Morning Person in a House of Night Owls

Mal has been sleeping a little later than usual, which is great because we're about to head out of Daylight Saving Time.

Since his school starts at 10 AM, I actually had to wake him up at 9:00. He goes to be at 11 PM so probably got at least 9.5 hours of sleep. I think he's about to have a growth spurt because he's been sleeping more than usual, and has been very hungry.

By the time I woke Mal up, I'd walked 2.5 miles, cleaned up and gotten dressed, made myself breakfast, and even went to pick up a grocery order.

I am a morning person.

No one else in my family is (as you can tell, with Mal consistently going to sleep around 11). 

D used to be. Until we moved into the RV, D's bedtime was 7 PM, with a lights-out time of 8 PM. Was this a challenge during the summer? You bet. But D was mostly fine with it, and would wake up bright and early. D never got out of bed before 7 AM, but just like at night, could read or entertain themself until they could wake me up at 7.

Once D went through adolescence, though, they became nocturnal. Some of that was just a shift based on puberty. But also, that's about the time Mal was born, and some of it was wanting to be awake and doing things when it was peaceful.

James would totally live the 3 AM bedtime/noonish wake-up/afternoon nap life if it were possible while still taking care of a family. He sometimes forces himself to go to bed when I do, but it feels very weird to come home from my walk and have him awake and being productive. That's just not usually his scene.

One of the joys of early walks is various iterations of the sunrise.

Update: Daylight Saving just ended this morning, and I'm already in bed trying my best to stay awake until 9 PM so I don't wake up at 3:30 AM tomorrow!

A Bump in the Road

James and I have been "together" for more than ten years now.

Waiting for the bats to come out, September 2012

When we first started dating, and for a couple of years after we got married, we had a lot of differences and issues that we had to work through in order to have a functional relationship. We always liked each other, and we always loved each other, but that didn't mean it was easy. We just wanted it to work enough that we were willing to work.

After that, though, we just had a rhythm. Yes, we had minor disagreements and misunderstandings. But those were just blips in what was otherwise a pretty protracted honeymoon period.

This summer, everything changed. Like a complete shifting of the ground beneath our feet. We still love each other. We still like each other. We still want it to work, so we're putting in the work. But, dang, it is hard. It's been hard for months. It's going to continue to be hard for months.

I hurt James, and knowing that I've done anything other than bring him joy and happiness is absolutely gut-wrenching. His struggle to love me even while being extremely angry is both admirable and hard to watch. At the same time, I'm hurting and mad because I feel like what I did was the only thing I *could* do, and there doesn't seem to be any room for me to be cared for in my own hurt because I'm not grieving and James is. And I love him, and I know it's just a season so I'm not building up any resentments... but what I'm telling you is that it's rough, and sitting in discomfort isn't my strong suit.

Where this becomes different from any other major life shake-up I've had before is this: James and I have an otherwise healthy relationship. I've had huge overhauls in my reality before, but it was typically after months or years of toxicity and estrangement. When something devastating happened, it was easy enough to "paper over" is because there wasn't much to fix and I had turned off caring long before that as a means of protecting myself.

Fighting to love someone and stay present when they're also the source of your pain is a huge undertaking. We both know our family is worth it. It continues to be a daily battle.

Here's what I know, on my side: I love James with all of my heart. I want to see our kids up and out of the house together. I want to empty nest with him. I want to go on long, aimless road trips together and notice silly out-of-the-way things that make us smile. I want us to be able to go out to a restaurant in the middle of the day and not have to worry about getting back to work or finishing up because our kid is getting bored. I want a future where we look back on this time and can see that we're somehow better and stronger for it. This is what keeps me getting out of bed and trying again every morning.

At Mal's friend's birthday party, August 2022

The last year, and the new normal

I realized, looking through posts the other day, that I've basically been depressed for a long time. My posts about ennui and whether or not I should have had kids... all of it has been pretty maudlin and hopeless, because that's how I felt.

There is a long story here that I'm going to skip over, but after a year of having near-breakdowns every month from a very sweet puppy who just did not fit in with our household (cats, kids, sensory stuff, love of quiet and peace, etc.), having people I interact with in public remark, "That's too much dog for me!" and "The only people I know who are as dedicated to their dogs as you are don't have human children," etc. I snapped when the dog tried to catch one of our cats outside (inside they're different; outside is a wild card). After seeing how devastated James was, I agreed to keep trying... but then after D returned from a couple of weeks away, the dog decided he needed to be awake all night to keep D company, and I had a stressful night after a stressful day, and the only way I could keep from going crazy was the idea that the dog had an awesome household that wanted him.

The ferocity with which my husband and his family rallied... around the dog has stunned me. I feel like I'm living on a different planet. I feel like I've been talked about behind my back, and that they had this plan for when I failed, which they knew I would, but that no one ever talked seriously to ME about it, so I did what I needed to do to stay out of a mental hospital and continue to take care of all of the domestic duties around our home. 

James is driving to his brother's house with the dog, where the dog will stay indefinitely. James feels good enough about this. I am skeptical, but James was literally ready to file for divorce. We hurt a very kind, loving family, who got caught up in the blast zone and that's almost as hard for me to stomach as the idea that somehow, my husband values a pet more than he values me and the wholistic health of our family. Of course, this is my take on it and I know that he has a different one.

We are committed to staying married because we love each other and want to keep our family intact. But internally, I feel as rocked as I did when my ex-husband texted a lady he didn't know, who was dating a friend of mine, and told her (while she was on a cruise vacation with her family) that I was having an affair with her boyfriend (which I was not). The fallout on that was terrible, but I was already half way out the door because of other problems we had. James and I are starting out on much stronger footing. But I'm still just not sure what the heck is going on, and why it was taken for granted that I shoulder so much constant stress but when I moved to right it, suddenly it's like I'm mentally frail or evil and deceptive or something.

Sometimes I wonder how people maneuver in the world, knowing the wake of destruction they leave behind them. Maybe other people don't do that, but I know so many people who have and who do. I guess we can only move forward and try not to mess up and hurt people in the future.

This morning, I was wishing that James and I could have "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"ed Luke, so he'd be happy where he was, and we'd never be the wiser. But, no. We remember, and somehow we still have to try to live "normal" lives. It feels impossible.

Our 6th Anniversary

Our 6th anniversary is in about a week and a half, and I only thought of it (like since our last anniversary) last night. We don't have plans; I don't remember what we did last year. I'm afraid we might be the worst at creating big celebratory traditions that our son will remember forever.

It's interesting, because I see this happen in so many facets of our lives: The way we live, "big" things can be challenging. What do we get the kids for Christmas when we pretty much get them everything they need and most of the things they want when they ask? How do we differentiate this birthday cake from the cake I made two weeks ago? How do we mark a day to celebrate our marital union when we live every day with so much love and partnership and sometimes even cool meals out?

(On a personal level, the borderline obsession I used to have with menus and novelty food is much diminished now that I feel free to eat whatever I want whenever I feel like it.)

Six years. Sometimes it seems fast, and other times it feels like we've been together (and raising a second child) FOREVER.

It's longer than my first marriage... of which I remember very little. When you don't have someone with you to share your memories, they disappear. So much of my 20s is a blur. It's weird.

It's about half as long as my second marriage. We did hit 13 years, but it was already over by then.

Much like Ross Gellar, I never wanted to be "that person." You know, the one who was divorced twice. And every time I hear people (I admire very much, usually) bemoaning how some Christians can support Trump (I'm not a fan) when, among other things, he's "twice-divorced" or on his third spouse, I'm like... welp, that's me, too. Guess I'm just a big old slimy scumbag.

That was sarcasm, actually. I know my life; I know what I've done and why I did it. It wasn't always pure and blameless.

However, while there are individual things I would be tempted to tweak if given a do-over, where I've ended up is pretty spectacular. In a quiet, comfortable way.

I'm sitting at my dining room table while Mal watched a video and D sleeps. There are two pigeons out on the flight deck of the loft, and about 4 birds (a cardinal couple, a Carolina chickadee, and a house finch) at the bird feeder in the back yard. I can see it all from here (except D). Dinner is in the oven and there's a dog barking outside. I'm vacation planning as I blog, and I'm ready for James to come home.

It's pretty great.

Granted, marriage can be challenging at times. James and I feel like ships passing in the evening/morning in ways that never happened when D was little; Mal just requires more of everything, so it can be a trick even to have a conversation, much less alone time. But there is no drama. There is no waiting for the other shoe to drop. To put it in Harry Potter terms: My scar hasn't hurt in more than six years; all is well.

Happy anniversary, baby! Here's to another year or two, minimum.

Resolve isn't all it's cracked up to be

At about this time in 1992, I had resolved to drop some significant weight. I did this because, after a Christmas weekend with my maternal family, my husband at the time seemed to have an issue with how the women in my family aged, in terms of body size, and even though he swore he never would have said anything to me about it, he finally did after I pressed him and wouldn't let him keep shrugging off the disdain that he was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

Side note: When I asked him why he never mentioned his problem with my weight/shape earlier, he said, "Because I was afraid you wouldn't marry me." At some point during this whole discussion, he pulled the car over and, crying, begged me not to leave him. I told him I wouldn't. And I didn't. For more than 5 years. But, honestly, now I see that it's really difficult to come back from the knowledge that your partner has a fundamental problem with something about you that is ingrained in your DNA.

