home--homeschooling, more children meaning more housework and cooking and errands and activities, and the boys with me nearly all year instead of spending two weekends a month with their dad. And sleeping! Oh, the comfort in being able to sleep more than 3-4 hours a night again. It really is all so wonderful!  But, I still have a desire to write, to be amongst other writers, to contribute to the literary community. Some days it feels more hopeless than others, or I let it bother me more than it should. I feel lost and unimportant.

But between Heavenly Father and Mr. Perfect telling me differently, the feelings pass quickly. I know what I want, I know what I am capable of. What will be, will be. I will make it happen or let it  happen, but there is no reason to abandon the dream simply because the route changed.

I also  hope to continue to help my boy squad heal and adjust. The last year was both thrilling for and hard on them, too. We grew closer together, learned a lot about each other's weaknesses, weathered a lot of culture shock. It's been hard letting them all get so big and independent, but I am also proud of the young men they are growing into. I am happy that Mr. Perfect is able to take on a friend and mentor roll with them and their father can continue to father them. I'm glad they are learning what it means to get along with sisters. It is a weird new "family" but thank goodness scripture is full of weird families that worked.

Sitting here now, late at night--the house quiet, the washer and dryer whirring, the Christmas tree glowing, I feel to echo the sentiment that all is calm, all is bright. My heart is at peace.  I see the challenges ahead but anticipate good things. I knew that re-marriage, even to the most perfect man for me would not be the end to trials in life. There would still be stormy waters to row...though what a blessed thing not to be rowing alone anymore.

 

I sleep, every night, in heavenly peace.

these are a few of my favorite things: autumn edition

Autumn continues to be my favorite time of the year, even here in Orange County where it seems to be perpetually summer, compared to Idaho. We have a few trees with changing leaves dispersed amongst the palm and eucalyptus, the nights are getting cooler and days will follow soon enough. I'm embracing my new home and this new pace of seasons all its own.

Here are a few of my favorite things this season:

1. PUMPKIN CUPCAKE HAND SOAP

Seriously, I have the cleanest hands ever because I keep washing them with this treat. Get it from Bath and Body Works while it lasts!

2. ANKLE BOOTS

 

I just haven't been able to rock the heels here the way I used to in Idaho. I don't know if it's my feet wearing out or the fact that you never know when you may end up at the beach and need something sand-adaptable, but I'm loving flats lately. I bought the cheap Target pair of ankle boots and love them. Cute with dresses and skinnies alike.

3. BUSTER KEATON FILMS

Homeschooling has given me the time and my children's attention to be able to share some great stuff with them. We've been watching a lot of Buster Keaton films lately. "The Hat" is their favorite. Everyone knows Charlie Chaplin, but I think Buster was every bit as brilliant.

4. BUTTERSCOTCH ROOT BEER

I know, right?! Mr. Perfect and I discovered this at a froofy bakery in the SOCO district and were hooked. It tastes like root beer going down then has this amazing warm butterscotch-y aftertaste. It feels like something Harry Potter and his pals would drink. Even if you have to special order it, get yourself some of this.

5. MARK RICHARD STORIES

He's always been one of my favorites and I've found myself re-reading several of his short story collections as inspiration for what I've been working on myself lately. "The Ice at the Bottom of the World" is my favorite, but they're all good. Ron Carlson has been making another rotation through my reading list as well. No better way to pass a cool evening than under a blanket with a good book.


6. JUST DANCE 5

Not sure if it will be good since it's just become available today but I love Just Dance. It's the only game I can beat my boys at. We're planning on renting it for a few days from the Red Box before deciding to drop the money to buy it.

I've also loved tackling the rowing machine lately (holy shoulders, batman!), finding new uses for curry in recipes, Mary Jane peanut butter candies, and my usual Vince Guaradi Charlie Brown soundtrack on Spotify repeat. Autumn is a time to return to schedules, the warmth and comfort of home, the magic of a board game or puzzle with the family. Take some time to enjoy it before jumping head first in to Christmas, will ya? :)

it is decided

All my boys are back from two months with their dad, welcomed home by long bear hugs, kisses on the tops of their moppy-haired heads, a party at the beach, our favorite donut shop, their own beds.

Z only got a few days to re-adjust before starting back to school. A sophomore. I don't know when or how that happened because I'm quite certain *I* am still a sophomore, but so be it...

I was worried about his return to high school. He had a hard time of it last year. It's a challenging school, about 70% Asian students who really do work stereotypically hard to excel. Z came in mid-year, trying to make friends and catch up in new subjects, find his way around a new school, a new town, a new culture. Having to do stupid things like line dance for a month in his PE class of 60 students, and well--it was just...a  lot for him, as I expected it would be. It shut him down for a while emotionally. I missed his smile. For as wonderful the reasons for our moving, it wasn't easy on any of us.

But, this year, thus far, things are better. Z got in to an Animations class he really enjoys, took a risk and joined choir (they have a fussball table in the choir room and are singing One Direction songs), and he's even keeping up in Geometry. He's got a good group of friends. He's trying. He comes home happy. I am happy.

Things weren't quite as rosy for E, L, and J, though. They all started out great back in January, claiming they loved their new schools SOOOO much more than their old ones. But, like a balloon slowly deflating, their enthusiasm waned.

