Happiness for sale

I felt the old demons creeping back in today...the urge to buy something, anything to distract myself from feeling so empty. In an effort to stave off that urge, I searched Ebay for "happiness." I'm sure you will be relieved to know that Ebay offers 1,923 separate listings for "happiness."

Costumes

Today is Halloween. It's been a hard day for me so far. Nothing attached to the holiday...just a hard day. No patience, no energy, no joy...just nothingness. Not necessarily related to the events of the summer. I'm just tired. My body is tired, my mind is tired, my spirit is tired.

Part of it may be a drain in anticipating the future. I believe we are moving. We've found a house, and I think that God is pointing us that way. I'm not sure. The move is, in very large part, a response to what happened in our marriage. A fresh start. An escape. A new beginning.

But a move takes so much. So much energy. So much time. So much money. Things that I'm just not sure we have right now. I do know that I don't have the energy to do the things around here that need to be done. Decluttering. Selling. Cleaning. Decorating. I can barely make myself do laundry...what makes anyone think I could actually declutter a house?

All I can do, I suppose, is just keep praying that God will direct us, that He will make his answer clear to us.

As for tonight, the theme of Halloween is disguising yourself. Making everyone think you are something or someone else. We will have an Anakin Skywalker, a giraffe, and a Care Bear. As for me, I'll try to disguise myself as someone with energy and joy. And I'll keep praying that God sees fit to clothe me in real joy, strong faith, and energy to live.

Happy Halloween

Photography

www.flickr.com/photos/67151755@N00

(I wish I knew how to make that look pretty, so it could just say something like "Fabulous international photography" and be a working link, but I have three bickering toddlers/preschoolers in the background and only the most basic fundamentals of computer knowledge. Let's not get crazy here....)

Anyway, this site features the work of Junior Bonner Photography. The only problem with photography of this talent is that it makes me want to travel the world even more so I can experience the sounds and scents that go along with the phenomenal sights.

A side note from the editor

I was just sitting at the computer, listening to some beautiful piano music (Rob Costlow, if you are interested...he is incredibly talented. Reminds me of George Winston.) But I digress.

I opened my eyes, looked to my right at the treadmill, and found my youngest naked, swinging wildly from the arms of the treadmill.

Yep. She's a free spirit.

Just a little more valuable.

It's been such a long time since I last posted. It dawned on me, and was pointed out to me by a friend, that I tend to blog about my struggles. And yes, that is a good thing. To work through emotional struggles in writing, to consider the comments made by people who read my ramblings. But I should blog about positive things as well, lest you all think I'm about to off myself (joke!)

Sorry, but today I have another struggle. I was reading the alumni report from my law school today. I never usually do that...the report finds itself quickly filed in our circular vertical file. No time, no inclination. But I read it today. And maybe I now know why I don't usually read alumni reports.

It was full of the information you would expect to find in an alumni report. Short blurbs on the great feats of various alumni. I am not being facetious. Some of the people who have graduated from IU Law in years past have been doing phenomenal things. Moving to India to work on teaching economic self-sufficiency to people struggling through indentured servitude. Working in Northern Europe to help preserve the global environment. Teaching women and children to break the bonds of slavery and poverty in some African nations.

And I had to wonder what I've been doing with my life. I feel like I had such potential to do incredible things. God gave me such gifts. He gave me the ability to quickly learn and retain foreign languages. He gave me a hunger to travel globally. He gave me intelligence and a phenomenal memory.

What have I done with those gifts? I have to wonder if I've wasted them all. I know that I shouldn't crave power or success in this world, but when you are a partner in a law firm, or when you lead your own global effort to end poverty, people know that you are smart, able, and a darn hard worker. I...am a mom.

I know, I know, I know. Being a mom is the hardest job. Staying at home with them means I won't look back in future years and miss the time I didn't spend with them while I was working. And I do know that they benefit from me being home...they have the freedom to engage in any extracurricular activity they want, because I can take them. I can take them to the library during the day and play checkers. I can spend hours purusing the Magic Tree House section in the library because we have nothing but time. I can take them to the museum, gardens, or zoo when the facilities are less crowded (during the weekday, of course) because I am always here. I know that those are more important to them than more money as a result of mom working, or than the status mom gains in others' eyes because mom is an attorney (by golly, she must be smart and a hard worker!)

I just feel like I've failed in some aspect. I totaled up thousands of dollars in loans for law school. I truly loved my slightly-over-one-year tenure as an attorney in the firm. I'd found my professional home. Then I left to raise my baby, who quickly gained two siblings, and I never went back. Could I in the future? Perhaps, but then what about my children, who I really feel need someone to come home to when they are older.

I guess I miss feeling intelligent. I miss practicing law. I miss feeling like I produce valuable work. The group I practiced with was phenomenal at providing feedback ("great job...just what I needed") that made me feel effective. I felt that I had great rapport with the other attorneys in the practice group...I actually enjoyed going to work, and I felt good coming home at the end of the day.

I have to be careful not to let my yearnings paint the perfect picture...of course there were problems. There were days I struggled. There was one 25.5 hour day. There were days I would close my door and hope certain attorneys didn't knock. (But I had a door to close!!!! Ohhhhhhhhh to have a door to close now...!) But you know? As bad as this makes me sound, I was an attorney. I was what I had worked hard for for seven years. I was what I had aspired to be for nine years. I met my goal, enjoyed the fruits for a little over one year, and then...left.

Am I doing what God wants me to do? How do I know? I'm dense. Though intelligence, I am dense. I need God to erect a billboard outside my bedroom window telling me what he wants me to do. (The neighbors might complain, but at least I'd have my guidance.) Am I wasting my gifts? If I started taking classes, would I feel better? If I volunteered in a legal capacity, would I feel better? If I volunteered, traveled, and learned, would I feel better? That wouldn't pay off my student loans, but maybe I'd feel a little smarter. A little more valuable.