I specifically wanted to share an incident I've been remembering lately.

For Christmas, one of the things James got me was a one pound Reese's Peanut Butter Cup package. Each cup weighs 8 ounces and is multiple servings. It's lasted me a week and I just ate the final bite. I've had it for dessert for most meals since Christmas, and I'm not tired of it yet. Perfect gift.

26 years ago, I swore off of most of the food that I loved. I limited myself to 1500 calories and 7 grams of fat per day. I also committed to exercising every other day no matter what. If you think about it, this is how many people's New Year's Resolutions shape up. I wasn't doing it for the calendar; I was doing it to "save my marriage." Actually, I was doing it to keep my partner from being disgusted by me, which, again, in hindsight, was his shallow problem and not mine. He expressed displeasure, and I had to do all of the "work" to assuage it. How effed up is that? Plus the fact that it lead to years of my feeling like crap about myself. And it probably barely registered on his radar. In fact, he probably felt like he'd done something constructive.

We'd gone to visit my parents one weekend, and I remembered a really good chocolate shop near where I'd worked at a daycare when I lived in town. We all visited, and everyone got chocolates except me. It wasn't my "cheat day." I distinctly remember asking to see my then-husband's white bag, with three perfect candies nestled into paper cups at the bottom. I stuck my nose into the bag and inhaled. I can still smell the rich chocolate smell of those bonbons.

My mom asked me if I was going to eat one, and I said no, that smelling them like that was just as satisfying.

Which, of course, it wasn't. But that's where my brain was at the time.

Now, I did lose a bunch of weight. I got a lot of kudos for my efforts. I was praised for having discipline and self-control, for being "healthy" and for approaching the culture's version of attractiveness.

It was all bull, of course, because I was not healthy. I was obsessed with food, obsessed with maintaining a lifestyle within a hamster wheel, running to retain the supposed love I'd earned with my efforts.

Worst of all was this: Anyone who knows me knows I adore chocolate. It and pizza are the foods I could eat for the rest of my life and not get sick of them for at least a couple of years. You guys know that. James knows it. I'm certain my ex-husband knew it. But he was okay indulging in something I would have very much enjoyed while I abstained out of loyalty to his desire for how I should look.

Do you see how messed up that is?

Every time we went out to a restaurant when he got off of work and he ordered steak and potatoes while I ordered nothing because it was after 6 PM, and the waitress asked repeatedly if I was sure I didn't want anything at all... he never encouraged me to eat if I were hungry. He knew my rules and enforced them with his quiet approval.

He was allowed access to things that would have brought me joy because his body was naturally smaller than mine. And he never once advocated for my pleasure as a whole person. He was more invested in his own social currency, having a trim wife.

MESSED UP.

As we launch this new year, if you feel the motivation to make life changes based on the very arbitrary changing of the calendar, then I urge you to examine your motivation for doing so. Trying to become the best version of yourself possible is admirable, and it's hard work. I'll never believe that shrinking is tantamount to "better" nor will I ever again buy into the notion that making fundamental changes to oneself in order to obtain or hold on to the affections of another person is a productive goal.

In 2019, be kind to each other and be kind to yourself. And if you encounter someone who is not extending you the same respect, it might be a good exercise to look into that, to have difficult conversations, and to set boundaries. Best wishes to all.

Sometimes

Sometimes, you're just tired.

Not sleepy.

Exhausted.

Spent. 

Certain that if something doesn't give, you're going to crawl out of your skin.

And then something happens.

A memory.

A realization.

A quick "hello" in passing.

And the feeling of gratitude washes over you, soft and endless, and nothing else matters.

And you wouldn't trade that for a month of naps.

Because it's the important thing.

And you have it.

You have it all.

Five Years

These pictures were taken 5 years ago yesterday.

We had walked from the Nuthaus to Nau's Enfield Drug store for breakfast, but got there too late and had to have lunch. A few things about this day: 1) It was HOT, and we're all sweaty. 2) Mei Li's feet were bleeding because she hadn't realized we would be walking all over creation and had only brought flats (and we still had to walk home... uphill). 3) D was there but I didn't include that picture, since D doesn't like public photos at this stage. 4) My back was in constant searing agony. Bonus for 5) James and I look pretty young, and he looks well-rested (I wasn't sleeping more than a couple of hours at a time because of my back).

It's only in hindsight that I know what happened to my back, but here it is: The weekend I moved into the RV park in Austin, I slipped and fell in the laundry room because water had accumulated in a clogged grate in the middle of the floor. I went down in the splits and my left knee swelled to ridiculous proportions almost immediately, though I didn't remember hitting my knee. That was in mid-August 2012.

It wasn't until December 2012 that my back started hurting. Once again, Khrys and Mei Li were visiting, but this time with Patsy and Kitana. Every time we got into a car, I writhed in a shock of pain. It got worse and worse until I couldn't sleep more than 3 hours at a time because I had to get up and stand up. I couldn't sit normally, either. I stood and I found one of those 1980s ergonomic kneeling chairs. I had sciatica that was excruciating, and lower back pain.

The night these pictures were taken, March 30, 2013, I actually told James he didn't have to marry me if he didn't want to, because I was a different person than he had started dating. I was sleep-deprived. Everything else in my life suffered because of this. I was moody and exhausted and couldn't go on road trips. I felt like my whole life revolved around avoiding pain, which I couldn't, so I felt like a failure. My sweet kid would often ask, when I cried out, if I was okay. At some point, I said, "I'm not. Please don't ask me anymore. Neither of us can do anything about it."

Several months later, I would find that I had a ruptured disc, and after pursuing many treatments (chiropractic, acupuncture, massage), time, gabapentin, and a failed pregnancy healed me completely. I only took gabapentin at night for about 3 weeks, but that allowed me to sleep through most of the night for the first time in months. That, I believe, gave my body the energy to start healing. Then the spike of pregnancy hormones, I fully believe, finished the job. Also, I'm well aware that the gabapentin might have contributed to that pregnancy loss, but we were not expecting to get pregnant so early, not even sure that was a possibility.

By the time we went to Haiti in June 2013, I wasn't too uncomfortable on the plane or in the shuttle van. By the end of summer, I was pain-free. The whole cycle took a year.

I mention all of this in conjunction with our anniversary, because I had an epiphany this week...

The RV park where I lived ended up reimbursing me for my medical costs due to the injury. That was the only concussive thing that had happened to me. It was the cause. But I exacerbated the situation by not listening to my pain, and by "pushing through" to work out.

I remember vividly lying in the floor of the trailer, trying not to half-ass workout components I had done easily for years. Tears would stream from my face as I pulled and stretched, fighting against my body, which was telling me, "STOP IT! This isn't the 'good' kind of pain! You're hurting yourself!"

But I couldn't stop.

Why?

Because I was afraid of what would happen if I stopped.

I was afraid that if I didn't work out, the nightmare would come true.

I would get fat.

And the lesson I'd learned all of my life was that gaining weight was the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to a person.

When I was in junior high, a friend's mom told her daughter and me that we needed to watch what we ate, because her husband once told her that "boys don't want to hold on to no chalk."

How I wish the 14-year-old me had had the confidence and swearing ability to tell her, "Then eff those guys."

Because, seriously, EFF THOSE GUYS.

(Side note: same message for the ladies who won't date someone shorter than they are. Idiots.)

I overheard a guy saying he couldn't date me because I was "too much woman" for him.

I felt like I was a pretty cool chick, but never had a boyfriend, while all of my friends around me did. I was desperate for someone to love me. I dated gay guys, not knowing even if I kind of "knew" because they were the only ones who didn't seem put off by my large physical presence... which, at the risk of being offensive, is really part and parcel to being a "beard."

Then I got married. Twice. When people enter into a marriage, they promise to love each other through all sorts of situations. However, it became clear to me that "fat" was not one of those circumstances.

Both of my husbands had issues with my weight. Neither of them said anything initially, but they both began to treat me with disdain. I could feel the resentment boiling beneath the surface, and confronted them about what was going on. Denial. Confrontation. Denial. Confrontation.

Finally, they both cracked and told me. I was overweight. It was difficult to be attracted to me. I looked pregnant. "Why didn't you say anything earlier? "I was afraid you wouldn't marry me."

I tell these stories together, because they were strikingly similar. They played out almost the exact same way.

In one situation, the guy had a breakdown later in the day of our conversation, confessing that he was afraid I would leave him. I wish I'd had enough gumption to tell him that was it. Or at least to inform him that he didn't have the right to have a crisis of confidence in which I had to reassure him. It was my turn to spiral out of control, and he needed to man up and take responsibility for the pain he'd caused. Instead, we stayed married more than 4 years after that. I developed an eating/exercise disorder, lost a ton of weight, and was pretty dang hot for a few years.

I garnered a lot of attention with my newly-slim body, and after a while, was over being ignored and left alone by the workaholic husband. We got divorced, and a couple of years later, I married my second husband.

After OUR conversation about my weight, he is the one who said he wanted a divorce. I fought against it, as we had a 1-year-old child. I lost weight in a more "healthy" way (meaning I ate more than jellybeans and candy corn and fat free bread with fat free butter substitute and jelly), and kept it off for a long time. We stayed married 9 years after the "you need to lose weight" conversation. Sometimes, he seemed pleased with me, but mostly he seemed to dislike me a great deal. And I always knew I was only a stone or two from losing his affection entirely.