E did his best to be cheerful about everything but his grades were dropping--not because he wasn't smart, but just because he wasn't as organized as he needed to be, rushing through assignments to try and limit the ridiculous amount of homework he was coming home with every night, and there was no one taking any one on one time with him to explain what he wasn't catching on to. Plus, he was tired of the whole middle school social scene (who wouldn't be?!). To top it off, E's favorite and most invested teacher, the band director, left the school at the end of the year, and the district started to charge $75 for bussing (he was our only kid who "qualified" for bussing due to how far away his school was).

L and J were top of their classes in a school where there was a great sense of community, but they were dreading the kids they went to school with. There were a lot of problems with language, crude humor, vandalism on the playground, and plain old not playing fair.

I know, I know...we had a lot of this when we went to school too, and I'm sure it made us better, stronger humans to deal with it. But, when I started to dread picking up my kids every day because they were having far more bad days than good ones for reasons not related to learning, and how it would take a few hours afterwards just to warm them back up to their bright, happy selves, I started to think WHY? Why am I doing this to them again?

So, the day before they were slated to start back to school, I went and pulled the three of them out.

I had spent some time this summer researching homeschooling options and groups here in Orange County, talked with some homeschooling families, hypothesized how to make it work with the four hours I work every day, and around my writing (which I owe to myself not to abandon again). I wasn't sure how to make it all function, but with seven years of homeschooling already under my belt, I knew I COULD make it work if I just took the leap. My kids were worth it.

Yesterday was Day One. So far, so good. In fact, I haven't had such a peaceful day in a while. Everyone was so engaged, happy, kind, and thankful. "I like homeschooling so much better," said J.    L hugged me a lot.      E laughed.

And all the old wonderful benefits I remember came back: Kids who could linger just a little longer in their pajamas, who ate healthier, who could take their books outside to read if they wanted, who could work standing up or lying down or go run a lap around the house if it struck their fancy, who quickly blurred the lines between learning time and regular life.

I'm trying to get  them into a charter school that meets twice a week with a robotics team and a mock trial and math tutoring and music classes--stuff that's more fun to do in groups. We've mapped out all the cool activities going on at the library, book store, and park, activities they now won't be "too sick of school" to enjoy. E will be teaching L and J piano. Mr. Perfect is the best Art teacher they could ask for. I even found a mentorship/paying job for all of them to do with a friend of mine who owns a pest control company. Here in California you can also do awesome stuff like whale watching, tide pool exploration, surf lessons, and even Disneyland offers a hands on class for homeschoolers.

I think it can work. All of it.

As for me--I work while they do independent work, read, and play learning games, then do hands on things when I get home. I know, as far as my writing, what needs to be written will get written, and I can always do with less sleep to accomplish something that's so important to me.

I think I can help E learn organization and regain some confidence in his abilities, just in time for high school next year if he wants to go.

I think I can keep L and J better mentally challenged and provide them with safe social interaction that more mimics real life.

Of course, this is still only two days in speaking. I'm certain we'll have our difficult days ahead as enthusiasm wears off, assignments get more challenging, and things get hectic in one way or another, but I think we can handle it.

I just keep thinking about how wonderful I felt yesterday, not having to do hours of dropping off, waiting, picking up, signing papers, and doing the most boring busy work homework ever. How we finished our whole day in three hours, with time left over for all of us to read quietly together, bake banana bread together, play with the neighbor boys. It was really good.

I want nothing more for my children than to love each other, love the Lord, be content. Not sheltered, just happy with themselves and empathetic towards others and in love with life and learning. I want to teach them things they can't learn in school in ways they can't learn them.

After spending a  few years in it, I think public school can be totally awesome (Go teachers!!). I think homeschooling can be totally awesome. I think there are a lot of ways to do right by your kids, and most parents are totally awesome. And I think living in a place with choices and options is totally awesome, too. Here's to taking advantage of them!

buh-bye summer

Could we really be down to the last weeks of summer already? My kids didn't even get out of school until the end of June, so the idea of starting up again in two weeks seems like time went oh too fast.

It's been a different kind of summer, the first I've ever spent without my boys. We talk regularly and they are having a great time back in Idaho with their dad--fishing, floating the river, going to all our old favorite places. J, half his teeth now missing, held up his wrist for me yesterday on the camera phone and proudly showed off the strand of yellow wrapping paper ribbon tied around it, signifying he had been certified to swim in the "big kid" pool at the YMCA. Z got glasses. E's voice is as deep as his brother's now. L seems to have grown braver, older in his mannerisms. I miss them dearly.

Trying not to spend the time alone feeling helpless, I had lists of things planned to keep Mr. Perfect and I occupied over the summer--a list of house to-do's and a list of fun things. Thus far there has only been one thing crossed off each. Sigh. It's not as if we haven't been busy though.

We marched in the big Huntington Beach 4th of July--or skateboarded, rather, with the OC Ramps float. That's my husband, the big furry guy. I was on my long board. It was an unforgettable introduction to the city's most celebrated holiday.

We spent several beach days, some I did on my own since Mr. Perfect had a lot of long hours to work in July. Some with the girls. The beach here is really crowded in the summer--tourists love it. But the warm water is worth the trade for the crowd. I noticed, too, that there seems to be a sound universal in every language for the moment your feet touch the ocean for the first time.