I need help, God. I just don't know the answer.

Escape

As I drove home from the cottage tonight, I purposefully drove past the interchange I needed and kept driving north. I just couldn't face driving straight home. I needed to feel free. I needed to drive without purpose. As I drove, I listened to music and thought about things. I cried. I felt broken. I felt empty. I felt lonely. I felt sad.

I noticed as I drove that if I ignored the street signs and just saw the gentle slope of the exit ramps, I could convince myself that I was driving through a completely different city. Detroit, maybe. Or Philadelphia. Indianapolis or Cinncinati. It didn't really matter where, as long as it wasn't home.

I didn't have children with me, so I had no one's needs to tend to but my own. I entertained the notion of just driving up to Traverse City. Calling home and saying I had just needed to escape for a while and would be home by Sunday evening. I thought about calling a friend and seeing if I could spend the night in her guest room.

I just didn't want to go home. I wanted to escape.

As I drove, I listened to a CD I'd made from iTunes. I was listening to the same Evanescence song over and over. It wasn't until I finally, almost unwillingly, took the interchange home that I realized the bitterly humorous irony of the lyrics that were playing over and over.

"Wake me up from this nothing I've become."

Which is really where I stand right now. What am I? I'm a mother. I'm not even sure if I'm a good one. I love my children fiercely and would do anything to protect them, probably even staying in an unhappy marriage if I thought it would be better for them. I'm not sure if that makes me a good mother, however.

What else am I though? I feel like I've become nothing. I'm that woman whose husband cheated on her with her own friend. I wasn't important enough to him to ensure loyalty. It's hard to feel like someone important, someone loved, after that.

I want to feel happy. I want to feel love that isn't tainted by questions of loyalty or survivability. I want to feel so important to someone that they wouldn't ever dream of hurting me.

Is that possible? Or is that a remnant of the fairy tales we grow up with? I've started changing the ends of the Disney stories I tell my 3 year old daughter. I simply cannot end a story with "And they lived happily ever after," because it just is not true. Why lie to her? I've varied the endings. Some variations: "And they lived a married life in which they settled all disputes with reasonable conversation;" "And they parted the best of friends;" "And they got married, had many children, and talked through all of their disagreements."

Should I blame Disney for this? For tainting me with unrealistic expectations that I could find someone who loved me so much that they would hold my heart in their hands like a valuable treasure? Because I'm hurt enough to send Disney a strongly worded letter.

In the meantime, I can't help but wonder where this strong need to escape will take me. I've read novels in which the main character, always an unappreciated, burdened mother and wife, just takes off. Leaves her responsibilities (almost always after the kids have matured and left for college, of course...not irresponsible or cruel are these women) and hits the road. Sometimes they return to their former lives refreshed and with renewed vigor. Sometimes they discover true life was out there somewhere the whole time, just beckoning them with open arms.

My point here is that I completely understand that desire to just leave. Leave it all behind. Drive until you have to sleep, then get up in the morning and drive some more. Get yourself some coffee. Stay in anonymous roadside motels (use the chain lock and deadbolt.) Eat in greasy spoons while reading the local paper. Refuse to make conversation until someone you just can't resist comes along. Become a gardener, a chef, a rancher...whatever dream waited for you all those years while you just marked your time as a spouse and mother.

I feel that urge so strongly now that it's almost painful to ignore it. It was hard for me to turn the car west and head home tonight. I just wanted to keep going so I could what awaited me out there.

But I can't leave my children. Not in a million years. Ever. I cannot imagine not seeing them every single day.

And maybe that's why I don't escape. Because I don't want to evade the constraints that my true love for my children imposes. That is a wonderful, untainted, magical love that I could never question.

Escaping from everything else would be okay.

What if this can't be repaired?

I found myself wondering that today. I had a day to myself. All to myself. My husband took the kids over to the east side of the state to visit family. I lounged around for a bit, hit Starbucks, and headed out to a cottage owned by someone my husband works with.

It was a beautiful, sunny day. Not too hot. Light breeze. Small bluegills trying to nibble at my toes when I dangled them in the lake. I actually touched a few of the eager fish with my fingers. Life was peaceful, life was good.

But somewhere along the line, I started thinking about our marriage. As it stands now, I wear my engagement ring, not my wedding ring. That was his idea. The idea being that I put on my wedding ring when it feels right again.

But maybe that symbolism triggered my mind. An engagement is less formal than a marriage, not viewed as a legal arrangement in the eyes of our society or our courts. People break off engagements all the time. I broke one off in college. (Thankfully. I fully believe that marriage would have been incredibly unhappy. Maybe he would have cheated on me too. Perhaps earlier.)

My point being that people walk away from engagements much more easily than they do marriages. A simple "It's over" can end an engagement. No protracted legal discussions, no messy alimony discussions. Just return the ring (or not, depending on your point of view) and walk away.

So perhaps wearing just my engagement ring triggered these thoughts. Can this marriage be saved? Can I ever feel madly in love with this man again? Because for much of the time I spent being in love with him, things were amiss...I just didn't know it. Even the period of time in our marriage that he claims was miserable, I thought things were okay. Ideal? No, but okay. Superficially, however, that marriage didn't appear too different from the marriage we have today. He is present more, and he helps me more, but as far as the things we do together, or the way we relate over dinner or casual conversation, things appear remarkably similar.

So how can I ever, ever know the true state of our marriage? I thought things were okay then, but apparently they were so terrible that he turned to my friend for comfort and love. So I obviously cannot trust my own instincts as to the health of our marriage. I can't trust him for that either.

The question, then: Do I continue on and just hope and pray that someday I will be able to trust my own assessment of our marital health? (Answer: How could I ever, ever again trust my own assessment when I was so pathetically incorrect before?) We already know the answer to whether I can just rely on him for an assessment of marital health. (There is also the fact that I just refuse to become someone who constantly begs her significant other for assurance that things are okay...I cannot live like that.)

