"HerName's Song" by SisterNotSo

A year ago, I had a MAJOR falling out with a friend. She was a great source of support in the first few months of my separation. I am grateful and will always be grateful for her support during those horribly painful months. (I am so good at compartmentalization.)

But then stuff happened. Lies spread. Judgment was cast. Voices were raised. Deception blackened our friendship and I stood up to her. Instead of laying low, hoping to just blend into the background, I aimed back when she put me in her sites. I did experience some recoil from my aim, because I was not smart enough to duck from the scope. I fixed it the best I could and I learned. And I have moved on.

I am quite indifferent a year later, but an incident happened recently that very briefly had her dip a toe in my life-path. A calm and direct voice told her to not talk to me and I walked away. I was not angry, I just could not believe the audacity she had to talk to me after all the crap she had pulled.

I wrote this poem later that night. This was very cathartic. It helped me release some anger I unconsciously was harboring. The poem is mean. The poem is nasty. The poem is crude and uses vulgar language. Do not proceed any further if this kind of thing would bother you and effect our relationship. That being said, one last warning...

***Language Warning for the Faint of Heart***

"HerName's Song"

True friendship,
I thought it was.
Everything disclosed. 
No secrets untouched.

Tears shed on
supported shoulders.
Then life happened,
and you become colder.

It was always there. 
I would just lay low.
Your hate directed
to others you know.

Then I was the one
you put in your sites.
And you let at me
because of your sick spite.

F*** you Bitch
And all that you've done.
Your lies. Your deception.
From your forked tongue.
And when Karma comes to kick your ass,
I'll be the first to pay you back.

Your Disorder.
Your sickness. Your pain.
You take it out on others.
You let your hate reign.

Another puppet
for your sick little game.
Another number as a
false win you'd claim.

And when you crash
from the shit you've done,
I will just laugh,
because I've moved on.

F*** you Bitch
And all that you've done.
Your lies. Your deception.
From your forked tongue.
And when Karma comes to kick your c***
I'll be first to take that punt.

Impatience

I am feeling grumpy. Grumpy and impatient. Grumpy, impatient, and lonely. Although I can appreciate the need to have this time to myself, this time to grow and be alright being alone, it is still hard. I realize my worth does not hang on whether I am with someone. Just because I am not, does not reflect on the person I am. It just happens that there my potential significant other has not been put in my path yet. So I have to be patient... I am losing patience. 

I want for that next step to happen. I believe I am ready. I have worked so hard on mentally healing myself. I have even started physically healing myself by running. I am better now. Stronger than I was a year ago. Full of more love and life. Doom has become a stranger and this year I have learned to just flow with the ups and downs, and laugh. Laugh a lot about how absurd life can be when shit gets thrown your way.

Things have settled. The kids have transitioned well. I am so proud of them. Life has stabilized enough I feel ready for what is next. And the answer I get is "almost". Almost. It is close. I have felt like something would happen this June, but I kinda question my instincts on that because February was such a flop.

And yet I know, things I do not understand, things that have happened this past year, will come to light and I will know why they fell the way they did. Maybe the little thing that happened in February will actually come to light as to how significant it really was. I just have to wait to see.

I hate waiting..

Ramblings

I have felt the writing tug for the last couple of days. I usually have an idea of what I want to get off my chest. I do have some heavy ideas of what I want to write about, but I do not feel like getting into the heavy stuff right now. Somehow my fingertips find themselves on the keyboard and here I am, mumbling and rambling on the internet.

I guess I could ramble on about Mr. J and my undying, sickly, unrequited love, but there is nothing new on that front and I do not want to come off as this shrine-worshiping psycho, who burns incense nightly to some Goddess of Love, begging for him to come back into my life. Well... I do not burn incense every night (kidding). The only news, I guess, is that he never responded. So I guess that is good. He never said no, but he never said yes either. Unrequited love, just... fuck you.

