So Sure

It's a Monday morning. I was on call last night and was so sure I'd be called in, and yet wasn't. So. This means I didn't fall asleep until 3am, and still had to wake up at 5:40 to cook breakfast for Aiden and drive him to Seminary. I'm now waiting the hour until Conor's alarm goes off, and enjoying the thoughtful quiet of the sleeping house.

Adam is here.

For a few weeks now. I was so sure I was done, and yet I could not go through with the divorce with my whole heart. Which left me thinking, and I'll admit, having a private foot stomping, clenched-fist, teeth-gritted emotional temper tantrum. Maybe I'll write more about this. Maybe. I feel a bit like the Girl Who Cried Divorce (not that I ever wanted to be that girl!), so since this is a delicate, vulnerable, tippy-toeing time, maybe I'll just wait.

This is the last week of January. I have my New Year's Resolutions all categorized and typed up, accessible from my home screen, and yet. I was so sure I was ready for some of them, and they haven't happened. Yet. I have not given up! Why is it so hard to do simple things that I know will bring me peace of mind and a measure of happiness? Must. Ponder.

I'm still thinking about our Testimony meeting yesterday. Sometimes our ward can be more circus than celestial, but yesterday---boy, yesterday was incredible. We have a new bishopric, and maybe the fresh leadership has ignited the positive energy, but I looked around the chapel during our meeting yesterday and have never felt so connected and so belonging with a group of people I often feel so different from. Wait, did that make sense? Our ward is somewhat of a melting pot in the Stake, a gathering of misfits from all walks of life, and yet, as I looked around the chapel I felt like I was home, that these people are my family, and that this, this is what the gospel is all about. Tattoos, cigarettes, poverty, imperfect families, and strained marriages, all coming before the altar of God, surrendered. I attended church fasting for my son. Thinking of him, praying for him, pleading for the Lord to keep His eye on my boy and somehow make Himself known. As if in answer, it seemed that every testimony was a powerful witness to the Lord's private workings, personal miracles, individual redemption in the lives of the ward members, and I felt peace.

I'm not sure it does me any good to be sure of anything except that. So, I'm going to move in the direction of peace.

Breaking Point

Are there little signs in life?

A few weeks ago, I was down in the kitchen when I heard a tremendous crash. Conor was upstairs, and I thought maybe he'd fallen off of something, but I held my breath for a moment and never heard crying. Then he appeared in the kitchen and said, "What was that noise?" Oh. So, it wasn't Conor. He went in search of the probable calamity, and found it in my closet. He came down animated, arms and hands flying dramatically, his eyes wide and his voice streaming words a mile a minute, emphasizing the horribleness of the situation. "Okay," I said. I had piano lessons to teach. I couldn't even muster the desire to go see one more "situation".

Eventually, I went upstairs to face reality. When he said the shelf had fallen, I thought it was the other one, the small one that holds wrapping supplies, sewing supplies, and extra purses. That one has fallen before.  I did not expect it to be the one that held my entire rack of clothing and boxes of memorabilia. I was strangely unmoved. It felt so typical of my life right at that moment.

Everything had looked so tidy and organized. Slacks, blouses, cardigans, long-sleeved shirts, short-sleeved shirts, skirts, dresses hung in order. Jeans and pants folded on top next to sweaters and nursing scrubs. Then boxes of keepsakes, the kids' favorite childhood toys, memories of people and places of my past. All carefully placed and easily accessible, before the weight of it all bent the supports that held it up and sent it crashing to the floor in a heap. But it had looked fine and had been seemingly sturdy for over nine years. No sign of impending surrender.

I often look put together and organized too. Strong, even.

I had no energy to deal with this disaster. I didn't even know where to begin, truthfully. It seemed so daunting and I knew it would involve power tools at some point. Instead, I closed the door and chose to not freak out or panic. I didn't cry. I might have even laughed a bit at the irony. Fortunately, I had just done a load of laundry and hadn't put it away yet, so I just lived out of that hamper. It was fine.

Then, late one night, about a week later, when I was up anyway (thanks to my night shift sleep schedule), I thought maybe it was time for a purge. At the time, I didn't know how I would build a new closet, but I knew I could at least clean out and sort.

One by one, I took each item out. Amazing how much clothing I was holding on to for when I lose weight. Depressing! Skinny clothes that haven't fit in years! All they do is taunt me and make me feel horrible about myself. It was time for them to go. After all, when I lose weight, I should buy something new!

This is only the beginning of that purged pile. I ended up donating three trash bags full of perfectly good-for-someone-else clothing.

I folded the shirts and pants and sweaters and placed them in the closet unit that Adam hasn't taken yet. All of the dresses and skirts and shirts on hangers got draped over Lyndsay's bed for the time being.

This has kind of been a sign to me of the breaking point I'm at in my life. I've held on to things that just don't fit for way too long. I've carried the weight of the past unnecessarily. It's time to sort through mindfully and decide what should stay, and what is no longer beneficial to my mental, emotional, and spiritual health. Hoping and longing for what used to be, what I wish still was, is not propelling me forward; it's holding me back. And I don't have all the answers as to how to fix what is broken inside of me, but I can begin by taking inventory and making some hard decisions.