Even my failed attempts at dating after my second divorce reinforced this idea that my natural body was not okay. One guy I tried to date referred to my "weight fluctuations" and how he weathered those, still finding me attractive... when I didn't realized my weight was fluctuating. I had long jettisoned a scale, knowing my relationship with it was not healthy. And I was post-divorce, trying to keep my head above water, so was focused on other things. Apparently he was not.

And a second person I met online told me after our first meeting that he couldn't date me because he wasn't physically attracted to me. I can only assume that this was because I am heavy, since I'm pretty symmetrical and have (or had, when I had the time to "do" it) great hair, and my eyes are amazing, and all of that.

Incidentally, this guy changed his tune after a while, when he got to know me better and realized that my high school self was on to something: I'm a pretty cool chick.

Why all of this, and what does it have to do with my anniversary?

I haven't wanted to have to worry about my weight. Ever. When I worked in an all-woman office in my mid- to late-20s, I saw ladies in their 50s and 60s obsessing over the latest diet, what they could and couldn't eat, how grossed out they were by their appearance. I'd seen the same thing in my first post-college job at a newspaper, but that was young women my age.. I was incredulous that women were wasting decades of their lives focusing on depriving themselves and being negative about themselves. I didn't want to be on that track.

It's taken a long time, but now, at 45, I'm finally 5 years into a life that is giving me the gift of loving myself because I'm married to a man who loves me unconditionally. He loved me when we first got together. He loved me when I was a mess because of chronic, unmitigated pain. he loved me when I had baby brain. He loves me when I'm over-tired and grumpy. He loves me when I'm dressed up or when I'm still in the pajamas I wore to bed two days ago. He just loves me. And knowing that I don't have to be anything I am not to retain his affection has made a revolutionary difference in how I live.

This is definitely a process. I'm only about 18 months out from the time I saw a picture James snapped of me on his cell phone and declared, "If that's how I really look, I should just kill myself now." I'll never forget the shock that flashed across his face. That was the last time I tried to drop weight, and I did so by eating only 1200 calories for two full months and seeing zero difference. I was hungry, obsessed with food thoughts, packing the early part of my day with food and then not being able to eat after about 3 PM, and constantly thinking about food. I knew it wasn't healthy, in addition to not working. I've probably messed up my metabolism horrifically by all of the times I've lost 25-50 pounds (which is probably 3.5 times, and I've kept weight off for five and then almost ten years, but it's always come back).

So I stopped. And I decided I was going to try to love myself and focus on other things. It's amazing how difficult it is to accept myself. I have a photographer friend who has captured a few candid moments between Mal and me over the past couple of years. One was of us giggling and having a good time at the apartment pool. My first reaction to seeing the picture was to pick apart "problem" areas on my body, but I forced myself to ignore that and focus on the joy. And I put the picture away to enjoy when Mal is 10 or 11 or 12, and I know it will just be more precious to me then. Same thing with a picture of my holding his hand, walking him down to the lake. I wanted to think, "That shirt is NOT flattering... I look so short and stocky!.. The rolls!" but again forced myself to see the relationship instead of being vain and making it about my physical appearance.

Because that's the crux of it. My weight loss has never been about health. Most people's isn't. It has been about vanity. About looking good. About earning the male eye of approval.

My husband's eye of admiration regardless of what is going on at the moment has been the catalyst to the greatest strides I've made on my journey to freedom in this area of my life. And I am grateful.

Half a Decade Down...

Five years ago, I had a secret. James and I were planning to get married, and we were doing it quietly for a few reasons. One of the biggest is that we're just nerdy enough to think announcing our nuptials on April 1 would be extremely humorous. Another is that we were not making an event out of it. I wasn't 100% confident that a specific individual from my past wouldn't try to show up and mess with things. There were several people in our lives who had definite opinions about our getting married (these were voiced out of love, I know, but were still negative). Plus, this is my third marriage. I figure most people are rightfully like, "Oh, again? Well, good for you, I guess."

Suffice it to say, I have made some pretty substantial mistakes in the past. But the idea I had as a 16-year-old, that James would probably dig me a lot if he just gave me the chance, and that we'd make a good pair, was not mistaken. It just took a while to pan out.

It's cliche to say "I love him more now than I did then," and I'm not sure that's an accurate statement. I was deep in the throes of limerence and quite smitten with James before we got married. But now, all of that is settled. I don't freak out any more. We were coming from such divergent places, there were times for each of us early on when we had our, "Ugh; this is hard. Is it worth it to go on?" moments. Before we got married, I mean. But even afterward, getting used to living with someone and building a family... you learn a lot, and not all of it is fun.

But we've worked and compromised and have been at a place of equilibrium for years now. I've never had that in any relationship before in my life. It's incredibly comforting, and secure, and very exciting.

Photo credit Alec Hilliard Photography

We laughed a lot that day. We've laughed a lot since. We've cried some, too. But mostly, it's been a great time. We've moved 4.5 times. We've blended a family. We've had a beautiful, eye-opening, life-affirming visit to a foreign country together in the midst of a miscarriage. We've had a child in our 40s. We've purchased a home together (his first!). We've gone through lay-offs and job searches and new opportunities. Sleepless nights, days of exhaustion, moments of joy so acute it's almost painful. Tedium. Health issues. Sharing ideas. Growing closer. Navigating speed bumps. Learning each other's strengths. Filling in where the other is weaker. Being comfortable. Being home.

And it's only been five years.

Here's hoping James takes better care of himself over the next 40 years than he did the first; I am looking forward to our 50th anniversary!

Well, That's Embarrassing

You're about to get a peek into how my brain works, so just allow me to apologize in advance for any permanent damage done to your own psyche. It's a stream-of-conscience thing, so if it doesn't connect thematically for you, don't worry about it.

1) The other day, I realized that I am the same age as a guy I dated when I was 25. Oh my gosh, I can't even. I have girlfriends in their 20s (some with kids the same age as my younger) and it strikes me as ridiculous every time I realize I'm literally old enough to be their mother. So *dating* someone two decades younger? "Be'er not."

2) One of the things this guy would say to me when he was frustrated was, "You're so immature!" To which I'd say, "I'm twenty years younger than you! What'd you expect?!"

3) In my early days working for Terra West Property Management, they rented out space at a restaurant/bar for us to have snacks and karaoke. For some reason, I thought it'd be really cool to sing "Hanky Panky" by Madonna. It'd be a very inappropriate song for all-ages karaoke, but it was just an adult thing, and this is one of the few female recordings with which I, an contralto, can actually sing. Anyway, I had sung it over and over during my commute (I guess I had the "I'm Breathless" CD? I don't remember that at all.) I was super excited, and on the drive over, this same guy was nervous about my enthusiasm. "Am I going to be embarrassed?"

4) He wasn't. I was awesome. And I should have broken up with him then and there because what a condescending killjoy. But I digress.

5) I've embarrassed pretty much everyone with whom I've been in a relationship. 

6) My ex-husband was constantly telling me I was talking too loud. My high energy about many things irritated him. And let's not get started on my 20th year high school reunion where I memorized a five-minute dance scene from Hairspray and recreated it while literally no one else danced. He wouldn't even look directly at me. Also, in this instance, my friend's husband said to my ex, "That's your wife up there. I'm glad it's not my wife." 

7) If I'd been married to James and he'd been there, he would have stood up on a table and hollered approvingly the whole time.

8) James has never been embarrassed by me.

9) That is incredibly freeing, and it's crazy how amazing it is to be able to be myself without worrying that someone is going to be ashamed to be affiliated with me.

This is where I should end this but, alas, something happened last night that changes things slightly.

We'd taken a late-night (not really, but it's getting dark so early now, it felt late) trip to HEB. I'd planned to go alone, but as I was walking out the door, Mal decided he needed to go, and so did his dad. After a crazy trip around the store gathering supplies for the week, we were finally done with check-out and Buddy Bucks and had made it back to the car. We were putting things in the trunk when James helpfully pulled my purse out of the cart. I yelled, "Stop! Thief!" and he glanced around to see if anyone were around to hear or take me seriously. I gasped, telling him that he'd ruined his perfect run.

But I still think it's pretty good.

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I watched this video about 500 times in the 4 weeks leading up to the reunion. It's really hard to view it and not just be incredibly happy and optimistic. 

"Marriage is Hard"

More than a decade ago, I read a story in a Christian book about marriage. This guy, Gary Thomas, was talking about how frustrated he got that his wife never refilled the ice trays. He said that every time he had to refill them because there wasn't enough ice available when he wanted it, he got more and more resentful. One day, as he was slamming stuff around and mumbling to himself about the whole thing, he thought, "Why can't she just do this thing? It only takes about seven seconds."

Then it hit him: It only takes seven seconds. Why was it such a big deal that he had to do it? Was he so selfish that he was willing to strain his marriage for something so small? He went on to talk about how being in such proximity to someone really shines a light on our "sin" and that maybe that's by design.

It's a convicting story.

It's also a tiny part of a bigger problem with the way the Christian church treats marriages. I've had many friends whose marriages were in crisis, including myself, be told, "Yeah, that's rough. But you know, marriage is hard. You just have to keep at it and trust God to work a miracle."

Which, I mean, is great advice if your marriage's problem is that your insensitive spouse doesn't refill the ice cube trays. Or forgets your birthday. Or if you're in a rut. Or if your kids are gone and you don't know each other and can't figure out what to do next. Or if you've allowed hurt feelings to fester and have covered them over with a veneer of carelessness.