I know love will happen for me again and the answer that strikes my heart is "soon". Soon... What's "soon" to the Universe anyway? Soon... I snort at the ambiguity of such a word. It is not very helpful in curtailing the desire in wanting to share the rest of my life with My Other.

Trust the timing my heart says. I am trying, really I am. Last June I was wanting someone in my life to love and looking back now, I can see now, I was not ready. I still had a lot of mental work to do and bad habits to overcome. Mentally, I think I am in a good spot. I have gained so much strength in my voice. I am not afraid to stick up for myself and draw boundaries for my comfort. Having encounters with several men who wanted to bow those boundaries gave me the courage and experience to be firm and direct when I was being pushed. This new strength is so refreshing.

And I am working on my bad habits and I am trying to incorporate a healthier lifestyle. Now that I have built a solid mental foundation, the next step is to make exercise and healthy eating part of my life. This spring has kick started that. It feels great to get out and go for a run. At the end of the week when I see my runs logged in, I feel so accomplished.

I think if I had had someone in my life, I would not have had the motivation to take the next steps needed to bring more happiness in my life. That person would have accepted that me at that moment, so then it would be hard to make the healthier changes necessary because they would have been ok with that me. I know the only person holding me back from being in a relationship is me. I know once I have kicked off my bad habits and continued with new, healthier ones, I will attract somebody at that level. Last thing I need in my life is a slug and I do not want to be someone else's slug either. I am not making these changes for my Other. These changes have been past-due many years. I only now have the mental strength to pull these changes off. I have really, never been so happy in my life.

But, hell. It would be so good to have some sign from Mr. J. Some little push with the door for him to take a peek and see if I was still there. Yes. I am still holding out hope. Ugh... I need to give myself a time frame. A deadline that if nothing happens by a certain date, I swear off my thoughts about him and wish his soul well and move on...

and maybe go egg his house...

Happy Anniversary to Me

My anniversary is this week. It would have been sixteen years. Another anniversary is this week. A year ago he moved out. A year ago we had our “final” marital fight, complete with him smashing dishes against the kitchen sink in front of our kids. I knew, so firmly knew, that that was it. It was time to throw in the towel and quit the shared marital misery. Getting to the point of calling it quits was a process for me. I was ready for divorce a year prior to our final fight, I just did not know when it would all come tumbling down.

Well. Really. It had already tumbled. We stopped loving each other years ago. We had become used to coasting in marital mediocrity. The mediocrity became a habit neither of us was willing to change. General suckitude became just comfortable enough to do nothing about… And then there were our kids. The “kid” factor. “Stay together for the kids” echoed in my mind from various advice sources over the years who had never once stepped in my shoes to really asses the stupidity of such advice. I realized I have a separate life from my children and they do from me. My true happiness and growth should not have been at the sacrifice of my children to live in a loveless household. Seeing that is not healthy for them and it surely was not healthy for me. Some see giving up on a marriage with children involved as a cowardly action. On the contrary, I have never done anything so brave in my life and I have never been happier.

Being more at ease with myself, finally loving and accepting myself, and all my beautiful flaws, that is what is good for my children to see. The continued causticness being shoveled my way has given me such strength. I am grateful I got something out of the constant spousal loathing and blame He has dished my way this last year. That is where the true cowardliness lies. Blame is so cowardly easy. Forgiveness without an apology is the true challenge.

I have forgiven him. I have told him such and I have offered many, true apologies. I have accepted my blame in the failure of our marriage, and along with forgiving him, I have forgiven my past self. I do not even know that person anymore. She never was me anyway. The person I am right now is the person who was always trying to break through, but because of fear of rejection She was pushed down and stifled. Being stifled only gave Her strength to come firing through when I needed her most. She is powerful. She has a strong heart. She is steady. She is confident in her shoes. She loves herself.

I know I was never my Best Self with Him. My self-loathing and self-hatred undermined my Best Self. My struggle with depression was the culprit. I do not blame it all on depression. I certainly learned some bad habits and used depression as the crutch to excuse bad behavior.