I don't have a functional closet yet. I've been taking from Lyndsay's bed, a laundry hamper, and the portable closet unit. It's fine for now. A friend came over and took measurements and is going to put up new rods and shelves.

The things that will hang there fit me now. And only the most important keepsakes get to stay.

The Deep End

Here I go, jumping in.

I've decided to end my marriage.

That decision is in the very same instance both heavy and light.

Heavy, because who wants a divorce? Heck, who wants two of them under her belt? Heavy because of the failure, the broken hearts, the casualties that always befall the smallest, most innocent ones. Heavy because I've already been down this road and I'm familiar with the ruts. Heavy because I hate those ruts. Frankly, they suck.

Light, because the ruts in that road are more appealing than the ones in the road that continues on in the same direction. Light because I want to be out from under the dark secrets of this marriage. Light because there is peace at home again. Light because without all of the surviving, maybe I can work more on thriving. I know how deeply I believe in marriage, even though it's with kind of a shocking sadness that I realize I have no personal experience to justify that belief. I know how hard I will fight for a marriage and for a family. I know that I can forgive the unforgivable. I know that I will put my needs and feelings very, very last.

And I know I have.

When we separated almost two years ago, I didn't rush to the courthouse. I knew we needed a break and I really believed that break would be permanent, but I was open to every last chance. I was shocked when I felt we might explore our relationship again eight months later and even more shocked that it led to him moving back in this past May. But very soon it was apparent that as much as I love him (and I do!) and as much as I care for him, our marriage is destructive to not only the two of us, but to our children, and there just doesn't seem to be a point in putting off what has been the inevitable for any longer. After a very brief "honeymoon" period, all of the old patterns were firmly back in place. There's so much negative history that just keeps repeating itself, and it feels impossible that trust can ever be restored. The children are begging for relief and I was startled and ashamed at how my attempts to keep things together were breaking them.

Marriages are deeply personal. I don't want to betray the sacredness of our experience, even if it's ending. He is hurting and so am I. I don't need to reveal details of our downward spiral. It is enough to say that I feel like I tried my best. He probably did too.

I am choosing to not hate. I am angry sometimes, but I'm actively working on forgiveness and compassion. For him, for me. I am sick of ugly. I just don't want it in my life. I am craving peace, and am hopeful that this terrible, sad process will bring that to both of us.

Back to School Again

Another school year is upon us. The summer went by so quickly, I almost feel like it was a trick. A summer slight-of-hand. It was here, and now it's gone! 

I'm not a huge fan of the kids going back to school. It's so lonely and I love having them around and not being a slave to a school district. I am, however, a fan of education, so that's the angle I take with the boys. Learning! Growth! Progress! Let's do this! 

Since Aiden is attending a charter school this year, the schedules for the boys are not the same, even for the first day. So we had an extended back-to-school moment, sort of easing into things. 

Conor started 3rd grade this year. I'm not sure how that is even possible. He started kindergarten the same time I started nursing school and now this has happened? 

On the bright side, we're getting a 4th year out of that backpack!

When I asked him what he wanted for his first day of school breakfast, he said strawberry-orange smoothies. I've never made those, so I'm not sure where that came from, and later he said he just made it up. Well, it worked out fine (except that Trop 50 stuff is weird. Not even 100% juice. Lesson learned there.) I used a ton of frozen strawberries, some Greek yogurt, a banana, and some orange juice.

Aiden was sweet enough to want to walk with us to school, the school he also attended beginning in 3rd grade. In fact, Conor has the same teacher that Aiden had in 3rd grade.

I got him to the right place on the playground, where he was first in line for his class. We waited for a few friends, and then I had to leave to take Aiden to work. Conor was fine though, so brave. What a difference from all those tearful partings in kindergarten!

Aiden said he felt like everything was miniature at this school. Strange how perspective changes as we grow up! He was once a little guy standing in this same line!

Aiden started early morning Seminary (a scripture study class held at 6am for high school students in our church) last week because most of the kids started school last week. Since he didn't, our routine was Seminary (which he gets himself up for and rides his bike to and from), Conor to school, and then Aiden out to the ranch where he's been working all summer. Then I would pick him back up around lunch time, he'd come home and rest for a bit, and then it was off to football until late in the evening.

Today, however, he started school. 9th grade. High school. I can't even believe it, except that I've been driving out there every day the whole summer.

He's going to a really great school, the largest charter school in the nation, actually. It's a bit of a drive, which has been hard, but most of his friends are going there since his middle school was out in that area too.

His back to school breakfast was a bit heartier: Whole Wheat Blueberry Pancakes. And a tall glass of milk and a banana. The boy can eat.

All morning I've been thinking about how strange the passing of time is. I'm sitting in the same house, with the same furniture, arranged in exactly the same way as when we moved in back in 2005. That was just a few weeks before school started that year, and Aiden started kindergarten.

We had five kids going back to school! Same house (with painted walls now), but so much has happened and changed.

Here was my little guy on his first day of kindergarten. And today he started high school!