Or do I just decide that I can't live like that and pray that someday someone will truly love me for who I am, and love me so dearly that they could never conceive of breaking my heart?

I really don't know, and that is what scares me the most right now.

How does somebody fool themselves? I guess we all do it to some extent...convincing ourselves that the last daring haircut we got wasn't that bad. Or convincing ourselves that we were justified in snapping at our spouse because, darn it, we'd asked them five times to pick up their clothes!

But how exactly does someone ignore reality and twist it to suit their purposes?

Those of you who know me know that I'm going somewhere with this. I just get caught up in establishing the background so I don't lose anyone. I do that in conversation too, which leads to misunderstandings and/or glazed eyes. It's a fault. But at least I haven't fooled myself into thinking it's not...

But I digress. My husband called me this morning. It was just the baby and me, as our son is at all-day YMCA camp, and our other daughter is spending her week in bliss, having her Baba and Papa all to herself.

He called about 8:20 and left a message asking me to call him back. I'd been lying in bed with a pillow over my head, trying to convince a migraine through sheer will that it did not want to set up residence. I'd been keeping audial tabs on my daughter, springing up from time to time when she got silent, as her silence results in emptied bottles of shampoo, overflowing toilets, or Crisco smeared all over her room (don't ask.)

When I called him back, he said,"She emailed me." Of course, we both knew who "she" is. "She*" is my former friend, his former fling, the wench who, along with my husband, threw my entire heart and life for (hopefully) the biggest loop I could imagine.

"She" emailed him because "She" "needs answers." "She" feels that "she" deserves answers. "She" feels that "she" is a victim. "She" feels that he owes her answers.

I should back up and explain. When my husband first told me she'd written him, I initially thought I'd email her a vicious response telling her exactly what she deserved. After all, this is the woman who promised me that she'd never contact my husband again. Obviously I couldn't request that of her as a friend, as she'd never been a true friend. So I requested that of her as a woman who'd been wronged by her husband before. I truly thought that she would be able to think back to the pain caused by her husband's affair and rely on that in order to fulfill her promise to me not to contact my husband.

Obviously this is a woman incapable of thinking of anyone but herself. I should have known that, obviously, but I honestly thought that having been hurt by an affair in the past, she would be capable of stepping outside of her own twisted, selfish needs.

Obviously not. I am a fool.

She claims that she is a victim. That she deserves answers. That my husband took advantage of her. Essentially, that it is all his fault.

I intended not to read it. I was going to just forward it to a friend for safekeeping, as I couldn't let it sit in my Inbox and pollute my environment. But as I started to forward it, I started to read it. My hands started to shake, and my heart started to race. The nerve of that selfish, twisted, insensitive, lying *itch!!! Then I found myself responding.

The point of responding? Nothing, really. My email is set up to permanently delete any message from her without me ever seeing it, because I am weak. I tend to open her rubbish and let it throw me into a tail spin. And I can't take many more tailspins. I've already had my anti-depressant increased once...any more and I'll likely become an oblivious, drooling nincompoop. (although that doesn't sound too shabby on some days lately). But I was so angry by the nerve she must have to have painted herself as an honest, giving, caring woman who was taken advantage of that it was either vomiting or responding. Those were my two choices.

So I responded. I told her that she is pathetic and beyond redemption. I told her that she gave me quite the laugh in portraying herself as, and I quote, "a woman who lives her life by honesty and the Golden Rule." [Note to self: Golden Rule has obviously changed to include having affairs with friends' husbands as a guiding principle for our lives. I'd better get on that one, no pun intended.]
I told her to stop wasting her oxygen and energy in portraying herself to anyone as a noble victim, although if she wanted to break her arm patting herself on the back, she could be my guest. I told her that this was my final communication to her and that she is not to contact any member of my family from now on. That I will take any and all precautions necessary to ensure that she will not be in contact with my family members or myself.

This is truly a twisted, confused, pathetic wretch. But I take satisfaction in knowing that if answers from my husband are what she seeks, she'll never get them. He'll not contact her. That is the premise on which our precarious marriage now wobbles. I hope that in time, our marriage will have a basis of true, honest, open love and faith, but that will take time. Right now, nothing is certain, and that is frightening.

I know he's trying. I know he's changing. I know he hates the man he was, as do I. I just don't know how you move beyond this pain to the newer relationship. I guess it takes time...everyone tells me that.

But of course, hearing from this psychopatic *itch doesn't help.

There is a friend's wedding coming up. All of us were invited. My husband and I will not be attending, as we did not wish to overshadow the bride and groom's wonderful day with the drama in which we are involved. But the dark, revenge-seeking part of me truly hopes that the *itch attends and is incredibly snubbed. I hope all the other wives refuse to talk to her and keep her from their husbands. I hope people whisper about her and point at her. I hope she has the most miserable time of her life, and I hope her life goes to the toilet.

I still cannot believe she had the nerve and twisted ability to portray herself as a woman who "lives by honesty and the Golden Rule."

Give me a break. Please.


*Feel free to substitute the appropriate term for "she."

That's gonna leave a mark...

Yep...I'm quoting Tommy Boy now...things are that bad. I was thinking about a conversation my husband and I had about the affair, and that phrase from Tommy Boy kept coming to mind. For those of you who haven't seen the movie, it stars David Spade and the now-deceased Chris Farley. Farley cashed in on his large size, his ability to play the clumsy but charming oaf. In Tommy Boy, he is a son who longs desperately to fill the large shoes left behind by his father. He takes over his father's business and, against all odds, succeeds despite his oafish qualities. Throughout the movie, he is banged by doors, hit by moving objects, and pummeled by various items. Each time, he responds with, "Son of a!!! That's gonna leave a mark!"

That's what I'm feeling about this affair. Hearing from my husband that he had the affair because he was miserable in our marriage. That he was insecure, and she made him "feel good" about himself. Ouch...that's gonna leave a mark.