A year ago, I would have never guessed that this is who I now am. I was blind as to what the future me would be. She still has some work to do, but it actually seems possible now because She continues to break the mediocrity down into dust. I feel so assured that a year from now, the person who will be sitting here typing will be stronger, more independent, more steady and firm, and will love herself so much she will finally be ready to express that true love with others because her bucket is finally being filled with her own self-love.

Needed Catharsis

September 24, 2014 

"... I believe in you as a strong woman, an independent thinker, a devoted mother, and a generous and kind-hearted person. I enjoyed our time together.
-J"

RE: Letting Go
 "I love you J.
Always, 
-Me"

What else could I say? There was no point in arguing his email point-by-point. He had already made up his mind. A sobby email would only complicate things, make me look like an obsessive psycho, and make my broken heart feel worse. "I enjoyed our time together" seemed so final. So done. So determined of him to be finished and so unbelievably painful for me to accept. It was over and I spent a few days crying and sobbing, and cursing The Universe. Honestly, I knew it was coming. I knew that finality on his part would happen in September and I accepted it. Broken heart and all. The pending death of the season and doom of the winter ahead seemed a fitting scene for receiving such a correspondence. 

But then, that same feeling that told me it would be over in September also told me something would happen in February with Him. Yes, dear reader, you are correct. That would have been this past February. The same February I wrote about in the entry just before this one. The February Storm.

And I fantasized about it and what The Storm would all entail. I pictured a quiet night at home, snuggled up on my front couch, reading a classic, which would be interrupted by the ping of my doorbell. Adrenaline would pinch my stomach from the reaction of the ping, like a lab rat anticipating a shock from taking a wrong turn in a maze. My heart would leap knowing He was on the other side of my door, flowers in hand, apology ready for being such an ass by letting me go too easily. And I would open the door, see the sincere pain of apology in his eyes, and I would leap into his arms and kiss him in a way The Universe had never witnessed before because of Truest Love.

That did not happen. Nothing really happened and I am confused and hurt by the Universe. I feel so let down because I felt so deeply something concrete would happen. Yes, my fantasy was a little far fetched (duh). I think I have become a damn hopeless romantic (double-duh), but I really felt like some undeniable sign would happen...

A Few Days into February, 2015 via text, 6:39 PM (after months of painful radio silence)

"Happy birthday. I hope life is good for you."

My heart stopped. I was literally out-the-door with the kids to go celebrate birthday dinner when I got that text. Was this the sign? I was not expecting Him to reach out on my birthday, I think we can safely assume I was expecting something more. Would this lead to the something more? Was this a simple gust of wind from my February Storm? Needless-to-say, I spent my birthday dinner distracted, thinking of how I was going to calmly reply.

Reply via text, 9:15 PM (trying to play it oh-so-smooth)

"What a nice surprise. I am doing well. Thank you."

~~*~~

"I enjoyed our time together." That was the nail in the coffin. It was over. It was dead. There really was no need for him to reach out to me on my birthday. I would have been fine without it, but I cannot help but wonder why he felt the need to text me. He was obviously thinking about me. He obviously mentally noted my birthday. If things were working out the way he had hoped with his estranged and separated (?) wife, then he surely would not be reaching our to a past lover. Right?

And that was it for the moment. Minutes ticked by. Days ticked by. A few weeks ticked by and February drew nearer to its close. That could not be it. Nine words?!?! Just NINE words was my storm? Surely there was more. I started to feel desperate.

For about ten minutes, I looked at the arrow on my phone that could send the text I had written. I took a breath, my index finger hovered above the arrow... and I chickened-out. I reread what I had written, then I took another breath and pushed the arrow...

February 23, 2015 8:57 PM

"Hey. (Keeping it casual.) Your text was quite a surprise (it was) and it caused me to wonder how you are doing (this is a lie. I've been wondering that every day since his email in September, and every day since we first met). We should catch up over drinks and aps sometime (still trying to keep it cool and not sound desperate). Think about it. No pressure ;) (PLLLLEEEEAAAASSSSEEE respond!!!!)