Mr. Perfect's band has played some great shows. It's his hobby, no money to be made, but it's a great one and they always put on the most entertaining performances--all heart. Lots of snacks and hours passed in strangely-scented green rooms waiting for the show to begin. I get to sell t-shirts and dance by myself in the back, which is way more awesome than it sounds :)

I managed to pull off a successful surprise party for Mr. Perfect's birthday. Surprise mostly because it was nearly a week before his birthday. His family and friends have taken me right in and I feel a loved part of the gaggle. Grateful they all turned out at my request to make the occasion a special one.

We got to take the girls on a private tour of the Jim Henson (Muppet) studio, which used to be Charlie Chaplin's studio and was a gorgeous, turn-of-the-century gem in the middle of L.A.. The girls got to try out puppets on the green screen and we all got a sneak peek of projects in the works. Plus I saw all the memorabilia from "Labyrinth." A dream come true I didn't even know I had!

There have also been a lot of simple days just spent enjoying the perpetual round of nearly perfect 75-80 degree temperatures, always with a tingle of sea breeze any time it starts to feel too hot. There really is a reason people will pay through their nose to live here. I try to get out and walk as much as I can, even though not many but the hobos do that here. But I've been able to discover some tucked away treasures, like this--one of the first homes in the city, now hidden behind a daycare and a bank:

The highlight of the summer was definitely the week I spent at the Tin House Writers Workshop in Portland, Oregon. It is touted as one of the finest workshops in the country, attracting 675 submissions this year alone, of which 250 were accepted--mine being one of them--with me being able to go only because of the faith of family, friends, and readers who helped cover my tuition. One long time blog reader picking me up at the airport, allowing me to stay the night at her home, and driving me to the workshop the next day. Two other readers taking me back to the airport at the end of the week. Several others offering both of these services as well.

After blogging for over five years, these people feel like close friends to me. I am so glad the feelings were mutual, that they truly did feel like old friends. Grateful that none of them were actually axe murderers.

Thank you, again, to all who helped in any way--big or small. I'm all slobbery and teary inside just thinking of what it means to have the support of so many as I chase this dream of mine--to share the world as I understand it, as I've experienced it, in a fictional way, in a way that only I can, in a way that I hope will bring a little spark of hope to the world of literary short fiction.

The workshop was held on the campus of Reed College, dating back to 1912. All old Oak trees and red brick, surrounded by a forest and lake that I ran around faithfully every morning. In the company of only other writers, with workshops, lectures, and readings from 9 am-9 pm, plus amazing gourmet food options in the cafeteria every day, life quickly became an alternate reality where nothing but writing and reading existed.

There were all kinds of successful, Pulitzer Prize-nominated writers, and talented upcoming writers and MFA graduates, (and fire dancers!) all with great advice. I think the one I took most to heart was what Cheryl Strayed (author of Wild) told me: "Writing is hard. But you know what else is hard? Coal mining. Only the coal miners don't stand around talking about how hard it is to mine coal, they just start digging."

Mr. Perfect had a little decorative bottle of coal pebbles from the time he lived in West Virginia. Painted on the outside are the words, "We Mine Coal." I put it up on my desk and have started digging, or writing, regularly and voraciously since. I'm determined to protect a short amount of time for writing daily, even after my boys come back. But also trying to protect time for exercise and time for scripture study and all the other little things we are counseled to 'protect time' for may upset my good intentions, but I hope to push on. It's all worth it and it will all get done. I'm not interested in publishing quickly, but publishing my best work. I trust myself. And I know what I am writing is improving all the time (sloppy blog style excluded :) )

So, for the next two weeks of summer, I'm focused on trying to check a few more things off those lists...and also enjoy the time I'm not checking off. I love life--bumps and all. I love my husband with all my heart. I love mothering. I love letting myself settle in to this new place at my own pace. I love ice cream. Heck, I even love you.

dear daughters of mine,

Dear Daughters of Mine,

I know you have only been my daughters for 8 months now. I know, technically, you're not really mine. I know I could never produce girls as beautiful as you had you actually come from my genes--the ladies in my family just don't have hair like yours, or noses, or golden, glowing skin (though we do have backsides that inspire rap artists. Sometimes those come in handy). But I think you've been in my heart all along. I would never change being the boy mom I am but I'd be lying if I didn't say I strolled through the baby girl department with each of my pregnancies and fingered the soft pink ruffles and wondered...

I've spent 15 years with superhero underwear and Hot Wheels cars and an extensive collection of light sabers. Now I have a bathroom drawer full of glittery hair bows and strawberry lip gloss. It's weird. But good weird. You two make me happy. You made a big new spot in my heart and then filled it up right away. I'm blessed you've accepted me as fully as you have, are learning to trust me, ask me for help, and want to learn from me. I don't imagine either of you ever yelling something like, "You're not my Mom so I don't have to listen to you!!" And now that I've typed that you would never say that, you never can :).