An irony, if you can call it that, in this situation is that the other couple's marriage was on life support even before they moved across the state to our neighborhood. The husband had cheated on the wife, an emotional affair, some three years ago. At one point, he regaled her with a list of reasons why this mistress was so much better for him than his wife. He moved out, only to move back in 4 days later. Yep...that had to leave a mark. This wife, my "friend," would tell anyone who stood still that the day her husband told her that and moved out was the day "he killed [her]."

I have to questions why a woman who had been broken by infidelity by her husband would go on to inflict that same sort of pain on another woman, especially a friend. The background of this situation is this: This woman was my friend. We went out for coffee several times a week. We did our grocery shopping together. I listened to her complain about her apparently unbalanced husband who allegedly had her followed, checked her phone records, etc. When she first started talking about divorce, I had a four hour dinner with her to listen to her talk through things, to give her a neutral perspective. (Her affair with my husband had already begun at this point, and had existed for about 3 months.) So I have to question how she was capable of having an affair with my husband when she knew, first hand, the pain caused by a spouse's infidelity. It's too easy to say she just doesn't have a heart. She claims to have a soul, and she claims to be "on a journey led by God." (Don't get me started on that one...last I knew, God does NOT make us sin. So her claim that the past 10 months have been a God-led journey for her, through my husband nonetheless, really leave me absolutely enraged and gasping for air.)

So, yes...the past month and a half have really left a mark. And there are times that I just don't know that the marriage can or will survive this much pain. So he was miserable in our marriage? How about without it then? Because I guarantee you that whatever "misery" he experienced in our marriage is a petty scratch compared to the pain he has inflicted upon me. And I don't know that a mark that big is ever going to be erased.

A letter of advice

A friend of mine is celebrating her tenth anniversary with her husband today. I am going to their party with one of my dearest friends as my date. I really couldn't have a better date for this event.

I made a card for them this afternoon, but it just wasn't complete. So I sat down and wrote them a letter about marriage. It's probably strange coming from a woman whose marriage is on life support. Nonetheless, I thought I'd post it here. I've just eliminated their names, as well as my husband's name.

A Letter Regarding Marriage

I want to congratulate you on your celebration of ten years of marraige. Somehow, a card didn't seem enough, so I started to write this. It probably seems very strange for a woman going through what I am experiencing to write a letter with marital advice, but I think the problems (dH) and I are having have given me insight into what should have been different. Into what our marriage should have been.

I write this assuming that you two have not and will not experience the pain cause by infidelity. One of my greatest wishes for you both is that you never do. But I'm hoping maybe I can write something that will help you both keep your marriage as strong as it can possibly be.

[personal paragraph omitted]

I guess what I would tell you two from my experience is this. (None of this advice is new - these are things we've all heard before. But looking back now at what I thought I had, I can see the incredible importance of these facts.) Marriage is active. It is not something passive that exists simply becaause you two have entered into vows together. It is always growing, always changing, always adapting (for better or for worse.) Please put your marriage first. Above all else but your relationship with God. Your marriage cannot survive because you have children together. It can survive because every day you decide to put your best and your all into this relationship.

Be on the lookout for fading connections. I always thought I would recognize if we fell into that rut that everyone described. The condition of existing as parents, but not as partners. The existence in which we circled the children as orbiting planets that did not share a common denominator other than our incredible babies. But it sneaks up on you without you realizing it. Although it is incredibly hard work, I encourage you to examine your relationship daily in the light of a new day. Is there something you can say to encourage your partner, even though you may not have the energy? Even though you may have had a disagreement the night before? What can you say or do today to show each other that they are truly your other, possibly better, half?

Don't ever let a disagreement live. Don't agree to disagree. Compromise. Don't walk away angry. If you need a break before saying something you will regret, take five minutes. Ten minutes. But come back and talk through the disagreement. Anger and sorrow left unaddressed thrive and become something ugly. Negative emotions not aired become a cancer that will eat at the foundation of your marraige. Talk about eveything, no matter how silly, embarrassing, painful, or angering it my be. This is the person you want to grow old with. The person you want to retire with. The person you want to see with your grandchildren. The person whom you secretly hope you will die before, so you will never have to live without them. Don't let unspoken anger erode that, because it will.

That is the most important advice, I believe. Talk about everything. When it is still relevant (although later is better than never.) Don't wait until it all builds up and anger causes you to speak words that cannot be rescinded. Although you can apologize, words spoken can never be erased, and hurtful words can break a heart.

Loving someone means putting them before yourself. It sounds trite and/or impossible. Even if you rarely succeed at this, the few times you do will do incredible things for the strength of your marriage. Love means having faith that your spouse will do the same. It means trusting that your spouse will put their everything into your relationship, just as you do.

You two are each, in your own right, amazing people with incredible strength. Raising children who will be strong, intelligent, giving people is the best thing you can do for the world. Putting your marraige and each other first is the best thing you can do for yourselves. Your children will learn from you how love and marriage should be. From all I can see, they have an incredible model before them.

Congratulations and blessings to you both.

With love,
Sarah

Dear God...please bleach my mind or turn back time

I truly wish He would. I wish that He would selectively erase those parts of my mind that recognize that my husband had an affair with my friend. I wish He would erase that friend from my mind altogether. I wish He would turn back time so that my husband would have the option of making different choices. I wish He would eradicate that part of my brain in charge of emotions so I just wouldn't have to feel this much pain.

This is a day on which I just don't think I can take it anymore. I can't take the pain, rage, sorrow anymore. If I cry any more, I'll be dehydrated, I think. I just can't comprehend how the actions of two people could hurt so incredibly much. I'm at a point today where I was when this first came out...in so much pain and sorrow that I feel as though I'm trying to crawl out of my body. I just can't really stand to be in this body right now. If I could unzip my skin, crawl out, and leave my emotions behind, I would in a heartbeat.