No response...

March 3, 2015 9:37 PM, Present Day

I have been beside myself today. All day long I have been weeping. I am so hurt. There is such sour hollowness in my stomach. I am scared. I am scared I have made this into an obsession about him. This false soul-mate notion. This falseness of trusting The Universe when there is nothing even there. I question whether I really loved or love him; or, rather, that I am in love with this fantasy notion. I sincerely thought we had connected on a level I had never, ever done with another. He told me he loved me! Now I do not know and I do not want him to be gone in nine words.

I do not want him to be gone from my life. I want him in my life. I want him to be my life. I want to be his life. And it hurts. It does not hurt being alone. I am fine being alone. I have been alone for years already and I have tackled that fear. What hurts is having this love inside of me, wanting to share it completely with Him and only Him. It hurts holding it in. It hurts waiting to see if the release will finally be with Him.

I want a chance to really know, without any outside influences, whether or not he and I could be each others Other. I feel cheated. I feel cheated by the Universe that I never really got that chance. And that's what I want. I want that chance to decide for myself and not have someone decide it for me.

And the tears continue to sting my eyes and stain my cheeks.

And I am left to wonder, is True Love even real.

I am a goddamned sap... 

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.

Time Out, Brad Wilcox

I know. I know you will find this extremely hard to believe, but I attended my local Time Out for Women this weekend. My MIL purchased tickets months ago for my SILs and me to go. Well, each of my SILs bailed (well, one of them DID have a baby last Tuesday), so a good friend of my MIL and me went with us. Yeah, I wasn't looking forward to the whole context of the conference, but the perks of spending the night in a hotel, going to dinner, and having a break from the kids outweighed any potential annoyances the conference might have in store. What's more, I love my MIL and wanted to spend some time with her. She is a good woman.

 Going to dinner + fresh hotel sheets + not waking up with the kids > TO4W

I decided ahead of time to go as an objective observer with a positive attitude. I was not going to be looking for opportunities to be offended or annoyed by the speakers or the attendees. I was going to be very real and practical about the whole thing. 

The Friday night session was okay. The first speaker, Brother NotFunny, had a  pretty dismal talk. A person who is truly funny does not need to try to be funny, but somehow Brother NotFunny never got that memo. People around me were cracking up and I just could not fathom why. I wondered if subconsciously I had a bad attitude affecting my funny bone, but then I looked over at my MIL and my GF. There they were. Arms folded. Faces serious and somewhat puzzled. Good. It wasn't just me and my uncorrelated self. 

Next, Virginia Hinckley Pearce spoke and she was, meh... Again, I thought perhaps a bad attitude was influencing me, but no, my MIL and GF later confirmed my same thoughts. Fortunately, the night wasn't a total bust because Jenny Oaks Baker, a Julliard-educated violinist saved the night. Listening to her play the violin was a treat. She was absolutely brilliant.

So the Friday night session went well for me. No major or even minor annoyances. We topped the night off with a trip to the Cheesecake Factory and a pillow fight before bed. The next morning my MIL and GF headed over while I caught a few more zzzzs. Then I got up. Got ready and got over to the conference. I summoned up my positive energy and open mindedness. I was ready for round two.

I made it in time to listen to Linda Eyre and her daughter Shawni Pothier. My MIL knows Shawni personally, so that was much of the reason she wanted to go to TO4W. They both did a fine job and I was feeling fine...

Until...

Enter Brad Wilcox from stage right...

Cox started out his talk relating a story from when he was a mission president. His story was of a disheartened elder who wanted things to be easier. "Wouldn't it all be easier if we just had to do baptisms for the dead?" He then goes off into this diatribe mocking people who say things like, "But Brother Wilcox, don't you know how hard it is? I was born this way. Do you know how hard it is to change?"


