3-1-2021 Journal Entry, aka Why Me, God?

I don't even know how to start writing what I'm feeling.  I went to GriefShare tonight and something reminded me of my dad, so I told a little of that story.  The gasps when I said I found him dead and decomposing hit me.  There's so much in my life.  My divorce--being cheated on multiple times, being given an STD, being strangled after being stalked, custody battles, no child support.  My losses--my dad, my grandparents, my husband.  My health and mental health--Lyme's disease, my back injury, depression/being suicidal, PTSD (twice), borderline personality disorder, anxiety, and more.  Financial issues.  My son being special needs and having to fight for him his whole life and now being alone to do it.  My daughter running from God and being scared she'll never turn around.  Not knowing who I am when I'm not Scott's wife or Arrena, Kimberly, and Billy's mom.  Trying to figure out where I fit in at church because I know I need to, but more confused than ever.

In my previous marriage, I felt like Hosea, taking back the husband that left me for so many other women.  Now I feel like Job.  Why is my life so screwed up?  Why do all these bad things happen to me?  I know the answer for Job was for God to get the glory.  How does God get glory from all the broken pieces of my life and how do I give it to Him?  I want to honor God and give Him glory, but how?  And how much can one person bear?  I know, there must be people that have it worse.  I just don't know how much more broken I can be.  I feel like David in the Psalms when he asks, "How long Lord?"  Whatever I may want, I can't die yet because I have a son to raise, if I can get motivated to actually parent him.  And right now I have a hard time praying for Jesus' return because I'm unsure of the souls of 2 of my children.  When will all my suffering be over?  I still have a mom to lose.  Three children.  What will I lose next?  Do I have to live 40, 50 more years in this pain?  This is not my home and I know 40-50 years is a vapor compared to eternity, but from this end, it seems interminable.  What do I still need to learn or do that I haven't?  Please God, answer my prayer: save my children and let me go home.  That's all I want.

I Take Back What I Said About Mother's Day...or The Disappearing Summers

Recently I read and reviewed a book that may be made into a movie soon called Just 18 Summers. It was about a concept I'd been pondering a lot lately: that we have a limited amount of time with our kids to teach them, to make memories, to prepare them for life. That's been hitting home to me because my oldest will be 14 and entering her last year of middle school in the fall. My time with her is waning. And her sister is only a year behind her. I struggle with the constant battle of wanting to seize and savor every moment yet being tired from the constant pull of every day life in contrast to the bleak job of every parent: to make themselves obsolete so their kids can enter adult life independent and prepared.

I've always been big on summer fun. Since my oldest started kindergarten, I looked at summers as a way to spend time together and make memories she'd carry with her for a lifetime. And summers from school are a poignant reminder of the clock ticking. When they are preschoolers, each day rolls into the next day and before you know it, a year has passed, then two. But once they go off to school and summer comes, you know you have 3 months (or less) to have fun, make memories, take vacations, teach them things they can't learn in school and just enjoy them.

In recent days/years, I've been guilty of counting down til school starts back. I'm tired. My son has special needs and requires a huge amount of attention. And because I've been so diligent about trying to make all things equal between my kids, the girls expect equal attention and I get overloaded.

Last summer, I'd planned to get back to my usual summer fun and planned out some activities, made a calendar of events, etc.  But then I had surgery and recovery was harder than I expected. We did go camping in Branson and had fun but I wanted more.

The last post I published on this blog (I've written a couple of others, especially explaining our life right now, just haven't hit that "publish" button yet) was about wanting to boycott Mother's Day because I felt disrespected by my children and didn't want fake, expected tokens. I can assure you I was forced to eat my words later. I think the day after I wrote that blog, my son's therapist recommended long-term residential treatment. The guilt for what I'd written about Mother's Day was nearly as bad as the pain of the idea of sending my 9-year-old off to the care of strangers. To say I was inconsolable is an understatement. The series of events that have followed have left us broken. Financial difficulty, difficult decisions, two short-term hospitalizations for my son, my daughter struggling with inner demons as well as high blood pressure we can't get control of, custody court battle, and job chaos, just to name a few. The list doesn't do justice to the amount of turmoil it represents.

I had high hopes for this summer. My girls were in summer school to get ahead and prepare for advanced classes that would give them high school credit in middle school. They also went to camp. But, in the 6 remaining weeks of summer, I had plans, lists, calendars, and even a Pinterest board. Let the fun begin! Memories and life lessons!

But, I hurt my back. My son injured my back a couple of months ago but I somehow re-injured it so that it became excruciating. Top three on my pain repertoire. 8.0 on the Richter scale. So, my mobility was severely limited. The past couple of weeks, I've been going to doctor/chiropractor appointments, taking meds that knock me out, and laid up in bed. But, now that it's starting to get better, I've been chomping at the bit to get out and do some activities! My daughter even has a Pinterest board called her "summer bucket list."