If I hadn't opened the email from the truly evil woman who claims to have been my friend but was actually having an affair with my husband, I might be better. So yes...I should probably blame myself. But you know what? I won't. Had they not had an affair, I wouldn't have had the option to open this email and have all of this pain revisit me. So I'm just going to stick that blame where it belongs.

It makes me physically ill to read an email in which this woman claims that she's been on a journey led by God. (Last time I checked, God did not cause people to sin. And He took marriage very seriously...therefore, using my incredible skills of deduction, God did not lead her on a journey to adultery with my husband. I knew that law degree would come in handy.) It hollows out my stomach to see her write that she "was trying to do the right thing by everyone." (Interesting to know that having an affair with your close friend's husband is the right thing. Note to self: make no more friends.) Her claim to have done "all [she] could to help [me] in any way possible" makes my head spin.

I don't think I've ever before wanted to hurt someone physically. I certainly do today. I"m not sure I would hit the brakes if I saw her standing in the middle of the road. I guess I'd swerve, just because I do want to go to Heaven. But maybe my car would hip-check her a bit. I wouldn't lose sleep over that.

I'm just not sure the human body was made to hold this much pain. I want so, so badly just to crawl out of my body and leave this pain behind.

Today

Today I am "blah." No real reason...I just have a case of the 'blahs.' The girls and I went to the doctor's office today to find that the baby has a couple of ear infections. A bottle of goopy pink amoxicillin, two muffins, a verrrrrrrrrrrrrrry large coffee, and lots of attempts to climb into the water fountain later, we were on our way home.

I am tired. For the past three nights, at least one child has been waking up and requiring attention. Either the baby has woken in the early morning with what I assume is ear pain, or the three year old has woken sobbing that she doesn't like her room...the very same room that we just painted an electric shade of lilac in order to appease her. It was a game of Musical Beds two nights ago. 3 y.o. DD woke up sobbing, so I crammed myself into her tiny toddler bed to comfort her. When I woke up later, she was asleep, so I trudged back to my bed...only to find her climbing her way into our bed 10 minutes later. After an hour of (cute, but undeniably LOUD) high-pitched yawns, physical rearrangements, elbows, and hair twirling (her, not me), I trudged back down the hallway to my son's room in pursuit of sleep. (He is at his grandparents' house for two weeks, so his bed was conveniently vacated.) I had just settled into the twilight of sleep when the baby started shrieking. I rocked her for an hour and a half to no avail. My husband tried his luck at getting her back to sleep (he has no luck apparently). Finally, we declared it a very early free-for-all and let the girls go wherever they wanted. The baby took off down the hall to organize my husband's morning work preparations. 3 y.o. DD climbed into my son's bed with me and picked up where she'd left off...loud yawns, hair twirling, and sharp elbows. Life has a way of finding you, doesn't it?


There's really nothing significant to write...I'm just down in the blahs and thought blogging might jolt me out of it, but I guess not. On the bright side, I'm finally taking steps to sell some of my scrapbooking supplies and to put money towards our debt. And at least I'm not buying SB supplies to try to cheer myself up. That's a start.

These photos are just miscellaneous pictures from happier times.

Broken hearts

It has been a very long time since I've blogged. I'm no longer the same person, to be sure. I read a book earlier this week in which the main character found out that her husband was having an affair. The character wrote that "she had died at 10:10 the previous night" when she found out. I think that sums it up pretty well.

You do die when you find out about a betrayal like that. Your heart is shattered and there is no way to make it the way it once was. Think about a vase. When it breaks, if it isn't irretrievably shattered, you try to glue it back in a desperate attempt to make it look the way it did before. But even with the most professional of glue jobs, you will always see the fault lines. It will never hold water the way it once did. If you think about it, it will never be the same. Out of necessity, it may become a decorative piece...it certainly cannot be a functional piece, as it no longer can keep a seal.

So I think that's what a heart does. It shatters. You can try to glue it back together, but I think you have to accept that it will no longer be the same. Maybe it will just beat for a while and keep you upright, but it won't hold those same emotions. Trust, love, hope, happiness. Those will just leak out because the heart no longer keeps a seal.


There are so many levels to betrayal. There's the main betrayal, of course. Falling emotionally and physically for someone outside of your marriage. That certainly hurts. But there are so many levels. Betrayal is more like Phyllo dough than pizza dough. There isn't just one thick layer. You peel it down and there are numerous paper-thin betrayals that underlie the one betrayal anyone can see from the surface. There's the betrayal of talking about your spouse in negative terms to "the other woman." There's the betrayal of having convinced your spouse all along that the marriage was fine. There's the betrayal of refusing to work on your marraige, while reserving the right to blame it for your indiscretions. There's the betrayal of putting things before God, your marraige, and your family. There's the betrayal of tearing two families apart.

There are more, but you get the picture.

There are so many levels to faith, too. When this came out, I knew that God would get me through. That was my mantra: God will get me through; God will get me through. I just need to keep breathing, because God will keep me upright. But as I continued to meet with my discipling friend, I started to learn about all of the many levels of faith. Mine began as something almost superficial. Me taking, taking, taking. "God, I need this. God I need that. Please help me God."

But I'm learning that faith is much deeper than that. True faith is honestly believing with your whole being that God really will get you through anything. Even if things get horribly worse, believing that God will carry you. True faith is letting go of an obsessive fear of the future, agreeing to hand those horrible, fearful thoughts over to God. It hadn't dawned on me that my fear that I was being taken on another deceitful ride was a weakness of faith. That has been the hardest part for me: letting go of fear. Handing those thoughts over to God and not letting them run my life - - letting God run it instead.