I may be a newbie girl mom, but I was a girl with a mom, and I learned so much from her example. I only with she would have wrote some of it down. So, I'm going to. Write it down. Here are my best 3 pieces of advice for you:

1. Time is short, boys are dumb.
Now, let me back that up because I have four of them that I think are the total bee's knees. I love them dearly. I love the majority of their friends. Boys are super fun--different than girls in the way they think, speak, act, and process--but we were supposed to be made that way, to compliment one another. And with the right guidance, even the doofiest of boys can grow into an amazing man.
I hope you and your girlfriends have lots of crushes and squeal at boy bands. I hope you're the recipient of a bunch of flowers a boy picks for you or buys out of the carnation bin at Wal Mart. Or some necklace he makes you out of his mom's bead collection.

But I hope you don't spend too much of your youth on boys. I hope you never dress in a way that is meant only to impress boys. I hope you don't break up a close friendship with a girl over a boy. I hope you never chop off all your hair or dye it blue because you think that's what a certain boy would like.  I hope you never put socks in your bra. (Do I write like I've done all this? Well, yeah...)  You have the whole of your 20's to have serious relationships. Right now, at 12 and 7, build friendships. Read good books. Spend time with your awesome parents. Enjoy not spending money on mascara and razors and eyebrow waxing. At 16, do some group dating. Have fun. Get to know boys as friends. Maybe even kiss a few. A lot of your peers will be doing much, much more than this, but that's mostly because they started all that other stuff way too early. It's ok to be young for a while longer. It's ok to not do the same things everyone else is doing. And you'll find out boys make better boyfriends when they've got jobs and money and cars and some self-control. I promise, promise, promise, you won't regret a moment of not growing up too fast.

2. Don't worry so much
I know we as females love to have everything in order, to feel that we are in control of our worlds, that we know who we are and where are place in the world is. We start young, assembling our groups of best friends and sometimes even not-so-nicely excluding other girls. Maybe this gives us a sense of power in a world where, up until about 40 years ago, our efforts and opinions didn't seem as valued as our male counterparts.

But, my sweet new girls, I can promise you this--no matter how well you plan, no matter how in control of your appearance or body you feel you are, no matter how nice you are to other people--stuff is going to happen. It will rain on a day you forget your umbrella. You'll get an F on a test you studied hard for. You won't get the part in the play you wanted. You'll get a zit or two or a hundred--all at once. Your metabolism will catch up with you and you'll gain some weight. And you will never get rid of mean people who do mean things for now apparent reason. Then, one day you'll become a wife and mom and a homeowner, and you'll REALLY realize just how out of control your world is.

But please, please don't let excessive worry rob you of the joy in the moment. It took me almost 30 years to learn that and to embrace it consistently. I hope you figure it out sooner than that. The best questions to ask yourself when you come up against something that's starting to make you feel all worried, icky, flipped out in your stomach, ready to yell or scream or send a text to a certain someone at 3 am...*Can I do something about it? If so, do it, and don't worry. *Can I do nothing about it? If so, let it be, and don't worry.

Women who worry too much, who feel that if they can't control a situation than they somehow "lose," are women who tend to get ugly. Inside and out. They're women who do a lot of yelling at their husbands and children. They're women who slam stuff around. Sometimes they even turn into those women you see pulling each other's hair out and hitting one another with their high heeled shoes.

Don't be those kind of women. Really don't be those kind of women.

Things are hard. You won't always be without worry. I'm just saying, keep it in perspective. There's so much good going on even when stuff is going badly. And always, always be nice.

Finally,
3. Remember both of your Fathers

You have one of the best men on earth as your dad. I fell in love with him from the first time I laid eyes on him, then had the privilege of getting to know him as a friend for over a year. I watched closely how he treated other people, including his family and friends, and old people, and babies, and sick people, and animals. He's as awesome as you think he is. I see soooo much of him in you. In your twinkly eyes, and your long eyelashes, in the way you listen to others, the talents you inherited, and especially in the way you can pull faces. I don't know how all of you can look so goofy at the same time you look so beautiful!

And, oh my goodness, you wouldn't even believe how much he loves you two! When he speaks of you to other people, you'd think he was describing two fairy princesses. He is happy by nature, but when you're with him, he just lights up. He only wants the best for you, in so many ways. Listen to his advice. Try to understand when he says, "No." Understand his decisions concerning you always come after a lot of prayer. Don't lie to him, there's no need. Don't worry about disappointing him, he'll get over it. Keep loving him as much as you do now and let him help you through this life and share in the joy of it with you.

But no matter how wonderful your dad is, he doesn't know everything. And he's going to make mistakes. And he's not going to understand you perfectly. That's why you have a second dad-- your Heavenly Father. Having lost my dad to a car accident when I was just 4, Heavenly Father is the only "dad" I grew up with--and He never let me down. Or if he did, it was temporary--a feeling that went away as I got down the road of life a little further to understand the why of things. Your Heavenly Father loves you and knows you better than you know yourself, and wants you to come talk to Him in prayer every day. He'll talk back, too, just in quiet ways you'll get better at recognizing the more you practice. He cares about everything you do--even little things like bad hair days or lost keys. Ask Him for help. He'll give it in all kinds of ways. Most of all, ask Him to shield you every day that you go out into this crazy, wonderful world, to keep you safe from the junk so that you can better enjoy the good stuff.

And there is SO much good stuff.

I promise.