From there I began to feel a little uneasy in my seat. I was afraid this would turn into Packergate from that one General Conference. Remember that one? It went something along the lines of gays not being able to overcome what they feel to be inborn tendencies and then he asked why would Heavenly Father do that to anyone, meaning create someone who was gay. Somehow I felt Cox was hinting around on the whole "I was born this way" excuse that he must think is illegitimate for the gay population. 


But I digress. The best was yet to come. Cox then went into this rant of mockery saying the following: It is easy to not going to church. It is easy not going to the temple. It is easy finding the anti-Mormon website to question church history. It is easy to ruin your testimony...


As though I had springs in my butt, I popped up as quickly as I could and angrily walked out in the middle of his self-righteous rant. It was all I could do not to flip him off on the way out, and now I wish I would have. I was pissed and hurt. I immediately called Husband NotSo to relate what had happened and I started to cry. I cried because he was so wrong, so wrong about how "easy" he thinks it is. It is not easy at all.


There have been many, MANY times in my faith crisis where I have thought how much easier it would be to just go back to church, continue to ignore the things that bother me, and continue to be spoon-fed the baby food of what I should believe. It would be easier to have someone else do the thinking for me. It would be easier maintaining relationships with my family and friends if I continued to go to church, instead of taking the initiative to ensure those bonds don't crumble.

Perhaps the most damaging part of all this, was the permission Brother Cox gave the hundreds of women and young women there to judge people who question the church or who have left the church because that is the easy way. No doubt each of those women know someone in their family or ward who has left the church or who is struggling with the church. Now instead of hearing a message about compassion and Christ-like love, they heard a message that they could judge those they know for taking the easy route. Now, because they stay in the church and continue to do what they are told to do, it is deemed harder and must, therefore, be better because it is sanctified by Brother Cox.


I promise, I tired to go into TO4W as open minded as I possibly could be. I knew some things might bother me, but I accepted that fact ahead of time. What I did not expect was the blatant rudeness and judgment coming from one of the more renowned persons of the church.

Ugh. I could not help but note the different feeling I felt at TO4W and the Mormon Stories Conference we had last weekend. At TO4W I felt like an outsider. I didn't feel the collective power a group can cast when it gets together for the common good and I so wanted to. At the MorStor Conference, I felt so much love and power. I truly and honestly loved each an every person who was there. I felt bonded to these people from their many walks of life. I loved those people and I know they loved me. It rejuvenated me and I have craved that feeling, like crack, throughout the whole of last week. It felt like a little piece of heaven on earth.


And to Brother Cox, I recommend taking your nasty foot out of your mouth and walk around in my shoes for a day before you deem what is "easy" and what is not. 


For that, I award you the SisterNotSo WTF moment. WTF, Brother Cox. WTF.

Washington DC Mormon Stories Conference

What a weekend. What a crazy, fantastic weekend. It was like Christmas Eve, Christmas, the Super Bowl, and election night all crammed into one afternoon. If you don't know what I am talking about, I am talking about this. There is a small group of Mormons out there who have either left the church or who are unorthodox on some level and desire to interact with people like themselves and who still feel a communal pull. Through Mormon Stories, we have formed regional groups to help fill the void where ward and stake communities once resided in our lives. It has been refreshing meeting up, conversing on facebook, and emailing these regional members from all walks of life.


This weekend, we had our regional conference for the Washington DC area. I was fortunate enough to be part of the planning committee for the event. Our team was so incredible. The bonus was having varying degrees of faith represented in the planning. Through that we were able to create an event inclusive to all. I would love to give the run-down of the whole thing, but, rather, I am going to highlight some of my more poignant experiences. 


I have not been around very many openly gay people. Of course I had my own thoughts influenced by the church regarding same-sex attraction. Then Prop 8 happened and that compelled me to think deeper about the issue. Around the same time I listened to the podcast John Dehlin did with Carol Lynn Pearson and from there, my views have evolved. 


