February Storm

There is a storm a' brewin'. I can see it on the horizon. It is an electrical storm. Full of power. Full of light. Full of fear. But I face it. I’m anxious to greet it. I want it. I know what it holds. It holds my love. I know it does. For the last few months, since September, I have felt its power and knowing in my life. It was forecasted by my creator, the universe; then, and now... Now I am at the edge or it. I see it. With its beautiful, swirling clouds in shades of gray and deep blue. I see their billowing shapes forming and reforming, creating the force behind it. That force is electricity and light and it is about to blast me off my feet. I seek the blast. I want it.

My love is there. The love of my life. My soulmate. Someone I have come to term as "my other". My other. My other... I love him. I deeply love him and everything about him already. I am anxious to meet him... again. I know who he is, but he needed time. His own time to heal and move on. It has been hard. I felt rejected by him and I was, in fact. But he is part of the storm. The power. The love. The true love I have longed for for so many years.

And I wait. I wait in a blank field ready to be stuck. To be stuck by the power of true love. The pureness I have never felt before. I trust it. I know it is real. As painful as this path has been I can tangibility feel it in my soul. There is truth there and a love so pure, so right, so true that the years we will finally spend together can only be described as heaven on earth.

I love you. I let my thoughts and feelings flow freely here. There is a risk of being wrong, but the power of the storm beacons the truth. The truth that you are my other. My true love. I've known this from the moment you reached out and then touched the blotch of pink hair on my head in admiration and it sparked love.

I have known it from the moment from you first told me you loved me. That sweet moment after we made love for the first time. And it scared you. It scared you because you weren't ready yet. Your mind and rationality was controlling your heart and you needed that time to be away. To pull away from me because it scared you and made you question what you thought knew but not what you felt.

I know it scared you. There was so much at risk. So much of what you thought and thought you wanted was being weighed by the truth in your heart. That truth, you think, failed you once, but it didn't. It was still your truth and it was still real, but people on the other side still have their freedom. Freedom to make choices counter to what you first felt or wanted.

And it changes. It painfully changes. I know. I have felt those changes. The changes in a person you once knew and trusted only to be vaporized in mere moments of your earthly existence. It makes you question what you felt at the time, when you felt you knew what was right and true. Maybe it was right and true, but you still have a path to follow and it changes as you grow. They also have their path to follow. Our paths are unique, painful, and beautifully promising.

This is where I stand. On the field of beautiful promises, waiting to be struck by the power of the storm.

I wait for you. I have waited already and I know it is time. The lightning strikes close.

I love you. I am ready.

Invalidation

It was supposed to be me. I was the one who was supposed to go first. That way, all the self-growth, reflection and strength would be validated and He would know our marital failure was not my entire fault. I spent years in self-loathing, stuck in a failing marriage thinking, “Who would want me? I don’t even want me.” So I stayed, unhappy and stuck. Stuck in a fear nobody would tolerate the person I was because I was, well, intolerable. Unlovable. Unhappy. But I was married to him and he was stuck to me. I guess I thought it would be better to be stuck with someone in unhappiness instead of no one.

But then I started to grow. I started to reflect. I started loving myself and accepting myself for the first time in my life. The-First-Time. I was ready to be over with the self-loathing and hate. I was ready for the daily negative thoughts to be replaced by kinder, more loving self-thoughts. My self-esteem started to grow and instead of asking myself who would want me, I started asking myself, “Who wouldn’t want me? I am awesome!” I did not just think that, I believed it. I knew it and I know it.

In just a few weeks after He moved out, I continued to grow. My self-acceptance for both my flaws and my good traits helped boost the ego-crushing rejection of a person I had known half my life and whom I had thought I loved; and whom I thought loved me. I accepted my part in our marital failure. I know it was not all him, but he had problems. Some major problems I had begged him to address over and over in our marriage, but he did not love himself enough, or me, or the kids to make those changes. So we failed together and after that failure came growth; or growth on my part, I guess. I saw my growth. I felt its power. I loved it. I drank it. I bathed in it. I was excited to share the “real me” with someone. I had worked so hard, so heartbreakingly hard to change my bad habits and conquer the depression that had held me down for years. I knew I had a ways to go, but I was on the right track.

He remained the same to me. So bitter. Mean. Worse. He treated me like one of his criminal clients, which just further solidified the right choice we made to end our marriage. So many tears I continued to shed because of his heartlessness and blame and I thought, “Who would ever want him?”