So, thank you again, new, sweet girls of mine for all you have added to my bucket of blessings. Thank you for your love. Thank you for letting me paint your fingernails. And braid your hair. I couldn't have handpicked better daughters.

All my love,
~Bonus Mom

today was not one of those days

Driving to work this morning, a necessary trip to the bank caused a detour I wasn't expecting. So there I was taking a street I didn't normally take, thinking about how much I miss my boys already, even though it hasn't even been a week since they left for the summer.

Thinking about heavy burdens some of my dear friends back in Boise are dealing with, and how helpless I feel to do anything but send them encouragement and the occasional Jamba Juice gift card from across the distance.

 Thinking about the increasing aches and pains and fatigue my body has been plaguing me with lately--some as a result of my rheumatic heart condition, and some--I fear--the pre-cursors to Multiple Sclerosis, a diagnosis which has plagued many in my family.

And finally, thinking about the text my old neighbor sent yesterday telling me the yard at my once dream home, the one I spent countless hours fertilizing, mending sprinklers for, mowing, and beautifying--has shriveled up to a dry nothing, having gone un-watered as my home continues to sit in limbo, unable to go through with the short sale due to liens slapped on it by my ex-husband's creditors and which the creditors will not (even with pressure from an attorney and even though the house was clearly given to me in the divorce)  release until $3000 of the $18,000 owed on them is payed. And I just don't have $3000. And no one I know has $3000. Because the world seems broke and scary and harder to make any financial progress in.

So, again, there I was, peppered with worries like so many of us are, not despairing but a little overwhelmed--when suddenly, the sun made the most perfect ring around the steeple of an old white clapboard church, the divided panes of its stained glass windows glistening like little gems. There was a couple walking down the street, holding hands, passing under a Jacaranda tree dropping the last of its purple-blue blooms. George Winston, playing the piano in his simple, honest way, came on the jazz station. I felt my body which, today, felt good, strong, rested, ready to take on whatever. I thought about how nice it would be, how nice it always is, to come home to my Mr. Perfect--busy at work in his loft office, the way he pokes his smiling face over the ledge wall and calls out to me, "Hello, Wife!" as I walk in the door.

I remembered, very keenly, other mornings that were not so nice as this one. Mornings it felt like things were so hard that they'd never get better, that the odds were so overwhelming I could do nothing more but get up and go through the motions. Mornings where absolutely nothing made sense and nothing seemed happy.

Today was not one of those days.

Today, I was grateful that--despite the trials that will, I suppose, always accompany me in some aggravating form or another, I was exactly where I was, who I was with, what I was, and for what I went through to get here.

Today I remembered, again, and which I hope I never stop remembering--

Good things come. They come when you most need them or least expect them or feel as if you don't deserve them. They come incrementally or in miraculous bounds. They come when you've given up any hope of them coming. They come in different forms than you expect, but which can be every bit as good, if you let them be. If you keep putting good out there in the world, if you keep believing in good, good WILL come back to you.

And, really, isn't that enough?

summer is a-comin'

Did we make it? Did we really make it?...

We're down to the last two weeks of school here, and since my kids started their year-round school tracks back in Boise the first week of August, they are MORE than ready for a break already!

*No more rising with the sun to get Z to early morning seminary.

*No more shuttling 6 kids to and from 5 different schools.

*No more reading just to check off the reading log.

*No more signing homework folders and binder reminders and daily assignement monitoring on hard-to-navigate school sites.

*No more band concerts, talent shows, or school musicals with accompanying permission slips, rehearsals and dress codes.

*No more trying to dig change out of the "not an ashtray" for school DQ day or Jamba Juice day or Smencil sale day or Takis day (Takis are big trade items at the elementary school, don't ya know?)

But summer also means...my boy squad being gone.

In just a few more weeks,  our new custody arrangement will go into effect and the boys will go to spend the summer in Idaho with Brad. And while I think it has been worth it to have them without bi-monthly interruption for the last almost 6 months...I also haven't had to endure a summer without them yet.

We've been re-watching the Harry Potter movies lately and I'm trying to stay positive about their going by pretending I'm brave Mrs. Weasley sending her kids off to Hogwarts. They'll be taken care of. They'll eat a lot of candy. They'll have wonderful adventures. They'll get to see people they've missed. Then they'll come home and we'll start the year over again. I'll clean their ears and comb their hair, have them rid the garden of gnomes and knit them sweaters :)

I will miss having summer adventures with the whole family (I hear my new hometown has the most epic Fourth of July's), but in a location where it feels, compared to Idaho, perpetually like summer--we've been making plenty of warm weather memories over the last few months.

This stretch will also give us some time to do a little solo hanging out with just Mr. Perfect's girls, who have so graciously and unselfishly given up the daddy they once had to themselves to a bunch of new boys, whom they immediately befriended (or besiblinged). But, for as good of sports as they are, I know they will appreciate a few play dates that don't include foam weapons.

It's all part of our new dynamic as a blended family, and once we all learned "different" doesn't mean "worse," and that there are trials and problems no matter what--we've been able to just settle in and love and appreciate one another for who and what we are. When everyone isn't fighting, that is. (Hey! Even the VonTrapps and the Brady's picked on each other!)