At the conference, I met and conversed with many openly gay people and for the first time I saw them for who they have always been: Just normal men and women, trying to lead normal, happy lives. They were no different than I. It is not that I expected warts or horns. I was not expecting anything really, but for the first time my heart opened up as I listened to their own Mormon stories. I saw pain and sorrow and then I saw relief. Relief of finally being accepted by a group who all have a common denominator in Mormonism. 


I loved our conference and I love the people who were there. More to come in the following days, but for now I am exhausted. Exhausted and utterly fulfilled.

If Given An Ear

I recently was asked if I were able to have the ear of some General Authority, what would I say or ask them: Simply put, my response was:


Personally, I do not care about women receiving the priesthood because I no longer believe in its power, but it would be refreshing to see women involved in higher decision making processes, instead of those decisions being based solely on the 1960's male tradition of running things. Seeing some female representation would be huge for me.


I would also love to see The Church go back to basics with Christ's message. I do not like seeing such a rich and powerful church use its resources for things other than to relieve human suffering. So much good could be done for God's children around the world if those resources were spent on them rather than on the infrastructure of the church. 

Crunching Numbers

The data I used for this calculation comes straight from the Church's website.

Here's a couple of interesting things to note:


Membership                                                14,131,467
Value of Humanitarian Aide Since 1985       $1.3 Billion

So lets do some math:

1,300,000,000 / 25 years of humanitarian aid = $52,000,00/year.


$52,000,000 / 14,131,467 members = $3.67/member/year of what is contributed from their tithing to humanitarian aid


Things to consider: What the Church has contributed to humanitarian aid each year regarding to the actual membership of that year.


Other things to consider: 25,000 people die EACH DAY (both adults and children) due to hunger.


And on a different note: 2 new temples are to be built in the Republic of Congo and South Africa. 


...and THIS is why I can't leave it alone.

After This Life

I found a cheap airfare I could not pass up on, and decided to take a late-summer trip out to Utah to visit my family. We do not have a good sense on what Dad's time frame is, so it is my desire for my children to get to know and create their own memories of Grandpapa.


As with every trip, I have an agenda. My time out there was shorter than I normally plan when I go, so I crammed a lot of stuff into the ten days I was there. After being home a week, I am still trying to catch my breath.


On the top of my list were plans to meet-up with a married couple with whom Brother NotSo and I met through Mormon Stories. Brother NotSo and I quite like and respect both of them. I had a wonderful time meeting them and listening to their insight on certain church topics. I feel like a sponge these days, wanting to soak up the thoughts of those who have wrestled with the complexities of life before me.


One of the topics I brought up and we discussed was the afterlife. I am in such need of an afterlife, that any thoughts people have on it, I want to hear. It weighs so heavily on me that this life is it. That once we take our last breath, whether prepared or not, that that is the complete end of our existence. No afterlife. Nothing. Just bones in the ground and memories to be passed on only to dissolve when the carriers of those memories pass on too.


I once believed in eternal life, but when you go through the process of reevaluating your beliefs, you end up questioning EVERYTHING. I can say now, I am less than 50% sure there is an afterlife. I mean, sure. I hear stories of people coming back from the dead and having out-of-body experiences, I just wonder and I am now skeptical if there is not some other explanation for those events.


So why am I so desirous to know if there is an afterlife? After talking to my Mo'Sto' friends and digesting my thoughts, I have realized why I fear the nonexistence of eternal life. 


I do not want "this" to be it. I have spent my whole adult life pretty much in a constant state of mediocrity and suckitude. Depression, bad habits, and laziness have been the bane of my adult life, weighing down the potential I have to be a kick-ass human. There have been times in my life I have been so low, I would rather be dead than continue to live the rest of my life feeling so low and so helpless. The points in my life of feeling a sense of accomplishment have been few and far between.


My need for eternal life is wanting to have a do-over. If I can just make it through this life, my next life will be better and easier. I won't feel so damn tired all the time. I will have the energy to do the things I want to do. Hell, I will have all eternity to get my to-do list checked off. If I can just wait this life out, if I can keep chugging along in my mediocrity then there is no need to fight to overcome my demons, and then I will have my reward. 