But he went first. Weeks after moving out, he found someone. At the lowest point in his life, he found someone and I thought there was no way this other person would tolerate His nonsense. How could they when he had not given himself the opportunity to grow and heal? What kind of a person is attracted to that? Doesn’t water seek its level?

The weeks turned into months, which turned into half-a-year which turned into plans of moving in together. And I was bothered. And I could not figure out why. It was not jealousy. It was not “being replaced”. So I spent some time deeply thinking about why exactly this bothered me and the answer came. I was bothered because I felt that having someone accept him in such a state invalidated my reasons of not wanting to be married to him anymore. It invalidated my thoughts of why someone would ever want his problems and so soon after he moved out of our house. I mean, if I did not want him, how could anyone else?

That concern is not silly. It was very real to me and it worried me. It worried me in terms of taking more responsibility for the failure of our marriage. I have never questioned the actual ending of it, but it did cause me to question just how much a part of it I played in its failure. It made me feel like I was the cause. I was to blame 100%.

I know I cannot force him to accept his part in our marital failure, because blame is so cowardly easy. I know I cannot force him to apologize from his heart for his part in it. I know I have grown because I have offered that apology several times. It was heartfelt and I was, indeed, sorry for the pain I caused him. He has not asked for my forgiveness but I have given it. I do not want the hate of another to be brought into a new relationship whenever the universe makes that happen. Unless I forgive, hate will always be there weighing me down from truly loving another.

I know “my other” is out there. I know the universe has a plan for me and I trust it. I yearn to be with someone. I have so much love to give. Fully. Completely. Without hesitation. And I am ready to receive it. Fully. Completely. Without hesitation. I will expect no less from my other and they should expect no less from me. 

Gratitude

I have been meaning to write my feelings of gratitude for some time now. So many dominoes have fallen into place in my life these past seven months. Some of the dominoes have crashed hard and the pain was almost unbearable, but still, they crashed in a line to get me to the place I am today, at this moment, letting the words trickle down to my fingertips. Of course, this celebration of memor is not premature. I know there is still a long road of falling dominoes ahead, but it seems doable.

Seven months ago, I lost my East Coast family when he left. His family, literally, became my family in the years we have lived here. Birthday parties, holiday celebrations, baby blessings, wedding showers, weddings, reunions, baby showers, and just simply hanging out have all but vanished from my life. I put from my mind the holiday celebrations I won’t be invited to this season. Picturing His family gathered around a table of thankful splendor, with my children, without me is already very painful. I have no family out here. I am alone.

But I am not, because of you…

So many people have reached out to me since the beginning of all this. It seems a simple text or private message has had just the perfect timing to get me through a moment where loneliness tried to be my ugly, unwanted friend. A plate of cookies, a special treat, even a jar of chicken curry soup, showed up at my door from dear friends who were thinking of me. A gift certificate to the movies so my children and I could escape for a few hours made its way to my inbox from my sister. Cards of love and encouragement coming from far and wide, made my day much brighter and bearable. In moments where I was down to the last cup of milk for breakfast, a check has made its way to my hands without payback as a condition. There have been countless hours of care to my children when I need help. Many an ear on the phone or a living room couch has been offered so I can pour out the pain in my heart. A job offer on the weekends I don’t have my children…

Because of you. Because you know love. Because you listen.

The list of names is huge. You have brought me such hope, gratitude, and humility into my life. Each of you has helped soften the hardest domino from falling. The light you have brought into my life at just the right moments will never be forgotten and I promise to pay it forward.

Dad. Mom. Jenny. Christian. Candice. Laura. Rob. Francesco. Evelyn. Jenna. Elizabeth W. Mark. Meleana. Lindsay. Brian. Ellen. Kimberley. Shane. Robin. Amanda. Matt M. Abby. Sue. Michelle Y. HOB. Tracy. Carissa. Jim. Kim. Edward. Rosemary. Jessica. Jennifer H. Marissa. Kaly. David H. Aunt Nancy. LibbyChick. Molly. Camille. Jamie N. Anne T. JGD. Matt R. Shelly.

Even EWM, who was a rock, but who is no longer a friend.

I am sure I will add to this list as more names come to me, but for now my deepest and most sincere love to all of you.