As for me, I've already set some lofty goals for myself to achieve over the summer. I made my way up the waiting list and got into Tin House after all (rejoice!!!) so I'll be gone for a little over a week in July focusing on my writing and finishing up this novella. I hope to get up on a surfboard at least once. Mr. Perfect's band has some concerts coming up, which are always a blast. Finishing up the last decorating details on our home.

And maybe we'll even squeeze in a mini staycation. Oh, and sleep. Lots-o-sleep. We'll need a reserve for the fall...

But all the time looking forward to the day my boy squad gets back and I once again get to wake up to scenes like this:

And you know what? Family is worth it. Worth the two hours of carpooling. Worth the four different dinner variations. Worth the slower pace on bike rides and walks. Worth every smudge and stain and crumb pile. And worth the short separation...

And the anticipation of a happy reunion.

ripping the band aid off

As a rule, I have learned if I want to stay healthy, focused, and happy, I need the following things most days:

*Prayer and scripture study

*Sleep (I can live on 4 hours or 7, as long as I keep it consistent)

*Exercise

*Air and/or Sunshine (preferably combined with the exercise)

*To advance myself toward one of my goals in some way, large or small, usually involving my parenting or writing

It sounds simple enough but, Boy oh boy! Do I ever struggle most days trying to fit those things in with all the other things that need to get done or manage to squeeze themselves into my day after day.

Prayer and scripture study always make it in and I'm certain that I'd get nothing else done at all were it not for them.

Sleep has been a bit boomerang-ish as of late, especially since night person me has been forced to be a morning person in order to get my oldest son off to early morning seminary every day.

I'm adjusting to trying to exercise mostly in a gym since I haven't found any good outdoor running trails here yet that aren't a long drive away, though there's never a shortage of air and sunshine as long as I can get out of my car long enough to appreciate them (did I mention it takes a good 2 hours every day just dropping children off and picking them up from school...?)

The last category is by far the most frustrating. My goal advancement seems to be stumbling aimlessly lately. I submitted to Tin House writers workshop, was accepted (!!!), and then--while I was crowd funding to be able to cover the $800 deposit on account of NOT getting one of the five scholarships--I learned they'd given my spot away and put me on a wait list. I'm fourth. I read and re-read through my acceptance letter where there was never a deadline mentioned for turning money in so I really had no idea I was in danger of losing my spot for not paying right away. I was crushed. Especially after all my friends had purchased my work in order to raise the funds to get me there.

I suppose I could have fought it, demanded they give me my spot back, but the fight just seems to be drained out of me lately.

Mostly due to the other part of my aimless stumbling in my goals, which would be my parenting. During my nearly five years single mothering, I had consistent Heavenly protection and help. I was able to do the impossible daily. It wasn't easy or always joyous, but I was able to bear it. It was like a divine Band Aid.

That protective condition, mixed with the fact that I was just so freaking busy working five jobs and holding down the house sheltered me from a lot of problems that were developing. But now, thanks to my  happy marriage and extremely supportive husband, I'm able to slow down and participate in life more than just hang on to it for dear life. And for all the wonderful blessings it has brought, it's  also meant ripping that Band Aid off. The move to a bigger city, the transition into teenage years for my older two boys, blending two families, leaving behind home and friends and identities...well, it's been rough for all of us. It's the type of rough that can co-exist with stretches of pure joy (I really DO love my Mr. Perfect and my kids and our new home and adventures), but rough nonetheless.

So, I'm trying with all my might to raise dropped school grades, help my boys make good new friends, find new interests, teach them to use their agency and words wisely.  Keep them motivated. Show them the benefits of hard work. Teach them to look beyond the right now and labor for things they want most.  Help them to make their dad an active part of their lives even with the distance. And all this with me trying to let go of the guilt-plaguing idea that their struggles are, "all my fault."  And to find my own new place in this new life as well.

Gratefully, I couldn't ask for a better partner in it all than my Mr. Perfect who has the faith of Job and whose humor always warms even the bleakest of days. He's devoted to us, to his girls, to my boys, to helping us be the best family we can be. And whereas I get discouraged when I don't see my efforts paying off when and how I want them to, he gently reminds me that things take time. Usually more time than we're comfortable with. But the results are always worth the wait.

Given the evidence of the last seven years of my life, you'd think I would have figured this out already, huh?

So, now that the Band Aid is off, we can clean the lingering wound and start down the road to a healed life, knowing that God is still with us. Still. Always. And if we keep our hearts and lives inclined towards Him, we will come to see--sooner or later-- just why things happened why and how they did.

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 
 

it's ok to be happy and stuff

I can hardly believe it has been a month since my last post. A MONTH! I mean, I know no one is blogging like it's 2009 anymore but it's unlike me to commit to something and then go this period of time without either following through with it or formally ending it. My bad--or whatever it is the yunguns are saying nowadays.

I am still adjusting to everything. Mothering six is such a joy--exhausting but worthwhile. The boys are all feeling settled and accepted and at home, even Z. We finally found a vehicle in our price range that could seat all eight of us and it is liberating to go where we need to without having to make multiple trips everywhere or do the occasional desperate trip with two kids laying down in the hatchback trunk. Girls have been delightful to have--I'm slowly developing hair styling skills, and I love that all the children genuinely love and enjoy one another's company.