More thoughts to come later...

She Has Left The Church

This past week, Mom and Dad visited a good family friend who is a temple president of one the temples in the Salt Lake Valley. They went to get a priesthood blessing for guidance regarding Dad's disease. The blessing went well and afterwards, they chit-chatted, and the temple president specifically asked about me. Mom's response was,"She has left The Church."


As Mom recounted that to me and the words of "she has left the church" came out of her mouth, I kinda got a sick feeling in my stomach. Have I REALLY left The Church? I have been thinking since then what my relationship with The Church is. There are things I still believe and hold on to, I can still see myself participating on some level, I just do not attend.


I am fine receiving any member of our ward into our home. Visiting teacher? Fine. Missionaries? Fine. Bishop? Fine. I have even told our Relief Society President, who is also a friend I hang out with, whatever help she needs, I would be happy to assist. 


Just as I started becoming inactive, we had a whole bunch of new, young families move into the ward. I have become good friends with the mommies and their children. I am so grateful for the influx of girlfriends. I swear they moved into our ward boundaries just for me.


Perhaps, my readers, you may think it is awkward being friends with Mormon mommies and me, the inactive sister. Since the beginning, I have refused to let this situation be awkward. I have been proactive at maintaining my friendships and I have been blunt and open about what I want from them regarding The Church. I even openly joke about my church attendance. 


I have voiced my appreciation to them for being so kind to me and for treating me like everyone else. One day, flat out, I told them "just don't treat me like I am a project", to which they agreed. Being honest, and open, and even blunt at times has worked for me in maintaining my relationship with my girlfriends. I am glad religion is not the basis of friendship for them.


So have I left the church? I don't know. I don't know if I can answer that right now. I haven't mailed in my resignation, so I am still on the books. I still feel like I belong to my ward family and would attend activities, like the Ward Christmas Party and I still say hi when I bump into Ward members at Walmart, or wherever.


What keeps me from going to church is my dislike for listening to things I do not agree with or believe. I still believe in God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost, and it makes logical sense to me that they are separate beings. I believe in the goodness and guidance of the Word of Wisdom and I want to pass that onto my children. I believe in some kind of preexistence and afterlife. I believe I will be together with my husband, my children, and my family regardless of what I do in this lifetime. I still believe families are forever. I believe Christ's message of love one another. 


So where does this place me? Am I still Mormon? I don't know. I guess that will be something which will be resolved in the future. 


Whomever you are, leave a comment. Any insight you have, I would appreciate hearing. 

The Pl4yboy Club Loves Lucy

I would like to thank the Deseret News for providing me with material for this entry. Here is the link to the article from the DesNews regarding how sex has evolved on television. What prompted the article is the recent release of the fall lineup the networks will be showing. Among them is The Pl4yboy Club, which, by the title, must be a wholesome and family friendly show. Surely, the family will gather together, just as they did back in the day of FDR and his fireside chats.


KSL, the NBC network affiliate in Salt Lake City and owned by Deseret Media Companies, which is owned by the LDS Chruch, has decided to take the choice from its watchers being able to determine for themselves if TPC is suitable for their home. And this is where it rubs me the wrong way.

NBC => KSL => DMS => LDS Church

One of the foundational beliefs in Mormonism is that of free agency. Agency and "The War in Heaven" is one of the first things taught by missionaries when they have an investigator. Here is the Cliff's Notes version of "The War in Heaven". God has many spirit children. God tells his children they need to go to earth and they can return to him, but he needs a plan. Lucifer, pipes up, saying his plan would be to force God's children to live righteously and the glory would be his. Jesus pipes up saying through agency, God's children will return and the glory will be God's. Jesus' plan is accepted, Lucifer is cast out and yadda yadda yadda.