Hummingbird

Separation is tough. Being mistreated by someone you have 18-years of your life with is disheartening. The 18-years of history has evaporated in just a few short months. 

Today was a tough day and, I admit, I gave up in the middle of the day. I just pulled the covers over my head to make myself unconscious of the financial stress and emotional stress that weighed me down today. I couldn't do it. I couldn't live today. I couldn't keep holding in that sour bulge in my throat. It kept swelling and I could feel the explosion of tears and helplessness were on the horizon. I hate that feeling.

I sat on my front steps this evening as my children laughingly road their bicycles without worry, wondering what I was going to do. How was I going to make it through the end of July on an empty tank of gas and pennies in my checking account? I felt the tightness in my throat and a hollowness in my gut getting stronger. Any second, the volcano of feelings was going to explode, right there, on my front steps.

I took my last deep breath in. As soon as I exhaled, I knew the fiery pain would sear my throat and burn eyes, and make me feel nauseous. I was so alone. Empty. For a split-second, I imagined not being here. I imagined putting that final end to my pain. I closed my eyes, ready for the sting of salty tears. I was ready for you Loneliness and Helplessness. Let's just get it over with...

And then I heard that familiar summer hum whisper in my ear. I opened my puzzled eyes, and there he was, only a few inches from my face. His little body, shifting metallic green-tones in the setting sun, hovered next to my face. With robotic motion, he looked at me. He saw my soul. He hovered for a few moments, humming in the evening air. He was tempted by the fuchsia petunias in my terracotta pot on the front porch, but instead he looked at me again. 

I gasped a bit and in a moment he zoomed away, taking my pain with him. That small, green humming bird gave me hope. As if lassoing the lump in my throat and the hollowness in my stomach, he pulled it from my body and took it with him to dump somewhere far away from me.

And I said to myself, "Okay, Universe. I will go another day. I understand and I thank you."

All because of a hummingbird. 

Old Endings. New Beginnings.

  Well. Here I am again. Talking to myself and feeling blue. I am 18 again. Freshly graduated from the hell they call high school and ready to start my big grown-up life. 18-years ago, I was enrolled to take my first classes at the University of Utah. I had purchased a '93 Trailblazer which was paid monthly from the tips I got working at Cowboy Grub. I hated that job. It took years for the nightmares to subside.

  My future was unknown. I didn't know what I wanted to be or what my interests were. I was immature and somewhat relied on the fact I would probably start dating a bit, me in my awkward, late-bloomer stage. Maybe I'd find a guy and fall in love, a Mormon guy if course. Someone I could check the Returned Missionary box off with. Then we'd date. Get married in the temple and start our life together. The plan was to wait to have kids because I wanted my schooling completed. Then, I'd be a stay-at-home-mom and raise babies to be righteous Mormons. The Mormon Circle of Life rotating on and on through generations of its people. 

  And I would be happy.....

  This was a perfect plan for a naive 18-year-old with no life-experience. It was the plan I absorbed growing up in my faith community. But it didn't work out that way. None of it did.

  18-years later, I never finished school. I am 9-months into a five-year bankruptcy plan. I have two beautiful children, and I am four-months separated from the man I was taught would be my eternal companion. I am looking down the same road I was 18-years ago, wondering what the hell do I do now? How am I going to pay the damn electric bill? That money went to my lawyer. 

  I am ready to reinvent myself. I have a few ideas, but will my past failures haunt my future endeavors?

I guess we will see. I process my thoughts through writing. So welcome to my new beginning. This is gonna be fun. So stick around. It might be a train wreck.

Well-Endowed Barbie

Lately, there has been quite a stir in the bloggernacle regarding the issue of modesty. Over the past few months numerous articles, Facebook posts, and blogs have taken on the issue of modesty and how it pertains to the young girls and the young women in our church. Many of these writings tell of the young women being solely responsible for maintaining the purity of our youth. Yes, it is a heavy burden to carry, but, alas, we of the fairer sex have come up with many ways to help keep modest hottest, starting with our youngest members.


First, through clever pinning on Pinterest, we saw one modest mother's idea of helping Naked Barbie maintain her modesty and the pure thoughts of little boys who might see her in her birthday suit. With just a few minutes with a Sharpie, Naked Barbie became permanently tattooed with undergarments fit for the eyes of innocent children who might play with her. 