Mother Perfect accepted a job in another state so we sadly said good-bye to her last weekend. Which leaves us with a spare bedroom, a bit more space to spread out, and no more dog and all that dogs entail. We will miss her and especially her laugh but wish her all the best in her next adventure. The house is coming together design-wise. I promise to post pictures when it's complete.

I suppose the one thing that is less than ideal is my relationship with my writing as of late. There are a few factors standing between myself and my ability to zone back in on what once came to me like breathing. One, of course, is just being busier--bigger home to care for, more children, more (lots more!) driving. A different sleep schedule because of earlier school start times, requiring me to surrender those precious early morning hours between midnight and 2am that used to be my 'magic time.' Also, with the fact that Mr. Perfect's career is further advanced than my own that it just makes sense right now to put my supporting efforts into boosting him over the top.

Life with Mr. Perfect is dreamy. So much so that, as a writer who has so effectively channeled her struggle and longing in the last years, it makes me a bit unsettled at times. Like I'm not sure what to do with all this happiness and sunshine and fresh air and smiling.

As an answer to all that shiny/happy, my first exposure to California fog rolled in about 10pm last night, just when I was heading off for my run. Damp and thick, it swallowed up all the tops of the buildings and the length of the strip malls. As I moved forward, it was eerie watching one palm tree after another apparate in  front of me and then disappear in a mist behind me. I let all the weirdness and dark settle into my bones like a familiar friend, a comforting reminder that struggle in the human condition--great and small--is always available, and that to be a good and effective literary writer doesn't always require me to pass through the struggle myself but simply to understand the truths of the human condition and convey them through character change and imagery.

I lost myself in my first marriage, in the way of writing. Not in a way that I regretted but in a way I'd not like to repeat if I don't have to. I have worked too hard over the last few years to hone my craft, produce some quality material, establish connections with other writers I deeply admire, and to publish regularly, and I would hate to lose it all now--when no one has asked me to--but simply for lack of trying to find the balance. Especially when I've never shied away from doing hard things. Although the move distanced me from a lot of what I had built up, it doesn't have to erase what I was and am still capable of. In fact, some of my all-time favorite writers and poets (Ron Carlson, Eileen Myles) live and teach just miles from me. There is much to be had here as a writer, I just have to find it.

So, for now, *I'm re-committing to dedicating a minimum of 30 minutes DAILY to writing and/or reading to improve my work. *I've found a writers group and will continue to find a place in or help to establish a writing community here.*I will apply for a scholarship to Tin House Writers Convention in July. *I will work to complete my novella, which I think represents my best writing so far, and a home for it. *And I will allow myself to be ok with being happy in my life and still being unsettled in my writing. And if the sunshine breaks through and thins all this fog out...I'll be ok with that, too.

and they knew it was much more than a hunch...step parenting advice from a novice

I was asked recently to do a guest post for the Paranoid Stay at Home Mom blog about blending families and step parenting. Since I'm less than three months into the process, I didn't know how useful I'd be but I was surprised at how much I've already figured out. And how much I still have to learn.

Here's a link to my post:
http://paranoidstayathomemom.blogspot.com/2013/02/and-they-knew-it-was-much-more-than.html

Thanks for reading :)

not my dime, mister

I read a story the other day about an American living in Africa who felt divinely prompted to help a young boy he saw crying on the side of the road. Turns out the 10 year old boy was an orphan who sold dried fish for his caretaker in exchange for a bed and a meal. That day, the little boy discovered a hole in his pocket and realized he had lost all the money he'd made. He knew, as did the American, that the caretaker would call him a liar, beat him, and likely cast him out onto the streets. It was an amount of money easily replaced by the American (who did just that), but had he not come along, the little boy would have lost what small amount of comfort and protection  he had over the equivalent of a few dimes.

And it's not just Africa. I recently did some study into the fates of 'dustbowl children'--those children simply abandoned by their destitute parents during the Great Depression and all the prejudices that popped up, especially in neighboring states, against "dirty Okies." It wasn't the hardworking Oklahoma farmers fault that the land decided to dry up and leave them without a source of making a living but they, and their children, still had to live with the harsh consequences.

I have learned, in my long 37 years, that money, and especially lack of it, makes people mean. Reduces them to a more savage nature. Makes them hurt even, and maybe especially, children. Whereas in our society money represents security, food, shelter, and a form of protection to live another day, we get almost territorial when we feel threatened that another might be taking it away.

In fact, beyond the first year of my divorce when everything still hurt, the only heated disagreements Brad and I have ever had have been over money. Child support, alimony, tax claims, medical expenses, funds needed to keep four kids and their home afloat. It makes me feel like a mother bear protecting her cubs  while dealing with the reality that their dad is also a bear, not some outside enemy.

Brad has had a new wife and daughter to care for for a little over a year now. I get that. I don't want to take every dime he has. I want him to be able to live a life. Though not without a degree of discomfort when he still has obligations to the first wife and children he made. I don't think he's ever forgotten those obligations, even if he hasn't honored them in the ways I wished he would. But we get it worked out. Sometimes he takes the brunt of it, sometimes I do. But we try to be understanding and remain civil because we love our children. And I have seen just how nasty divorced couples can get over the equivalent of a few dimes.