Here is a picture of the end of that school year. Lyndsay was being homeschooled, but the other four all attended the same school. It's so strange to look at that picture, which I remember taking, and realize that three of those kids are in college now and the other two in high school!

And here I am with my little Aiden, and Conor growing in my tummy. These are the only two I have left in my nest. Life is a trip, man.

So much has changed. We've been through so much. Each of these kids has experienced so many things since these older pictures were taken. I miss those days of innocence and relative ease. Life, ironically, seemed simpler then. We keep plodding along, doing the best that we can. Now I'm a working mother, which adds its own degree of complication to life. The race I run at this stage feels more strenuous then it did back then, but I'm grateful for the learning, the growth, and the progress.

Here's to an excellent school year!

The Other Parts of our Trip

Adam and I are officially "back together." I need to write a post about that. It happened unexpectedly and only very recently, though even before that time I had invited him to come with us up to Arizona for Dylan's graduation. Aiden was not able to come because just days before we were leaving, our beloved kitty, Maestro got very, very sick. We took him to the doctor, but he needed care at home, so Aiden volunteered to stay and tend to him. We were sad Aiden couldn't be with us, but so relieved that the kitty was in good hands.

I really wanted this to be a good experience for Adam and me. It's hard for him, and vulnerable for me, because Arizona was a part of my life that happened before he did. I was married to another man, I was building a first family, I was mourning the loss of a different marriage. These are sensitive subjects for him, so I felt cautious in what I reminisced about aloud, but I also really wanted him to open up to all of the parts of my life, as my past brought me to him. It was a bit of a dance, but I was grateful that he came along.

The long stretch of highway between California and Arizona is well known to me. For many years, I drove five hours to the halfway point, at this Exit 69 on I-10 where I would meet my ex-husband and "make the exchange," either dropping off or picking up our three big kids, and then turn around and drive the five hours back home. I did it alone, I did it pregnant, I did it with an infant, then a baby, then a toddler, then a little kid Conor. Many, many times. And then we started to put them on airplanes and have them fly. (That's been so much easier!)

Seeing the exit brought back so many memories. I used to get this huge knot in my stomach and then fight to hold back tears as we approached, only to let them free once I was driving in the opposite direction. Those were hard times.

On our way through the Phoenix valley, we had an impromptu visit with my sister Amanda and her family, to say goodbye before they move back to New Jersey. It was so good to see her and get to hug her.

Then we headed over to the Gilbert Temple. Adam has the picture, but when we were walking around, we ran into an old friend of mine from years and years ago when I lived in Show Low. It was so random that her family was the only other family there, and they had just come out of the temple with her son who had received his endowments preparatory to leaving on his mission. It must have been twelve years since I'd last seen her. What a cool reunion!

Then we made a quick dash over to my brother Josiah's house so I could squish my newest niece, Everleigh. She is just the cutest thing! Oh, my goodness, it made me want a baby so badly!

(Conor would love that. He wants a baby too, but I'm afraid that's not to be.)

My handsome brother.

And his darling wife. I love her and wish we lived closer.

Finally, late that night we ended up in Show Low, driving through the canyon and the forests in the dark. Oh, the memories! I have driven those roads countless times, and there was such an interesting feeling as we approached town. Those mountains hold so much for me. My life unraveled there, and I came to know the Savior in the most personal way there as a result.

We stayed with my dad and Raelene, and they treated us to a huge breakfast our first morning.

Conor was thrilled for some chicken action. Grandpa and Grandma have lots of chickens! Conor learned to feed worms to the chickens and we checked on the eggs that their hen, Chik Patty was setting on.

He played some chess with Grandpa.

And some Pick-Up-Sticks.

Then we headed over to the Staley house for a pre-graduation party. I was so happy to see my boy! I hadn't seen him since his visit at Christmas.

The next morning we headed to the Snowflake Temple, another hallowed spot for me.

And then we went back up to Pinetop to the Ace Hardware where Dylan has worked for the last eighteen months. It was fun to see him in action. Here he is cutting rebar.

He was so great as he helped customers, and he showed us the aisles of the store that are his sole responsibility. He's doing a great job there!

I also loved that he took me around and introduced me to his friends and co-workers. I love hearing my kids say, "This is my mom." It's my favorite title in the world.

Conor played at the Staley house for a while for their youngest boy's birthday, and then we made a quick trip over to the Family Fun Park while we waited for Dylan to get off work.

Dylan got to choose wherever he wanted to go for dinner and he chose Aliberto's, a kind of fresh fast-food Mexican joint, that I have to say was pretty delicious.

Then we enjoyed our last night with Grandpa, who showed Conor his cool fossil collection, as he has all the other grandchildren before him. My children love their Grandpa. He is so gentle and kind to them and shows such a loving, personal interest in them.

And then, early Sunday morning, Grandma took Conor out to the Chicken Cacciatorium, and lo, and behold. . .

There was a fresh hatchling! What a sweet privilege for little Conor!

Then it was back on the road. We stopped at the bottom of the Salt River Canyon, but the sun was pretty bright!

And it was hot!

And after our stop at the Mesa Temple, we settled in for the long stretch home.

It was a good trip in some very important ways.