It's interesting to me how little things can bring the pain and fear and hollowness and emptiness back. Not little things, because they aren't little. But I'd been going along okay for the past two weeks. I think my brain was trying to pull a fast one by hiding the emotions...it's been doing that for years - why stop now?! But I found out over the weekend that a friend is going through a very similar situation. Hearing that it got worse over the weekend, I found myself weeping for both of us on Monday. Every fiber of my body just aches so badly for her. I so violently want to head down south and run over her husband. I want him to suffer 1/1000 of the amount that he has caused her to suffer. I start to wonder why I didn't feel this violent towards my husband, and then I decide it must be the survival instinct...no point to going to jail.

So hearing of her pain reminds me of mine. It's brought the anger and sorrow and jitteriness all back. And receiving an email from the former friend with whom my husband's betrayal occured has brought it back as well. The nausea, the hollow feeling inside, the sense of unrest...not knowing what to do but needing to be in motion so I can't sit still and think about things.

I suppose it's good to blog about these things. Then there will be a record of this process...whether it is a process of healing, forgiveness, and a new beginning, or a totally different process altogether.

I'm hopeful. He is hopeful. It's a start.

I received a PM (private message) over at Willow Traders, the scrapbooking message board I frequent. The message arrived at 9:41 pm, and showed up just seconds before I was going to sign off for the night and go to bed. My heart was heavy, because a family near and dear to my heart is hurting so badly right now. It's one of those situations in which you just want to take their hurt away from them and carry it yourself, because you cannot bear to see such wonderful, loving, giving people suffer. You wish you could carry the burden for them.

But more on that later, because I'm still struggling with what to say, how to make them feel better, and how to take their sorrow away. I know I can't, but I want to so badly.

Anyway, this PM was from a woman I don't know. Though we are on the same message board, there are just under 3000 members there, so it is impossible to know everyone, or even most of them.

But she wrote that she has been thinking about me and praying for me. And the most wonderful sentence she wrote was "Just wanted you to know someone is praying for you and rooting for you."

Isn't that amazing? I wrote back and tried to convey just how much that meant to me, that someone I don't even know cares about me and is rooting for me to make it through! Of course, I didn't succeed in conveying that; I merely succeeded in repeating myself over and over again.

But to me, that means so much. You know, or at least hope, that those who know and love you recognize the hard times and pray for you, pull for you to get through it all unscathed. But for someone I don't know to take the time to write me privately, to let me know that she's rooting for me...It makes me feel like I can do anything. I have a cheering section that I didn't even know existed! And I admire her, for too often, I let my brain talk me out of things that my heart tells me I should do. Like sending money to someone that I know needs it. Or giving someone I don't know that well a hug. Or emailng someone to tell them I care.

So I resolve to do better about that. To go with my heart more often and to tune out the skeptic in my mind. I'm usually confused about whether it is God pushing me to do something, or just my mind conjuring up ideas. But if I feel something in my heart, I'll believe it is God telling me that the person I'm thinking of needs a little something. To me it may be little, but if the PM I received is any indication, it may very well be a huge deal to the recipient.

Thank you Kristen.

...and still more photos

These are really just a miniscule representation of the over 700 photos I've taken since the camera arrived last Friday afternoon. It's safe to say that I am in love with this camera. Granted, I have a lot to learn about using it, but I just absolutely LOVE it!! In fact, I've taken so many photos that the baby now hides from me when I pull out my camera. But I did manage to get a cute photo of her hiding behind her high-chair. There is no hiding from this camera!!


 

Photos taken with my new amazing camera!

 

Quiet desperation

I watch Desperate Housewives. More specifically, I Tivo Desperate Housewives. I used to watch it every single Sunday, but fatigue won out and I now record it every Sunday. I'm waiting for some magical day when I am no longer too tired to watch all of the episodes to catch up on what is happening on Wisteria Lane.

I ran across an interview with Felicity Huffman on the Internet. She plays Lynette on Desperate Housewives. In the interview, she seemed remarkably down-to-earth, and remarkably in tune to what motherhood is like. (I say "remarkably" because most Hollywood actresses seem to have nannies who do the dirty work, which somehow does not preclude those actresses from enthusing about the beauty and serenity of motherhood. That always serves to make me feel even worse as a mother.)

Anyway, Huffman had the following to say. '' I signed up for Lynette because I thought she was a voice of motherhood that was silent .... I don't know why women can't turn to each other and go, '[Geez], if I have to give my kid a bath one more night I'm just going to shoot myself in the head.' ''

So here I go, traipsing out on a limb to agree with Huffman. I've fought revealing what I think are my inherent weaknesses as a mother for so long, thinking that surely I must be the only mother who is so tired, so desperate always for more time to herself, that I cannot bring myself to do all of the creative, crafty "SuperMom" activities that I can't escape thinking must be the hallmark of a good mother.

Maybe my image of the "good mother" is warped or unrealistic. I guess it would help if it was an unrealistic view, because then I'm not such a failure. But in my mind, the "good mother" has these characteristics. She plays often with her children. She does crafts often with her children. She never grows weary of "battling" with light sabers. She is creative and fun, a lively, positive influence for her children. She never grows impatient when her child repeats the same thing over and over. She never grows impatient when her child always reacts with a fit to not getting exactly what he or she wants when he or she wants it. She never yells.

I started this article on a day when I was just musing over what Huffman had said. I'm finishing this article on a day when I'm trying not to cry because I feel like such a failure (mission not accomplished on the crying, by the way, so please forgive any typos). I'm sure I'll have a more profound article on the wisdom of Huffman's statement, but today...I just feel like a parenting failure.

Twice today, I've yelled. I've yelled to cut through the din created by two children screaming at me and at each other. But that isn't an excuse. I just feel terrible for yelling. I got an email from a friend today praising me on parenting our difficult son. I feel like replying that I don't deserve that praise. Because I yell.

To the outside eye, our son is funny, lively, athletic, and hardly short of brilliant. He started reading at 3 1/2. He is 5 1/2 now and is fluent in addition, subtraction, and reading chapter books. He has a firm grasp of multiplication, and is pretty good at division. My husband has been working with him on the mechanics of "carrying numbers" in multiplication. DS's preschool teacher told us that on a day when they were playing a game with guessing numbers, DS shouted, "Now let's do negative numbers!!"