A lot of folks assumed I would be "set for life" when I  married Mr. Perfect. After all, he has been nominated for four daytime Emmy awards, you or your kids have probably worn clothing or bought merchandise he's designed, and watched one of the TV shows he's worked on.. You may even have heard his band or watched one of the television series he appeared in as a child. But, really--he's just an artist. A brilliant one, yes, but exposure doesn't equal monetary success--especially here in pricey Southern California and when his income is always cut in half or more to support his ex-wife and children (which he does gladly, and which I fully support, knowing this when I married him). * He has a deep desire to provide and gives so much of himself to his family, to ours, to anyone who needs help. *He does so much work and contributes his talents so often for free. *He works hard, every day, making things happen, bringing possibilities to hopeful fruition. He is beloved by all those who know him. We are blessed richly and deeply in many areas, but money, unfortunately, is not one of them.


We don't desire a lot as a married couple--just sufficient for our  needs and those of our children: A vehicle large enough to carry us all, maybe the luxury of health insurance, and the occasional trip out to get a ice cream as a family. But none of these desires come at the expense of not knowing how much we already do have.

Knowing that we are not alone in this modern world that is going through a depression every bit as great as the great one, though artificially propped up by credit cards and student loans and charts with tenth of a percentage improvements. Everyone is scared. Everyone knows that they could get caught up in the next wave of layoffs or have their position moved overseas. Nearly everyone knows someone who has had to take their spouse and children and move back in with their parents to wait this time out.

The point of all this circles back to my opening paragraph: Don't. Get. Mean.

Don't let money or a lack of it dictate your ability to give and love and have compassion on people.

If you find yourself in a blessed situation to still have sufficient and then some, give a little away--to a specific person or a charity. Or just drop an extra buck in that tip jar for the man or woman likely working at that coffee shop when they have a college degree.

If you don't have money, give of your time in service.

Give of your prayers in behalf of those who struggle.

There's always, always something to give.

Just remember money is money and people are people, and not everyone who is struggling financially "did it to themselves." Stay tender. Stay kind. We'll all get through this. Even you. Even me.

when all the adults give up...

Being married again has brought many joys, amongst the most treasured: 4 1/2 hours.

Those are the hours I have gained by only needing to work part time instead of the full time I was working back in Boise. That means I'm done just after lunch and with the time to walk to the elementary school to pick up my two youngest, and be home when my two oldest get home.

I feel, in those precious few hours, I have regained a large chunk of my motherhood. I'm not a complete SAHM, but I'm close enough and that means everything to me. 

However, in gaining more time with my children, it means also having more time to listen to the things that have been hard for them in the move. And while they've all had positive experiences--more/new friends, more time outside in the warm weather, a great relationship with Mr. Perfect and his girls--there have also been struggles.

I think E is having the hardest time lately. Being in middle school, I knew the social transition would be a little more difficult for him. He's kind of a creative/artsy kid like his mama and my hope was that he would find more acceptance in a creative/artsy community like Huntington Beach. And, for the most part, he's been happy enough in his new school and found a group of kids to hang out with. But his heart is heavy, too:

"Mom, you should hear the way these kids talk! The people at my old school cussed but not this bad. And it's not just the words they say, it's all the stuff they talk about. And everyone does it--even the teachers! I get made fun of because I don't cuss. It's like all the adults just gave up."

And oh, how that breaks a mama's heart to hear. Proud that I have a son who won't back down from his standards. Proud that he recognizes that if all the moral pillars that a society used to agree on dissolve, what will hold us together? Proud that he understands that certain words are violent words--not funny words, not casual conversation words. Proud that he understands that adults SHOULD protect kids, set limits, be good examples--not indulge and join them in childish behavior.

It's kind of like the speed limit here. Enough people got together and, by their sheer numbers participating in breaking the speed limit, decided that it didn't matter, that they were going to drive as fast as they wanted. And what happened? It's pretty difficult to find a speed limit sign on any freeway in California and pretty rare to ever see a police officer out enforcing speeding. Kind of like...they all gave up.

But what does a parent do? How can I, in good faith, continue to order E in to such a world as  his school every day? With kids who bully and tease relentlessly? And especially on the bus, which sounds like one giant R-rated movie he can't look away from, or even drown out since headphones aren't allowed?

These things, these environments DO shape our children, their thoughts, their characters. Who is protecting kids anymore? Not just their physical safety, but their emotional safety? And, dare I say--religious or not, is there not still some type of MORAL SAFETY kids are entitled to have?! I fear for the world ran by kids who have never known boundaries or limits or enforced rules.

For now, I continue to provide the best respite from it all, for E and the rest of my children, in the form of a loving, warm home where we use our words to build each other up, not put each other down with filth. I'm even researching my options in possibly homeschooling again knowing my younger ones will have to face the same challenges soon enough. I help them to put on their spiritual armor every day to help in deflecting a majority of the blows.

Mr. Perfect lived through a childhood similar to this, growing up a minority in North Hollywood, often roughed up by gangs. It didn't change his standards, and in fact made him the good and righteous man he is. I hope it works the same for my precious boys. I hope.

In the mean time, I'm looking for a good sale on soap. There are a lot of nasty mouths out there that need a good scrubbing.