But there is a difference between "He knows I wanted that cereal for breakfast, and he always eats the last serving," and "He took my phone when I got home because he said I didn't know how to use it properly as I texted him instead of calling, as he demanded." There is a difference between "She said she'd pick me up from work, then she forgot and went out with friends, and I can't get a hold of anyone," and in your wife talking on the phone to her paramour while she's taking a bath, and then gaslighting you when you explain that it's disconcerting.

There's a big difference between the myriad of "people brushing up against people in close proximity" problems that are common in the world and in consistent, repetitive, unaddressed habits that stem from chronic infidelity or undiagnosed mental illness or controlling and manipulative personalities. 

There are ways to abandon your spouse that don't include physical abandonment or sexual infidelity or violent abuse. There are ways to slowly destroy a person from within that might not be overtly visible.

And when the church tells these people, "God hates divorce" in an effort to strong-arm them into staying in an unhealthy situation, I believe they are incorrectly using the scriptures. When every single person and healthcare (physical and mental) provider says, "You need to get out" but the church says, "You need to stay and bring honor to God," it can't always be just that everyone else doesn't take marriage as seriously as they should.

There is a level of dysfunction that should never be summarily dismissed as "you're just selfish and you're not trying hard enough" by spiritual leaders. This, to me, is not only spiritual abuse, but it also does one of two things: Further batters the spirit of the person being advised, or pushes that person away... from that church, and maybe from all churches and even God. And maybe a combination of those two.

Here is something I've learned that I hope you can believe me when I tell you, because, really, I don't want anyone else to have to learn this through experience: Marriage isn't effortless. It takes attention and intention and sometimes just going through the motions because that's all you can do. But, you know what? There might be moments when it's hard... really hard... but it's not difficult. And it's not always easy, but sometimes... it is. If there's never a moment where you can rest in your marriage, then just know that's not how it should be. And if you're being told you're at fault for realizing there's something very wrong, then go somewhere else and get better counsel.   

A Word About My Husband (after a bunch more words)

It has been more than fifteen-and-a-half years since I published my first "blog" post, just a couple of years after the Diaryland site started, and just as the word "blog" (a shortened version of "weblog") was starting to be used. I called it an "online journal." If you're interested, here's the March 30, 2001 entry in all of its glory.

I started the blog because I wasn't ready to share the news of my first pregnancy with anyone else, but wanted a record. Then I knew that some people would want to stay updated (like my mom, and far-away friends), but I didn't want to be "that guy" sending out group emails every week. I figured an online journal was a good place to put info that people could check at their leisure, or ignore altogether.

I can't imagine how many words I've written since then. It's been a lot.

I've never had more than a core few dozen readers, and often many fewer than that. I think I took a two-year break when D was 7 or so because Facebook updates were faster and easier. Since then, obviously, I've started blogging more regularly... But the format is different now. I tend to write when I have what I think are bigger stories, or experiences or products to share.

Of all time, my most popular blog post has been the one several months ago where I made a bunch of weird food from a kid's video, and the company shared my link with their followers. The post that is visited as a result of the most searches is my review of the steak, egg, and cheese bagel from McDonald's. Yeah, that kind of insults the rest of my life. Whatever.

I've made it a point to write as honestly as I can, trying to be aware of the privacy of others. I've had to go back and remove some posts and edit some things after I've gotten feedback (times that also clued me in that maybe more people read my journal than I thought, back before they had counters standard on blog services).

I never want to make anyone look or feel bad. And I hope we can agree that, although I'm strongly opinionated and voice that often, I can also be brutal to myself.

Where am I going with this?

Oh, yeah...

Several years ago, I was divorced. When it came up, I tried to keep it classy. I actually ran into some trouble with the church I attended; it was communicated to me that my posts could be "divisive" to people reading but not getting all sides. I tried to rein all of that in; I really did. But I wanted people to know what I was going through, too.

Consequently, over the years, several women have messaged me privately to confide things like, "After XYZ years of emotional abuse, I have left my husband..." Now, I never think that the dissolution of a marriage is to be celebrated. And these women didn't want congratulations or praise or a party. They reached out because they learned, like I did, that when you elect to initiate divorce proceedings and your life gets really messy, you lose people. I think it's just a lot of drama, even if you try to keep it to a minimum, and it's hard. And some people don't have the emotional energy to deal with it.

So, in those cases, I'm so glad that I put my stuff "out there." I'm so glad that a few people knew they weren't the first, or the only. I'm glad I felt like a safe person.

Today, someone reached out to ask me a question that has had me ruminating over it for some time. It involved how you live functionally when the person who's supposed to love you the most actively and visibly resents and detests you.

Here's the truth, no finger-pointing, just reality: My older child's dad did not like many things about me, and he did not try to hide his disdain (or he wasn't good at it, if he did). I think that we got married so fast, he might have thought I had some quirks that weren't his favorite, but that the good stuff outweighed that. As the years passed, I think it just got to be too much for him. I felt "too much" a lot. Too big, too loud, too immature, too crazy, too excited. Embarrassing. On so many levels.

Now.

Here's what I want to tell you about my husband. If you're a guy, this is important. Actually, it's important no matter your gender. My husband is amazing at this. I still need to practice mindfulness about it.

Before we got married, James told me that he loved me, including the hard/bad stuff. Now, it's not because my annoying/wrong stuff is so adorable that he just can't help it. He was letting me know that he was making a choice to love ALL of me.

In fact, recently, we kind of butted heads and I said, "I'm a bitch sometimes, huh? Just a bossy little bitch." He didn't sugar-coat it and deny that. He nodded his head. And a bit later, he said, "I love that about you, too. Because it IS a part of who you are, and I love you."

Now, there's no way he's saying that when I have a bee in my bonnet that he's enjoying it big-time. What he's saying is not that we're lucky my "good stuff" outweighs my "bad stuff." He's saying it's all me, and he loves and accepts ME.

Maybe other people have this kind of thing and it's normal, but I feel like it's revolutionary. There is such a freedom to admit mistakes and talk about weaknesses and get things out in the open when you're not afraid you're going to disappoint someone out of loving you.

He's my role-model with this, because I want him to feel that same security and surety, and I want my kids to bask in it, as well.

Jackpot hit, friends.

A Thing I Thought

For my own mental health and yours, I've been trying to avoid all political stuff on social media. I have read so many articles that I've really loved, and haven't shared any of them, because I don't define my life by politics, and I don't want to cause stress between friends. So hopefully you'll see this more as I mean it, which is a couple of comments on the human condition.

I'm not endorsing a candidate. I think that the choice for whom to vote, or whether to vote at all, is deeply personal, and I respect it for every individual. I have friends who feel like voting supports tyranny (explained here). I have friends who will be voting for third party candidates for President in 2016. And I have friends who will be voting for either of the "major" party candidates. No one needs my opinion or instructions.

So please don't message me to try to pull me to a specific side, because I make my decisions with the same autonomy you do, and I hope we can all joyfully and lovingly respect that.

That said: There was only one point in the first Presidential Debate last night that felt "sacred" to me. I loved it. It was when Lester Holt asked Hillary Clinton, "Do you believe that police are implicitly biased against black people?" Her answer: "Lester, I think implicit bias is a problem for everyone, not just the police. I think, unfortunately, too many of us in our great country jump to conclusions about each other...."

My jaw literally dropped and I looked at my husband and said, "That was brilliant."

She then went on to explain that we need to slow down and ask why we're feeling certain ways, but that the repercussions of this in relationship to police force are huge and need to be addressed. She described "support" and "training" and "assistance" for police.

I felt the answer showed realism, empathy, and basically positivity in an otherwise loud, brash, difficult debate. I fully expected to wake up to lavish praise of Secretary Clinton for this eloquent response.

Instead, it was: "Hillary Clinton calls the whole US racist!"

What? She didn't say that at all. She said we all have implicit biases, and anyone who would say, "No I don't" is either in denial or is Jesus. Just today, I made a mental judgment about a person in a situation at a store that was based on nothing but what I guessed to be their socio-economic situation. It was a snap thought, and I'm embarrassed by it, AND I was wrong, but we do this.

She said nothing that was accusatory or mean-spirited, and I am just shocked that anyone could see her addressing of this extremely difficult, tragic situation as anything other than well-stated.

Okay, we're half way through.

The second thing is that apparently Donald Trump mentioned after the debate at some point that he hadn't brought up Monica Lewinsky because Chelsea Clinton, whom he admires, was in the room. Well, I guess it's good that she doesn't have the internet, because now she'll never know.

First of all, if you haven't watched Lewinsky's TED Talk, it's completely worth your time. I'll even embed it, so you don't have to click through.




We could go on for hours about how many stupid things I and my friends did in our 20s and we can all thank God none of these involved the President and therefore became public fodder. Holy cow.

But, anyway, she's not the point here.

The point here is that I guess he was going to bring Lewinsky up to talk about Hillary Clinton's feminist take on the world, and how did this situation fit into that, since the President took advantage of his power (and, if you listen to her, she doesn't seem to feel victimized by anything other than her own naivety). Regardless, Hillary Clinton didn't, you know, actually DO anything to Lewinsky, besides maybe calling her crazy, and I think she'd agree she was acting like someone in limerence, and that's basically crazy. If someone were trying to make time with my husband, I'd probably have even choicer words. Even if he were complicit. Your tendency is to be mad at the person you don't love and live with first.