Yep...he's smart. But somehow, I just don't see that as a reflection of my parenting. I don't know why. I guess it should be, as I am home with him all of the time. But DH spends a lot of time with DS at night working on things. I don't. All I want to do is to escape to the quiet of our bedroom, the peace of curling up in bed with a wonderful book. My escape.

And to me, that makes me a terrible mommy. Doesn't the good mother want to spend most of her time enriching her children? Why do I usually want to escape?

At the same time, I am panicking about kindergarten starting next year. I'm afraid that I haven't taught DS the important lessons he'll need to know. I'm afraid that kids will be mean, that he won't know how to react. I'm afraid that he'll hear things that I won't be able to filter for him right away. I'm just afraid that I haven't done the right job to prepare him. Sure, he's well-prepared academically. But I'm worried about social preparation.

I've been through this cycle of despair before. I've often worried that I'm just not a good mother. Suggestions have been made. But I just can't think that going back to work full-time would be the right answer. That, I think, is wrong for a myriad of reasons. Someone else would be raising my children (I know...if I'm a terrible mother, wouldn't that be better? But at least I've got undying love for my children, a crucial qualification in my mind). The only time I would have with the kids would be at night or on the weekends, if I was lucky. The career DH and I share is extremely time-consuming, so weekends and nights would not be a given. Things around the house that I do during the day right now (laundry, cleaning, having repairmen come) would be shifted to nighttime/weekends, and that would further diminish time with the kids. And maybe I just cannot bring myself to think that I am such a terrible mother that it would be better for them and/or me to make the conscious choice to leave them the majority of the time.

I know this is not the happiest of entries. I'm just really struggling right now. At some point, things became so different that I now feel virtuous for playing Candyland three times in a row followed immediately by two games of Chutes and Ladders. When DS was a baby, I read him three books before every nap and bedtime. That was a minimum of 9 books a day. I also spent a lot of time on my tummy interacting with him, introducing him to things.

Somehow, that all got washed away in the timeline of 3 children and 3 pregnancies back-to-back-to-back. And now virtuosity comes in the form of playing a game, or reading a book in the middle of the day. That is so far from my image of a good mother that it makes me cry (again). The obvious solution would be just to DO these things that I associate with good parenting. But I honestly don't know if I have it in me. Sometimes it is all I can do to put Disney or Noggin on and escape to the basement for a bit. Great parenting there.

Perhaps my doubts lie in a lack of knowledge. Maybe the majority of SAHMs feel the way I do, and I just don't know it because no one talks about it. Perhaps the majority are also applauding Huffman's honesty, but quietly so that no one will hear them admitting to being anything less than perfect.

Then again, maybe I just wasn't cut out for this.

I just don't know.

Blogging. A Class D felony???

I learned shortly before starting this blog that the term "blog" is an abbreviation for "weblog," which is, of course, an online journal of thoughts, observations, and/or experiences.

But I just can't get past the violent sound of the word "blog." Some words just seem to denote their very meaning. Somewhat similar, I suppose, to an onomatopoeia. But not quite the same. After all, we aren't talking about "buzz" or "hummmmmmmm."

It sounds like an act of violence to me. As in "Yes officer...that is correct. He was defenestrated and then blogged!!"

Surely that is a Class D felony??!!

Shock and Awe

Today, 18-month DD threw a fit that was obviously intended to shock and awe. It happened because I refused to give her a second granola bar. I really shouldn't have even given her the first, because it was already 4:45, dangerously close to dinner time. But...she was just too cute to resist. Little pink cheeks, tiny white teeth, bright blue eyes fixed upon mine as she pleaded, "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeese!!!" (please).

So I caved. I gave her a granola bar. And that was sticky fun for all involved.

Except...

she wanted a second one. And I didn't cave. I washed her off, extracted her from the highchair, although she clung by her toes for dear life, obviously realizing that once extraction was complete, her dreams of a second granola bar were destroyed.

When I tried to put her down, she refused to lower her landing gear. She just would not unfold her legs. So I sat her on her bottom.

That really offended her. I could see the warning signs developing. It's much like tornado season in Indiana. The sky turns an ominous deep green, and things actually seem still. Then...the tornado.

Similarly, things got very still in our kitchen. Her eyes became bright blue (amazing how tears turn eyes a different shade, isn't it? Anger too....), and her face a bright tomato red. Then...the siren. A loud, piercing wail that I swear sent our neighbor's dog into a frenzy and the local police scrambling.

Then she flopped back onto her back. Of course, we have a wood floor, so there was a resounding 'thunk!' I offered to hold her to make her feel better, but that was given the same reception Osama would face if offering to kiss George Bush's boo-boo. No go.

She flipped over to her tummy, allowing her greater clearance from the floor whilst angrily kicking her legs.

But then I noticed the blob of granola. It was stuck to the bottom of her foot, right in the middle. It's very hard to take someone seriously when they have a blob of granola stuck to their foot. Just like in a meeting, you simply cannot concentrate on what your boss is saying if he has ketchup on his chin.

But once I started laughing, she was so startled that she paused, and then she started laughing too. Don't know that I would be that lucky if my boss was over 33" tall.

I should mention...

that the pelican in my banner is a photo I took while on that wonderful vacation in Florida. I think it turned out incredibly well. And I should point out that the quality of that photo is a testament to the pelican, not to my photograpy. Because although I love takng photos, I'm a beginner.

GO, GO, GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, 18-month DD ("dear daughter") is saying her first real phrase. It's "Go, Go, GO!!!!!!" It makes sense. After all, the photo above is pretty much the state of our household at any given moment.

This one is the kids waiting for Daddy to come home. All three, lined up like dominoes.

This is a family photo taken after the kids' Christmas program. I like that we all pretty much look happy here (well, except for the youngest escape artist. But 4 out of 5 isn't bad!)