This story is one of the first things taught to small children in Sunday School and to investigators. It is a topic which comes up all the time in talks, classes, songs, and daily Mormon conversation. Needless-to-say, the doctrine of free agency is big in Mormon theology. Because we are physically here on earth, we accepted Jesus' plan. We are taught through our choices, good or bad, we will be held accountable. The hope is that through making bad choices we will learn, grow and be better, and forgiveness will come from God via Jesus' atonement.


So the idea of free agency is huge to Mormonism to God's plan of having us return to live with him again, except when it comes to airing shows like The Pl4yboy Club on the unspotted NBC network affiliate KSL. Here, the choice is being made for you. You, the public, are not allowed to decide if TPC is a show that is appropriate for your own household. Your free agency is taken from you and you are being forced to do right. Big Brother is making sure you won't even be tempted by whatever content is contained in TPC because Big Brother knows you can not be trusted to make the correct choice. For a church that is a big proponent of free agency, it seems they are following Satan's plan.


Part of the reasoning behind this decision was the fear the show would be aired during prime time and children could be susceptible to watching it. A parent should be allowed to do just as the name states: parent. They are the ones responsible to insure their children are watching age appropriate television, but once again, free agency is being taken away. DMC is usurping a parent's authority of television watching in their household. DMC does not have the right to take away that choice from anyone regardless of the content in that show. This is squarely a decision for parents and adults to make for themselves. If an adult likes it, they should get to watch it. If a parent does not like it, they should be allowed to change the channel.


What's more, the newspaper article gives a brief timeline of the evolution of sex in television. It first starts with the wonderful little show called I Love Lucy where Desi and Lucy were shown sleeping in separate beds and the word "pregnant" was taboo. This got my blood boiling. Really? I mean, really? I wonder if the writer of the article has seen an episode of I Love Lucy recently.


When I was a kid, I loved that show. I especially loved the episode where Lucy and Ethel are in the candy factory, trying to keep up with packaging chocolates. That episode made me crave chocolatey goodness every time. Remembering I loved that show when I was younger, I watched a bit of it not to long ago and I saw a completely different show. It was a show that was sexist and demeaning to women.


Lucy and Ethel are treated by both their husbands as if they are little children who need help wiping their asses after they shit. I was absolutely astounded how rude and disrespectful Ricky was towards his wife and Fred to Ethel. The reason Lucy and Ethel got into so much trouble is because they had to sneak around in order to do what they wanted to do. There was no compromise. No communication. There was only Ricky's way. 


EVERY episode goes like this: Lucy has an idea. Ricky puts the kibosh on the idea. Lucy sneaks around to put her idea into practice and solicits the help of Ethel. Lucy and Ethel find themselves in a bind. Ricky finds out. Fred finds out. Ricky gets mad at Lucy. Fred gets mad at Ethel. Lucy cries. Ethel cries. Lucy apologies. Ethel apologies. Ricky and Lucy kiss. Red and Ethel hug. Next episode, rinse, repeat.


So really, using I Love Lucy as an example of what "good" television is, is insulting to every woman who has had to fight for equality in the workplace and at home. It is a horrible example to use in this day and age where women continue to struggle for equality. Is the author really wanting to turn the clock back all these years just to have wholesome television? I hope not. 


I do not understand the nostalgia of wanting to go back to 60 years ago when the civil rights movementand the feminist movement were just about to be birthed. As a society we have come such a long way on ensuring all freedoms are extended to all people regardless of race or gender. Just because the horrible eight-letter word "pregnant" was not allowed on television does not mean we should subscribe to the ideals of that time. I would rather have the choice of turning off the television and maintain my equality, rather than give up my rights and free agency for Molly Mormon television. 

To be clear, I am NOT promoting The Pl4yboy Club nor am I supporting it. In fact, had I not come across this article and all the hullabaloo TPC is creating in Utah, I probably would not even be aware of its premier. I probably would not even watch an episode, but in my curiosity to check it out, I YouTubed the trailers for it and it looks kinda intriguing. I might even watch the series premier... With my preschool daughter and my toddler son because I am the one who should make that choice. Thank you very much.