And that's not the point, either.

My point is that I'm going to tell you what I'd like to see Hillary Clinton say if the former President's past "indiscretions" do come up in the future...

"Mr. Trump has repeatedly brought up my husband's activities as President, as though these define me and my future Presidency. I hope we all recognize that, as dear as the former President Clinton is to me, we are not the same person.

"It is an interesting choice to bring up a situation that is devastating to families who experience it in private, and much more so when it is played out in front of the entire world. It is interesting to me because it happened twenty years ago, and because I did not perpetrate anything on anyone in respect to it.

"My guess is that the only thought you've ever given to this situation is either, as many people did, as a joke worthy of every SNL skit it generated, or, in this immediate case, how to leverage it to your political advantage.

"In my opinion, leveraging a family's pain to your own advantage is deplorable, but since you insist, let me tell you what I hope everyone will take away from this about me.

"First: I keep my promises. When I say I'll do something, I will. Not just when it's easy or fun. I will do it. When trouble rears up, and when things look hopeless, I won't throw my hands up, call 'bankruptcy!' and run away to start over. I will do what I say I will do.

"Second: I am willing to make decisions that are for the good of the people I love, my family, and this country, and stay with it. I am not afraid to do the work. I do not shrink back from something that is hard, but will doggedly pursue an end once I have committed to it.

"As a wife, I had some heavy decisions to make twenty years ago. I knew the world was watching, and I knew I'd be vilified by one group or another regardless of what I chose. But I didn't need people praising me and telling me how amazing I was; I just needed to do what was best for our family. Now, I can tell you that we are a better, stronger family than we ever were before.

"I believe that these things can translate on a national and global stage. When faced with difficulties, I make decisions, I navigate, I work, and I want to see us better down the road that we nave ever been before. I have hope and faith in us and what we can become.

"So thank you, for whatever reason you brought this up, for reminding me and for reminding all of us."

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P.S. This isn't divorce-shaming Trump; I have been married and divorced exactly as many times as he has. And it's one reason I feel so much respect for what this "I'm not sitting here, some little woman just standing by her man" lady ended up doing.

P.P.S. Also, like Trump, I married a devastatingly sexy super-model-type this time around, and had a kid when I was just a little past my prime.

What I Did on My Winter Vacation

Mal and Daphne each opened their one (and only) Christmas gift on Christmas eve, because Christmas morning, we got up, went to breakfast at The Waffle House, and then headed to the airport for our winter holiday.

We'd thought about getting an Uber driver, but there weren't many on Christmas morning and we didn't want to risk being late. Driving ourselves meant we could stop at James' favorite breakfast spot, so that was good...

But when we got to the airport, the far-out parking lot was blocked off. So was the close-in parking. When we headed out the gate, the attendant told us that everything was full except for the $23 per day garage. Even remote parking? Yep. Wow.

v rvrbyffffffdsxz2

We circled the airport and came back in, but there were zero spots in the garage closest to the terminal. So I dropped James, Daphne, Mal, and all of our bags off at the front of that garage and made a beeline to the furthest end of the second garage, because I didn't feel like driving around for hours.

I parked, made a note of where I'd left the van, and headed to the front of the garage to help get the bags into the terminal. This I will call "POOR COMMUNICATIONS INCIDENT #1." I thought James and the kids would be where I left them. James thought the plan was to get the bags over and ready to check in (which seemed impossible to me, as we each had 2 checked items, as well as carry-ons, and Mal is sort of a jerk about helping with that sort of thing).

When I arrived at the elevator where I was certain I dropped them off, my family was not there. I went up the stairs, but it was open air and that wasn't right. I went downstairs, but I knew we hadn't been on the ground floor. I texted James, "Where are you?" Nothing. I texted Daphne. Nothing. I waited a minute, and then I called James. I thought I might even hear his phone ring, but I didn't hear anything. I walked up and down the stairs again. I actually thought about going across to the terminal, but didn't want to get too far away. I could imagine that Mal might be bothered by my having been gone so long. I called James again. Twice. I called Daphne. Neither answered.

At this point, I shouted to the otherwise deserted parking garage, "ANSWER YOUR PHONES!" Strangely, that had no effect. I'm not sure why I started to panic, but I did. The garage wasn't that big. I knew where I'd left them. What the heck?

I was heading downstairs when I saw that I had a voice mail. It was from Daphne. She said, "I can't tell what you're saying." I texted her to call me NOW. She did, and said that they were in the terminal on the first floor. By the time I got to them. I was a sobbing mess. James and I realized our miscommunication, I calmed down, and we headed to check our bags.

There was a line, so we got into it and James started making out tags for the luggage. As it turned out, the line was going amazingly fast, so we had to let people pass us. By the time we got to the front, James had only done a couple of bags, but we went ahead and started processing our stuff.

The counter attendant politely asked for a copy of Mal's birth certificate. "I don't have that." "We have to have it to verify his date of birth." "I don't have it. I didn't know I had to." Guess what? I might have started crying a second time in like eight minutes.

We flew Southwest with Daphne at least three times before she was two, and never had to have any proof of her age. Apparently it's a thing now, and it's on their website. But it would help if it popped up when you tell the site that you're going to have a lap child. I didn't read the whole site, because I've traveled with a baby before (in fact, I traveled with Mal a year ago, but it was on Virgin) and no one has said "boo" about verifying their birth date before.

Fortunately, the attendant talked to someone and said they were giving us a Christmas present by letting us get onto the plane, but that they were noting it in the file and we wouldn't be allowed to board without either his shot records or birth certificate next time. Also fortunately, my sister took her son to our house to feed the cats the other day, and she got a couple of pictures of the birth certificate, so we're set for the flight home. (Whew!)

That out of the way, going through security actually wasn't too bad. They told me I could leave Mal in the carrier and wear him, which never happens. We made it through quickly, though James got frisked. He always does. I guess he looks shady.

From December 2015

We were through the line about two hours before the plane was supposed to leave, but by the time we regrouped, put our shoes back on, got a snack, used the restroom, and looked around a bit, it was already time to board. The flight was 100% full ON CHRISTMAS DAY! We ended up sitting about 9/10 of the way back, but got a row together. There was a grandma sitting across the aisle from Mal and me, and she made friends with him. She gave us cheese and crackers for Mal and D to share, and she tried to amuse and distract Mal, which was nice.

He actually fell asleep pretty much as we were taxiing, and we took off twenty minutes early! Yay for no stragglers! The boy slept for much of the flight, waking for a little less than an hour. He did fine the whole way, but by the time we landed, he was ready to get up and walk. Since we were in the back, we still had a good ten to fifteen minutes to wait. Great trip, though. Love being early!

We took our time getting to baggage claim, and our stuff was already there. We had to take a bus to the rental center, and for our company, there was a long line. While I waited, James let Mal run off some steam. Twenty-five minutes later, we were on our way to the garage.

Something neat Dollar does here in Phoenix (and might everywhere; I rarely rent cars): The guy looked at our contract and said, "You have a mid-sized SUV... that's aisle E. Pick whichever one you like." So that was fun! We selected a Jeep Patriot 4x4, just in case we encountered winter driving conditions (we did not). THEN we had to wait in line about ten minutes to get out of that garage, since the attendant had to scan stuff and put which vehicle everyone chose. Blehh.

But THEN we were on our way to our Phoenix hotel for the night.

Hotwire picked a winner with the Radisson Phoenix North! Daphne was ready to be "home" for the evening, but James and I walked to a Japanese buffet and grill, and we had quite the Christmas feast.

The next morning, we got up and headed north to Flagstaff. There had been an automobile accident on I-17, so what should have been an hour and forty-five minute trip took us about two and a half hours. Mal slept a bit, but was pretty cranky about being in the car toward the end. It was fun to see the decorated Christmas tree around mile marker 255, and to drive from many saguaro cacti into an alpine forest, where snow had fallen and we could enjoy it on the sides of the road, but not have to deal with it falling or our driving in it!

We arrived in Flagstaff during one of their windiest days, and it was pretty chilly! But at long last, Mal and his cousin Emily got to meet and hang out, and we got to meet baby Konnor.

From December 2015

After a few hours, both kiddos were tired, so we went to our hotel to check in. Another winner! We had a suite less than 1/2 of a mile from James' brother's house. D had her own room, we had ours, and we had a nice common area.

James and I went to the grocery store after Mal's nap. We loaded up on snacks and freezer food, and it ended up being perfect because Daphne didn't feel like getting out for many of our meals (or she wasn't awake yet!), and she just finished everything up last night before we left. Mal lost his snow boot in the parking lot, but the next day when James went back, they had it in lost and found (despite not having it when I called the night before). Whew!

James' parents got into town that same afternoon, but by the time James' brother got off of work that evening, Mal was ready to go to bed. James went over and visited with his family for a few hours, and the rest of us had a quiet evening in.

Our awesome hotel had a complimentary full breakfast every morning, and not just continental... good stuff! Typically, Mal would wake up early and we'd head to the office so James could sleep a bit longer.

From December 2015

Saturday morning, after we'd all eaten breakfast, James' parents came over to visit for a while. Then Mal took a nap, after which we planned to go explore downtown.