Friendships

I recently had a fantastic opportunity. I had the opportunity to go on vacation with my mom and my cousin. My cousin is closer in age to my mother than to me, and he and my mother spend a lot of time talking on the phone and texting each other. Each year, for several years running, they have traveled down to Florida, to a small island and a beautiful home there. They spend their vacation talking, reading, visiting book stores.

This year, they invited me. Had the invitation not been issued over the phone, I most likely would have leapt into their arms with delight. As it was, I (relatively calmly, I thought) said I would have to check with DH to square away child duties. And so I did. DH agreed to watch the kids for 5 days while I went to Florida.

Which brings me to the topic at hand. Friendships. I truly, truly believe that everyone should be so lucky as to have deep, lasting, true friendships within their own family. I think that every child should be so blessed as to develop a friendship with their parents when the child has become an adult. I've seen my mother thrive as a result of the friendships she's developed in our family, and I really got to see the beauty and value of those friendships first hand on our vacation.

I already knew that my cousin was a neat guy. Just looking at his life would tell you that. But getting the chance to know him showed me things that I value in a friendship with him: his horribly witty sense of humor ("Java the Hut" anyone???); his intelligence; his firm grasp of current events and ready willingness to debate them; his loyalty; his faith; and just his beauty as a human being.

I got a lot of things out of that incredibly wonderful vacation. I rediscovered myself (we'll save that for a later date). I drank lots of incredible coffee. I perused some wonderful used book stores. I got to walk on a beach and find shells. I met the most wonderful dog in the world (Hi Cooper!!!) But easily the most wonderful things about that vacation were the following: reaffirming and strengthening my friendship with my mother, and forming a strong and lasting friendship with my cousin.

I hope everyone can be as lucky as I am.

more photos

As I'm still technologically challenged, only one photo showed up in the last post. Let's try this again!

That seems to be a little bit better - now the kids can't grow up and accuse me of favoritism and demand that I pay their therapy bills.

Now if only I can figure out how to easily add an entry, I should be off and running in the wild world of blogging. :-)

My first post as a blogger.

So...this is my very first post as a blogger. The first time I typed that word, it came out as "blooger." Would that be someone who's just obnoxious as a blogger? According to my 5 year old's vocabulary, it would be.

About me. I am a stay-at-home mom ("SAHM"). A lot of my friends over at Willow Traders have blogs. It finally dawned on me that this might just be a good way to keep my family and my husband's family in the loop of what is going on in our lives. Plus, it's just a good way for me to journal about what the kids are doing from day-to-day. You know all of the cute things kids to that you mean to write down, but then forget before you can find that notebook, the expensive one you bought for the sole purpose of recording your kids' antics? Yeah...those. I'll just write about them here, then (hopefully) remember to scrapbook about them later.

Which brings me to scrapbooking. I call it a hobby. DH ("dear husband") considers it an obsession, very possibly an illness or a cry out for help. But I really love it. I'm trying to make the shift from acquiring scrapping supplies to using scrapping supplies. That, however, requires organization. Not my forte. Definitely my mother's forte. Have I yet mentioned how much I love it when she comes to visit and organizes my books for me? Seriously! She claims to enjoy it, and I hope that's true, because I just loooooooooove having my books alphabetized within genre. I think that is the only way to go! But....I just don't ever get around to it.

Have I mentioned that I ramble? You've probably figured that out by now.

We have three children: 5, 3, 18 months. Becuase the main purpose of this blog is to record stories about them, I should probably get around to discussing them. Our son is 5. He's a veritable firestorm of energy. I recently sat next to a British man on a flight. We talked about children, and he described his 5 year old son's presence as "an atomic bomb that's just gone off." I thought that was a pretty good analogy. Every night our family room looks like weapons of mass destruction have been tested there. Five light sabers strewn across the carpet in a seemingly-innocent rainbow of weaponry. The football wobbles on a bit of sticky granola bar (despite my rule of no eating in the family room). The basketball is under the rug, creating a safe haven for any other toys that are hiding under the rug. The cable picture is fuzzy because the TV has taken too many hits from the basketball being thrown at the hoop established up above the TV and VCR. Couch cusions are lumpy and flattened from being used as battle platforms for the staged light saber duels. Really, I think if governments are concerned about cleaning up weapons testing sites, they should offer to pay SAHMs. We're used to it.

One daughter is 3. She is her daddy's princess. Or her daddy's little gingersnap. Or her mommy's snickerdoodle. Or her mommy's little cuddle-monkey. Depends on what given moment she chooses to inform you of her identity. She's recently decided that the world can just operate at her whim. I tell her it is naptime. She very seriously informs me of the following: "Mommy. I will eat my Fruit Lops(sic), then I will watch Rolie Polie Olie. Then we will have naptime." "But honey, that is an hour away. We need to have naptime now." "No, mommy. We will have naptime when I am finished."

All right then.

The other daughter is 18 months. She has inherited/adopted the most dramatic and stubborn characteristics of her siblings. You don't tell her no. Telling her no is buying a ticket to the most dramatic show you've ever seen. It involves wailing, collapsing to the floor, fat tears rolling down cheeks, actual kicking of the floor and gnashing of the teeth and rending of the garments. (Okay...maybe not the last two, but you get the picture.) Her hobby? Eating toothpaste. Yep...eating toothpaste. More flouride the better. Every morning I have to fight her to extract the toothpaste tube from her fierce grip. Then, when she reaches her peak volume of screaming, I try to sneak the toothbrush in and give most of the teeth a quick swipe. That fit can be expected to last a full 10 mintues. And she won't stay put. She'll follow me around the top floor, screeching, wailing, kicking...generally letting me know that by refusing to allow her to swallow vast quantities of bright pink princess toothpaste, I have broken her wee heart.

I should probably close this up with some pictures. I'm afraid I'm going to get an error message telling me I've just written too darn much to include. More later!