See how Naked Barbie is now Modest Barbie in her shiny, new, skin-tight body suit. The purely transformed Modest Barbie is now suitable for playtime for both little girls and the impressionable little boys who might see her. This is a good first step in policing our children's thoughts, teaching them that nakedness, even when it comes to toys, is not suitable for their eyes and is something to be ashamed of and covered up.

Now, just in case Modest Barbie, is not quite to your modesty standards, you have other options, another mother has taken modesty maintenance a step further. Even though Modest Barbie has her private parts covered, there is still a bit of skin showing. With just a few minutes more, you can transform Modest Barbie into Shade Clothing Barbie, another idea from a different Pinterest mother.

Shade Clothing Barbie has the coloring extended down to just above her knees, and covers her chest and shoulders. I think this is a great second-step in keeping children's thoughts pure, but also, this may also help prepare little girls for the day when they will seek their own endowments for the temple. These colorful underclothes do give a sense of the garment a young woman receives after her first endowment, but they do lack the importance and sacredness the garment holds. 

To really prepare preschooler and little girls for the temple and the future of being the guardians and stewards of pure thoughts and sexuality for men, I give you Well Endowed Barbie.

Well-Endowed Barbie teaches little girls to hide their nakedness, but not be ashamed of their underwear. Having Well-Endowed Barbie as an example of what a true modest woman wears will help teach her what clothing she can and cannot select for her doll, and later, for herself. When your daughter takes Well-Endowed Barbie to a non-endowed house, she will be able to judge the other Barbies and their poorly chosen, immodest clothes. Also, Well Endowed Barbie's clothing will help protect her from the uncontrollable sexual urges of Unaccountable-For-His-Thoughts-And-Urges Ken Doll.

Starting from a young age and having Well-Endowed Barbie as a visual guide, will help your daughter pick the right clothes and the right friends for her future. It will help her stay away from the girls who show their shoulders, clavicles, thighs, and belly buttons and what impurity "those" types of girls hold.

So with just a little white nail polish and a pencil, you can transform your daughter's Barbie into something more suitable for her to play with... And coming soon, the "Barbie Burquini", it is not just for "Muslim Barbie" anymore.


(Other takes on Modest Barbie here)

The Bad Mother

I am a bad mother.


I buy birthday cakes for my children at the grocery store. I don't make those hours-long, fondant-covered colorful creations that would impress even the great Martha Stewart. In fact, you would be lucky to find enough birthday candles in my house for the cake. This year, I could only hunt down three, so when DaughterNotSo had her fifth birthday, she blew out the first three and I relighted two for her to blow out again. And when we had a birthday party for her with her little friends, I bought a number "4" for her cake instead of a "5". Fail.


I don't do DaughterNotSo's hair everyday. I rarely make those hair creations with the twists and braids, and bows, and floral arrangements other moms create. I do try to have it brushed though, but most of the time she looks like she could belong in an orphanage with Little Orphan Annie. I cut SonNotSo's hair by myself and he hates it. The poor kid ends up with hair in his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and bellybutton. I think I am going to buzz his hair for the summer just to ease the process for me.


Sometimes I recycle outfits they have worn from the day before. A few stains can last through another day. Sometimes their clothes are wrinkled from staying in the dryer for days because I haven't gotten around to folding them and I have a pile of button-up shirts that need to be ironed for the kids. I question my sanity as to why I even bought clothing that would need to be pressed. 


My children don't get bathed everyday and sometimes playing out in the sprinkler is counted as a bath. When they do get bathed, I leave them in the tub just so I can have a moment to meditate on my bed as they splash around, making a swampy mess. I should really be doing something like straightening up their rooms from days of neglected ciaos.


Feeding the kids 3 square meals everyday is even rarer than folded laundry. Getting SonNotSo to eat veggies and coaxing DaughterNotSo to eat her meal without issue, would be like a New Testament miracle. Sometimes I forget to give them their gummy vitamins. Most of the time, DaughterNotSo reminds me.


Yes. I am a bad mother. No pretenses here. I hardly pretend to be a perfect mother who has it all together. Putting on a facade of perfectionism would require more work. If you bump into us at the store, the kids may have crusts on their faces and stains on the clothes and their hair will probably look unkempt.


You may even wonder what my problem is...


Now if between the crusts of gunk on their cheeks and sleep in their eyes, I could just wipe the smiles off their faces, I could be a worse mother.