This whole afternoon was what I will call POOR COMMUNICATIONS INCIDENT #2. We headed downtown because I wanted to eat at The Toasted Owl, and the rest of James' family met us there. His brother, Khrys, had several breweries he wanted to share with James. This was probably like the list we made before Mal was born... we'd picked places we wanted to take James' mom when she was in town. We came up with like 15 places without even thinking too hard. There was no way we'd have time to do them all... and then Mal ended up not being born until she was there, anyway, so we didn't visit more than a couple, anyway.

Our lunch was excellent, and The Toasted Owl was a really neat little place. Mal being the way he is, I had to walk around the restaurant with him before our food came. And after we'd eaten, he was ready to get up and going again, so I followed him around until everyone else was done. One of the breweries happened to be across the street, so we headed over there.

This place is a working brewery, with the "vats" (whatever they're called) out in the open. Mal was very interested, and wanted to touch nobs and pipes and all sorts of things. We went out into the courtyard to listen to music and play while we waited. After a bit, we headed back in to see if maybe Mal would hang out with his cousin and not run all over the place. He didn't. In fact, he almost ducked behind a bar where I couldn't have gotten to him. Back outside.

Mal really enjoyed kicking at the snow with his boots and stomping around in general. He was looking for puddles and found one off of the curb. James came outside and he thought I was leaving, which I wasn't. So he said, "Do you want me to text you when we're done?" I thought he was cutting me loose, which he wasn't. I asked (not too nicely), "How long will that be?" "Ten to fifteen minutes?" "Sure."

So Mal and I walked toward downtown. We went into the train station/visitors center and looked at some memorabilia.

From December 2015

We made our way to the Historic Route 66 and I pulled my phone out to see where Flagstaff Chocolates might be. We were only a few blocks away! As we walked that way, we passed a sweet shop that sold gelato. We got some awesome stuff with caramel and chocolate chunks, and then went up front to eat it. Although there were plenty of seats for us, people were sitting with a chair between them, with their shopping bags in the other chairs. Grr. We ended up sitting on the floor, but there was a vent that Mal enjoyed playing with while we ate, so it was all good.

We continued on to the chocolate shop, and James texted me that they were done. I asked him to drive over because I was tired from carrying Mal so far! He did walk some, but when we needed to make actual distance, I needed to help him out a bit.

The Old Town Building, where the chocolate shop is located, also has some other businesses, including a cute boutique that had a night shirt about how to sleep with a cat that I wanted to get Daphne until I saw that it was $30. Mal ran right in there, found a dressing room, and tried to pull the full-length mirror off of the wall. When we went to the chocolate shop, he kept picking things up and trying to stick them into his mouth. He succeeded with the Christmas popcorn, which I ended up having to buy. It's nearly impossible to shop solo with this guy; he requires eyes (and hands) at all times!

As we were leaving the building, James texted that they were close. I sat on the sidewalk to wait for him, and soon we saw Khrys and Emily. I'd forgotten that the rental place gave us one key ring for our keys, and we can't separate them without wire-cutters, and I had the only set in my purse. So James had ridden over with his parents, maybe. Anyway, the plan was to try to hit one of the other breweries, but I knew there was no way Mal was going to go for that, and I didn't feel like killing more time by myself with him. I told James I was going to go back to the hotel. Khrys offered to try to get me to the car, but I decided just to walk so everyone could stay where they were and go about their business.

And this is where things started going downhill for me, emotionally. Mal and I got back to the car (on the way, I realized that Flagstaff must be one of those places where you have to wait for people to get allll the way out of the crosswalk before you can drive through it; bummer. I was going as fast as I could!), I strapped him in, and as I drove away, I started thinking, "Why did I even come? I can watch Mal by myself at home. In fact, I do. And a lot less stressfully. This is stupid. I'm basically here in a caretaker capacity. Trot Mal out when he can, then when he is done, remove him. I don't get to sit and socialize. I'm always on baby duty. James should have come by himself, except that everyone wanted to see Mal and Emily together..." Etc.

So I called my sister to have her talk me down, but she was busy or ignoring me or something. Instead, I prayed. By the time we got back to the hotel, I had calmed down and was looking forward to spending some time visiting with my girl. But when I got out of the car, everyone was there. Immediately, my brain said, "Oh! They've changed their mind. Good thing I didn't text James anything guilt-inducing or selfish!"

Incidentally, I was wrong. Apparently, the idea was maybe to drop off James' parents with us because they weren't interested in the second brewery. Then the rest of the "kids" would go back out. But I didn't know this yet.

James took Mal, and I cheerfully went upstairs with them. As we were chatting, I said, "I thought I heard Mei Li say that she was going to stay in the car with the kids." James said, "Right." I looked puzzled, and he indicated that "we" were about to leave again. At first, I thought he meant we were going over to their house, which would have been fine, but I wished I hadn't gotten Mal out of the car seat. Then I realized he meant THEY were going back out, and something snapped inside of my brain or heart or something.

I started yelling. "Then why did you even come here?! I thought maybe you were being sensitive and had changed your mind to come hang out with me! This is Khrys' one day off, and your parents are leaving tomorrow, and I don't get to see anyone. I'm just here to take care of the baby, which I could do in Austin! But, no, I'm so glad that you can go out and drink! Please do, and enjoy yourself!" Oh, and also ugly crying. It was not my finest moment.

My sweet husband went downstairs and said something (God knows what) to everyone, and they ended up staying at our place instead.

From December 2015

James and I talked about this at length later, and he said he didn't think he was a very good intermediary. He said the plan was to explore downtown together, hitting the breweries as we passed them. It sounded to me like the plan was "hit all of the breweries," and I knew that I couldn't.

But here's something I realized, and I really hate: I want very much to be a nice person, a kind person who is genuinely happy with my lot and pleased for other people who have things differently. And I'm happy, I seriously am. I love my son, and I love my family, and I often am certain that I wouldn't change a thing. But this is the ugly truth: I can wallow in some serious pity and even get close to envying people I deem have it "easier" than I do. Parenting, and mothering in particular, is so weirdly isolating, even though a whole lot of people are involved in the same enterprise.

It's been more than a year, and I still can't commit to going anywhere after 7. The car ride up to Flagstaff from Phoenix was the longest I've ever gone without holding my son. I love him. I adore him. I also long to be able to sit and have a grown-up conversation from start to finish, and I can't. Other parents seem to be able to manage that. My husband can do it. I can't. I'm the default parent. I typically don't mind. This trip, I've been resentful. Even though my sister-in-law just had a baby a week ago, I found myself jealous that the baby slept hours on hours at a time, sitting in his car seat at the opposite end of the table from his mom. That even though their daughter was up and around, they could sit at the brewery and drink a beer and hang out. I don't get to hang out with adults, basically, ever. I always have to get up. Always have to chase. And it's always me. No, that's not true or fair. It's 85% me. But that's what I signed on for. And typically, I don't feel sorry for myself. But, man, it was so easy to go there.

As much as I would like to be all chill and low maintenance, I think that I need a plan so my expectations are in line. Anyway, James and I had some good talks and everything ended up fine, as far as we were concerned. But I'm still going to have to work on not having pity parties, because I truly love my kid and wouldn't trade him for anything, even an easier social life (or more precious sleep).

The next day, James' parents came over before they headed back home. James and I went to lunch at Miz Zip's, where Mal stood in the booth and played with the sugar packets (without trying to put any in his mouth!) but ate a whole bowl of canned fruit and quite a few French fries, behaving himself admirably and giving us an easy time of consuming our food! He fell asleep on the drive home, napping for a couple of hours. He would have slept a lot longer except we wanted to get to the Lowell Observatory by their 4 o'clock sun viewing. Turned out to be too cloudy, and we didn't feel like paying just to see the museum stuff, so we took Daphne back to the hotel and headed with Mal over to Mei Li's so the kids could play and we could visit. That night, Khrys and Mei Li brought pizza to our place as Mal was asleep shortly after Khrys got off work.

On Tuesday, James and I decided to go downtown and explore it a bit together. It was colder than it had been the previous two days, but sunny and not windy, so it wasn't unbearable. We walked to this beautiful old church and I wanted to get a few pictures inside, but my son thought the echo was cool and kept going, "Oooh! Ooooh!" to hear himself. There were people in the sanctuary praying, and I felt like we were being boorish, so we high-tailed it out of there.

From December 2015

We went back to the shops where I'd taken Mal and he'd gone nutso crazy, but it was a lot more manageable with a partner! We went into Flag Buzz and bought Daphne and James some tea. We got a gelato at the Sweet Shop, and dang it if the same thing didn't happen with people sitting spread out in the front so we had to step outside (where it was in the mid-20s) to eat our stinking gelato.

As we made our way down Rte. 66, we passed Flagstaff Brewing Company. James asked if I thought Mal could take a stop, and we'd been walking quite a while so I figured he'd be able to. It was also approaching nap time, so I thought he might be winding down a bit.

Once again, Mal stood in the seat the whole time, but he stayed in his seat. Two days running! James was just going to try a beer, but I saw French onion soup on the menu and it sounded great. Then the waiter told us that their soup of the day was tomato bisque, so we ended up ordering - and thoroughly enjoying - soup for lunch.

By this time, it was getting cloudy so colder and we went back to the hotel. Mal took a little nap, and then it was time to start packing up for our return trip. Our hotel hosts dinner/mixers Tuesday through Thursday nights, so that evening we got to enjoy some free Asian chicken salad.

Later, I suggested that James take Khrys and Mei Li out to dinner since he wanted to try out a Mexican place and that's mehh to me. They ended up eating somewhere else, but then we had POOR COMMUNICATIONS INCIDENT #3. I thought James was just going out to dinner, so I was kind of waiting up for him. After dinner, he went back to visit at their house. I was lonely and started to descend into whiny internal monologuing, so went to sleep. Then the dishwasher started beeping and did so for about twenty minutes because it took me that long to figure out what the heck was beeping, as it would sound once then be quiet for five minutes. That wake-up and my nervous "What the heck is that?" jaunt, plus my subsequent difficulty getting to sleep threatened to throw me back into a dang pity party, but I fortunately managed to konk back out, thus avoiding doing or saying or even thinking something I might regret later.

Wednesday morning, we got up and went to breakfast at the Crown Railroad Cafe. We'd been wanting to eat there the whole week, and it was passable but really not worth giving up the free breakfast we could have had at our hotel. At least the decor was fun!

From December 2015

Soon, we were on the road back toward Phoenix. It was a much quicker trip than the drive up, since there was no accident to stop traffic. We met James' parents at an In N Out Burger on the way, and even Kitana and her friends Alex and Anthonie drove over, so it was nice to see everyone and stretch our legs a bit before we hit the hotel for the evening. Mal and Daphne and pretty much all of the "kids" enjoyed feeding the birds French fries. Actually, we all really enjoyed it!

James and I talked about taking Mal and Daphne to Castles and Coasters, which was right by the hotel. Daphne wasn't interested, and in the end, we decided Mal wouldn't know the difference, anyway, so we just walked across the street to Barnes and Noble and Mal had a great time pushing around the rolling stepping stool. Also, I got a $6 clearance cookbook that has interactive pages; you take a picture of the picture and it will pull up the recipe and make a shopping list for you to save on your phone. It has recipes and menu ideas, so I can't wait to try some of the stuff next week.

This morning, we drove back to the airport. We were fortunate to get to check our luggage in at the car rental return building; the line at the terminal for Southwest was probably over an hour long. It was nuts! I did have to prove Mal's age, and was able to, so that worked (even though we got shuffled around a few times trying to avoid the line since we only needed the boarding pass and not to do anything else with luggage or checking in).

Oh, man, it's so nice. They let you wear your baby through security now. They've never done that when I've traveled with Daphne or Mal, and it was so much easier!

We had an uneventful flight home. Mal stayed awake most of the time, but enjoyed himself immensely. He fell asleep about twenty minutes out, and that was it.

Two of our bags didn't end up with the rest of them, so we're currently waiting to see if Southwest can locate them. I hope so, because I really want our tea, honey, and chocolates... and all of my CuddlDuds that I just purchased. Oh well. While we waited at the luggage carousel (and waited. and waited), Mal got a little agitated. He was trying to sit in his car seat even though it was lying on its back in the floor.

Once we got out to the van and strapped him into the car seat - which he usually detests - he just giggled and babbled the whole way home. I think he was so happy to be back in "his" van, facing backwards, with his mirror and his giant window... and the first thing he wanted to do when we got into the apartment was to pull out his step ladder and "cook" on the stove. So much for my hope that his being gone for a week would make him forget that little obsession.

We had a great trip; it was so wonderful to see everyone and to enjoy the cold and beauty of Flagstaff. Also, eating out every meal and not cleaning the house are always awesome. Even with my emotional roller coastering, this trip was so much less stressful than traveling with Mal when he was a year younger. Daphne even said she had fun, though she missed drawing on her computer. I think she enjoyed not having chores as much as I did.

We have two mini trips planned for 2016 already, and I'm already looking forward to traveling with my family! (But not flying. Nope. Done with that for a good while.)

From December 2015

P.S. Yes, I have pictures of Daphne. She asked me not to post them. :)

Free Advice for Guys Who Want to Marry a Trim, Petite Lady

This week, Mal and I listened to the "Hairspray" soundtrack while I cooked on two separate days. It was emotional for me on many levels, but I wanted to address one of them today.

There's a great line in one of the songs when Wilbur sings, "You're old and fat, but, baby, boring you ain't."

Seriously, the most romantic song from any movie ever.

He's a guy who loves his lady because he loves her. And he always will.

But some guys really want a thin or conventionally-accepted-"athletic"-looking woman on their arm. And if that's you, young man, I have a couple of tips for you.

First, understand that this is no guarantee that once you marry your woman that she'll always be trim. Life happens. But you can stack the deck in your favor by employing the following techniques:

1) Marry a thin lady. One might think this could go without saying, but, no. Some men marry a lady they think they really love, except that she's kinda pudgy, and believe it or not, guys, women eventually pick up on this resentment. You might think, "Naw, babe, I love you even though you're fat" is flattering, but I can assure you that it is not.

Fat is an ethically neutral thing. It's not good. It's not bad. It just is. Some people have no desire to alter their bodies through diet and exercise (and often extreme diet or insane amounts of exercise), and that's a-okay. But if you find some extra flesh a little ookie, then just don't. Just keep walking. Or at least talk to your lady about it and figure out what you're going to do before you're all nuptualized and things get really complicated.

2) Learn her history. Even if your woman is a wee little thing, find out what her life has been like. Has she always been thin? Or has her weight fluctuated through adolescence, stressful seasons of her life, etc.? How many diets -- ahem, lifestyle changes -- has she tried? How does she feel about the gym? Has she ever had an eating disorder, or does she wish she had the willpower to develop one?

If her relationship with food, exercise, and weight is complicated, and it's super important for you to be married to a small woman, she's probably not the lady for you (in the long term, even if she looks "smokin' hot" now).

3) Look at her family. Are the older members of her family, female or male, waifish people? Or are they all pretty substantial folk? She might not like the idea that when you're looking at her parents, you're looking at her future, but genetics would indicate that this is so. And her body might be an anomaly, or she might be controlling genetically-predisposed weight gain through meticulous means, but that doesn't mean it will be successful forever.

/END LIST

Now, there is some room to talk about women "letting themselves go," and I get that it's not fair to do a bait-and-switch on a guy. It's important to take care of ourselves. But, also, when you get married, you both continue aging. Especially if you marry in your prime, it stands to reason that you're not going to carry around that flower of youth forever. If, as a woman, I'm made to feel like I have to compete with every other woman who is two years or thirteen years or twenty years younger than I am, it's not going to make for a peaceful, balanced marriage.

But what do you do if you're a man who married someone you found attractive at the time but now you find vaguely (or totally) repellant because of how her body has changed? I won't go into asking questions about whether she's carried your children, or how she's taken care of you over the years, or loved you through some ugly times. I really won't. Because if you have this problem, it really does need to be taken care of before it ruins your marriage.

First of all, I implore you to try to remember things you love about your wife. If you've been married for any length of time and can still manage to find yourself completely turned off by this person because of how she looks, I believe that you're not in love with her soul anymore. Love can cover a multitude of trespasses, with that whole "beauty in the eye of the beholder" thing being very real.

Try, really try, to love her unconditionally. Look at her and ask yourself, "If she never changes, will I still be able to love her?" If you can't answer that wholeheartedly "yes," even if you haven't said anything to her, I promise that your resentment is palatable and she knows something is wrong.

My advice would be similar to what Dr. Meg Meeker tells fathers of daughters: "Don’t remark on her weight—EVER. No pet names for parts of her body, no calling her sexy, and no telling her that she is chubby or that she could stand to lose a few pounds. No matter what you say about her weight, she will hear in her mind, 'My dad thinks I’m fat; therefore I am ugly.' Since you can’t win, avoid this. I can’t tell you the number of messes that I’ve been involved in undoing with daughters whose fathers have innocently commented about their weight as they grow up."

You're not her father, but you're someone who is supposed to love her unconditionally. Better or worse and all that. Dr. Meeker's advice is, if you're looking at this person you love and you're concerned in this way, go outside and get active with her. Oh my goodness, if you ask your wife to go hiking or on a walk or, if you're up for Husband of the Year, to a Zumba class with you, I can almost guarantee you that there will be squeals of delight. "Build strength," Dr. Meeker advised. "Not diminish." In other words, the goal isn't to make smaller, but to make more powerful.

It has to be.

If you're a man, unless you're gay or maybe have just had an extraordinarily difficult time of it with weight in your life, I don't think there's any way to understand how damaging to a relationship it is to have the one person who is supposed to love you unconditionally tell you, whether as verbal diarrhea or even in a super nice way, that your appearance is disappointing. It's not impossible to come back from this, but it will cause a rift in any feelings of trust and security that you have built up, and it's extremely difficult to build those back up.

So, if you're pre-marriage and this is an issue, I'm asking you on behalf of women everywhere, just go. And don't feel guilty. Find a woman who's better suited for you. Believe it or not, there is a man out there who will love the woman you've left (better off) not in spite of her weight, but who will even find all of her attractive. So you're really doing everyone a big favor.

P.S. I'm not kidding about that Zumba thing. My husband went to a class with me before we were married, and he was all in. He had no idea what was going on, or how to keep up, or any of it, but he threw himself into it and was exhausted and sore and sweaty and all of that good stuff, and I'm telling you... it was amazing. Also, if you're a single guy and want to meet women, there are very few dudes in those classes (the one's I've attended, anyway). That's some extra free advice. You're welcome.

Thinking About "Identity"

Last night while James was sleeping and I was trying to install the Amazon app that would let me install another Amazon app (I know!) so I could watch a video on my phone, I thought, "I'd love to be able to finish a full conversation with that man." Which led me on to visions of going out somewhere alone and actually, you know, talking. And THAT led me to thinking about a few things that parents and specifically moms are told very often on several fronts, and while I get that the people who say these things are well-meaning, I think it actually puts *more* pressure on families, and I don't think they're actually necessary.

What are they?

1) One thing I hear all of the time is that moms, new moms especially, need to be careful not to "lose our identity." In other words, we can't put all of our eggs in this "motherhood" basket or else we become tedious to our spouses and to those around us. Maybe we'll even end up resenting our children and realizing when they're gone that we don't know who we are.

Well, here's the deal: When you become a mom, that changes your identity. Literally, the person you were when you went into labor is gone. You become a new person with that first kid: You become a mom. You weren't before. There's nothing you can do to change that. Your identity is different. It just is.

That doesn't mean the change is a bad thing, though. I mean, let's get real: our identity goes through changes with many seasons of our lives. The person I used to be would slide down the space between the escalators that went downstairs to the Boston Store at Central Mall in Fort Smith, Arkansas, on my first date with someone because I reasoned that if the guy acted embarrassed or like he didn't know me, he probably wasn't the person for me. It was my tradition. It was a thing. It's not now. Does that mean I'm not as fun or spunky as I used to be? No. I think it means I'm more mature, and I figured out better ways of vetting potential mates (no comments from the peanut gallery, readers; I picked well this time!).

Understand this: I hate hate HATE those "mothering is a 24-hour job with no breaks and we should get paid $14M a year" martyr woe-is-me crapfests that people claiming to value motherhood throw about. And I'm not saying that being a mother is more important than not being a mother. What I'm saying is that when you become a mother (however that happens: by birth, adoption, default, whatever), you just are a mother. It IS your identity. It is your normal. Why would you want to be so careful to preserve an older version of you? Why not continue to evolve?

What if the season in which you painted for hours at a time and sold those paintings to art lovers has passed? Does that make you less valuable? Does it means you've not taken care of yourself? Does it mean you've become boring? I hope not. Because, especially at first, it's very difficult to undertake any artistic endeavors when you have a child.

It'd be like asking a person treading water in the middle of the ocean after a shipwreck, "Yeah, I mean, I know you're dog-paddling, but what else do you do? You know, before the ship sank, what were your passions?"

Um, did I just compare parenting to a shipwreck? That's not hugely flattering, is it?

I think my point is that there are certainly days when being a mom feels like putting out fires, bailing water, or just trying to keep your breathe holes above the surface. When someone points out, "Remember how you used to love baking those braided challah loaves?" it just feels like an impossible task, and makes the parent struggling to get through the hours until bed time feel like they're failing.

I'm here to tell you: You're not. Whatever your day looks like, whether you have any time for reading or combing your hair or planning your next grocery trip or writing the great American novel or not, you're doing fine. You're doing well. You're not boring. You're not a sad, domesticated version of the old you. You're the new you. This is the new you, and it's an adventure, isn't it?

2) And its partner; You have to take time for yourself. If you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of others.

What does "take care of yourself" look like? Because I hear things about taking twenty minutes to be alone with your thoughts, or going out for a girls' lunch without the kids, or getting your hair done... And, honestly, sometimes, it's just not possible. Sometimes, sitting here in the dark while my child sleeps (because he still can't stay asleep for more than an hour when I'm not around), clicking at my keyboard, wishing I had a headboard because my back is killing me, and putting some of my thoughts out of my head is the closest thing to "me" time I get - and I have to be willing to drop it at any point because the child might wake up and need help getting back to sleep. Sometimes, I get less than that.

That is my reality, it's been my reality for almost a year, I'm not insane, my family is not insane, we've all eaten and loved each other and fought and pitched in and been a pretty normal family during this whole season of my not being able to "refill my cup" so to speak.

We moms are told that we have to make ourselves a priority, but, seriously, you're not going to prioritize yourself over your infant (or toddler or special needs child, etc.) who has a genuine need. If you have a "need" (for a little peace and quiet, to eat a sandwich, for an hour "off") at the same time your child has a genuine need (scared, hungry, hurt), you're not going to say, "Well, I'm sorry you're hungry but mommy is going to watch Monk and pretend you don't exist or else I'll be stressed and then you won't be happy because I'm not happy and I can't serve you well if I'm on 'e'." (I know; Monk's not on TV anymore; it's been a while since I've watched.)

Giving a mom one more thing she *must* do to be a "good mom" (even if it's just painting her nails for her own sake!) is just piling more stuff on top of someone who might feel buried as it is.

3) Couples should have "date nights" at least once a week to connect on an emotional level. It doesn't have to be a night out! You can wait until the kids are asleep and just spend an hour or two relating in a way that doesn't revolve around being parents. You need to keep that spark alive.

I'm pretty sure our great-great grandparents would either laugh or roll their eyes at the above idea. Again, I get where Focus on the Family and literally every other Christian family ministry and secular family support programs are coming from. It seems to make sense, right? Gotta keep that romance going.

But do we?

My husband was telling me about an article he'd read about how it's only been in the last 100 years or so that people have had the luxury of marrying for love rather than out of necessity. He said that lead him down a mental rabbit trail of "what does that do for divorce rates?" Now, yes, there are definitely things like women's rights and other issues at play, but I think we in the United States, especially, are way too romantic about what we think a "good" marriage should look like.

I think a good marriage works. In a good marriage, the couple is happy and they work together and they want to be married to each other. Do couples in tribal families take time away from their offspring to "connect on an emotional level"? Or are they too busy about the work of living their lives to be bothered by nonsense?

I was listening to a radio broadcast the other day in which a couple said that when they had their date nights, it was off-limits to talk about the kids. Why? Are they in denial during their date? They pretend they're not parents? Why have kids if you need to "forget" about them for a few hours each week? And especially because this was a Christian broadcast, where in the Bible are we told to interact with our spouse in a way that eliminates our entire family? (Literally the only time "forgetting" a kid is talked about, I believe, is the Psalm - I think - where it says that a nursing mom is more likely to forget her baby than God is to forget his children... and that's said for effect.)

This is almost a punishment to the primary caregiver, whether that's the mom or the dad. "Okay, we're going to go out together, but you are not allowed to talk about the thing that you do 18 hours a day." Would we tell the other spouse not to talk about his/her work?

Why, to be a good couple, do we have to deny the very thing that our good coupling has produced?

To clarify, I'm also not a "child-focused" family person. Like, our babies aren't running our household. There are times it feels that way, but ultimately, we're the grown-ups and it's our responsibility to make wise choices. We don't do anything and everything the kids want. So I'm not talking about vowing never to leave the kids alone or never having conversations about other things. I just think it's idiotic to ban *any* subject when you're out on a date with someone you love.

In closing, I'm sorry if this sounds jaded or bitter or that I'm "ovaryacting." (Thanks, Joy!) It's just... Right now, I'm mostly a mom. That's what I do. I don't have time to write - magazine articles, radio dramas, church skits, short films, commercials, novels. I have a high-needs kid who cries if I stand up too long - in the kitchen, especially. So there's no fancy baking or cake-decorating like I used to do. If my husband were to lose interest in me because I'm so immersed in my maternity, that would suck. Especially since this here kiddo was his idea!

Sometimes, we have to settle into the seasons of our lives gracefully instead of fighting them.

I can count on one hand the times I've left Mal in his 11+ months: 1) At church (maximum of 40 minutes; average 10-15 minutes), 2) Napping on the couch while my sister "watched" him and James and I went next door to Taco Cabana for dinner, 3) At the Nuthaus with my husband while I picked up Daphne's birthday cake, 4) At the Nuthaus with my parents and husband while I refilled a popcorn tin, and 5) At Vogelfutter with my parents and husband while I got my hair trimmed.

By the time Daphne was Mal's age, she had spent countless hours at my parents' house while her dad and I went to meetings and dinners and on dates. She spent 8 hours every day of two weeks with my mom while we trained for Boys Town. She hung out with multiple "babysitters" in the form of other house parents ("teaching couples") while we attended further BT training. She spent 6 hours in the church nursery on weekends when I sang. She had even spent the night with my parents while I went to California to catch a Rockapella concert. I had the luxury of more "me" time and more date time when Daphne was a baby, and guess what? I was still stressed out as a mom most of the time, and, spoiler alert, her dad and I are divorced.

I kind of dig my identity. I don't feel like the fact that I've had a 4-year break from perfecting my fondant-rolling technique is tragic, especially since that's been because I've had amazing adventures like living in an RV with my awesome daughter for two and a half years, then living in downtown Austin in a space without enough cabinet room for rolling, and now trying to raise an awesome human being when I'm super ancient and it's really really hard and challenging and, man, I'm going to be prouder of him later than I would be of fondant. Unless it was the really perfectly-thin, perfectly-uniform covering that always alluded me. No, no. I think I'll still be prouder of him.

These are all seasons. I've had seasons of theater, and then not, and then again, and then not, and then AGAIN. I've written, and I've been too tired or sad or busy to write. I've not biked, then I've been obsessed with biking, and now I just bike to the mailbox and back on occasion. Whatever season you're in, can we all just agree that it's enough, and that we don't "need" to do more to make it more enriching or well-rounded or whatever? Please?