Yesterday, though, my summer was sucked away in an instant. Without going into too much detail, what I thought would be a routine pre-trial court hearing that my lawyer said I didn't have to attend turned out to have massive effects. With the exception of our already scheduled vacation, the kids will spend the rest of the summer with their dad. I won't even go into how my lawyer didn't bother to tell me, I had to hear about it in a text from their dad the day before they are supposed to go or that she won't call me back to explain what happened or some of the other nonsense this included. Or that this was sprung on me last minute and I have to scramble to get them ready or that they have appointments scheduled that dad will likely skip. Or that the kids don't like this at all (but no one seemed to care or even ask) or that Billy will miss meet the teacher night at his new school or Arrena will miss volleyball meetings or Kimberly will miss another month of karate (after missing a month when she injured her foot).  Our summer just kicked the bucket. Except for our vacation window, one more summer down.

I bawled yesterday at this news for a lot of reasons I won't list here. I know all the pat answers and cliches, that God has a plan. But my heart still hurts. I'm mom and I should be able to fix things. But I'm powerless and impotent.  And even worse than that, even though I know God is in control, I need direction.  I need answers on what to do now.  What is the correct response?  How can I tell what the right decisions are?  And with my anxiety attacks, I need boldness and clarity and discernment.  I am notorious for wallowing and mourning at tough things, but after I have my cry and time to process, I pull up my big girl panties and strap on my boots and get busy and become the force to be reckoned with.  I research, I come armed with knowledge, I won't take no for an answer, I fight to the end for my kids.  I need to be that right now.

I'm trying to look on the bright side: that I could use some respite (from Billy's 24/7 demands and for my back) and that I'll be able to get some things done (writing the play for the drama team, working on my book, working on my Etsy shop and my blog), but they all fall short of seeing those faces every day.  And just when I think I have set myself to accept this, the response of one of the kids knocks my feet out from under me and makes me feel like dirt.  How can a mom not protect her children?  And how can a court ask that of me?

I am also trying to remember Romans 8, that God will use this experience for the kids to make them more like Christ, to mold them and shape them into who He has planned for them to be.  And that He is with them always and loves them more than I could ever imagine AND has the power to protect them that I don't possess.  There's the possibility that they could be witnesses to their dad or their step-mom.

I have been angry and confused and upset and asking God why, but in the end, I do trust Him.  Nothing can shake that.  Like Job said, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him."

While our summer vacation has been cut extremely short and what little time we do have is up in the air, depending on a lot of factors and variables, this reminds me that we are not promised a tomorrow.  We may count 18 summers, but we aren't promised that.  A court may order the kids to their dad's for the summer.  A friend lost her four-year-old to a brain tumor.  A woman at our church died of cancer, leaving behind her five-year-old son.  We are not promised any tomorrows.  All we have is now.  The plans, the calendars, the Pinterest boards--they are great, but today is the day to hug your kids and tell them you love them.  Teach them one life lesson.  Talk about God.  Tell them a family story.  Spend time with them.  Make a memory.  I know we are busy, but tomorrow may be too late.

The Most Thankless Job

As life is wont to do, this post is in direct contrast to a previous recent post.

I always knew motherhood was a thankless job, and that was ok. The hugs, smiles, kisses were enough. And even when Billy hurls obscenities at me and says he hates me, I've learned to overlook it and know that it's coming from the disabilities that plague him and that his actions show otherwise.

But, lately my kids have been throwing new barbs at my heart. The kind that stick and make you look at them differently and wonder why you bother doing all the vast and taxing things you do for them. I'm sure I'm not the only one to feel this way.

The divorce from their dad was the catalyst. When they were young, the hurt came from their gushing about dad's girlfriend, the very one he left me for. Arrena was the only one that could see through my carefully neutral façade and refused to mention her in my presence, at the tender age of eight.

I take with a grain of salt the angry, "I'll just go live at dad's!" Because I know they're only trying to get a reaction, that it's the difference between the loving discipline designed to grow them into godly young people here and the "Disneyland" at dad's, and even if they were serious, the court prevents it at this time.

There's the little jabs when they gush about how much fun they had at dad's, conveniently forgetting that he went months without picking them up or that he forgot to call on their birthday or that he's gone six months without paying child support and we've been struggling just to put food on their plates.

There's the cruel twist of my heart when they speak glowingly of their step-mom, who was also instrumental in the break-up of the marriage. The fury of knowing they confided rule-breaking to her and she kept her mouth shut so that I'm the last to know.

And, yes, I admit that there's the jealousy of my kids having this whole other step-family that they love and talk about that I don't even know.

Kimberly talks about how she and her step-mom have this plan to move to Florida and open a wildlife park. I know it will probably never happen but the idea that she'd prefer to spend her life with her step-mom over me (she can't wait to go to college out of state and live far away) breaks my heart in two.

The cruelest torture was this week when their dad told me all the things they complain about to him, things that have just enough grain of truth in them to make me believe he didn't make it up, but enough falsehood to make me sound like the wicked witch. How did I turn into the evil step-mother in the fairy tale?

That same night, I listened to both girls talking about how they'd name their first sons after their dad. A dad who tried to kill their mother in front of them, the dad who doesn't show up or call, the dad who didn't participate in parenting even before we were divorced, the dad who followed through on his threat to purposefully get fired so he wouldn't have to pay high child support, the dad who called and left a suicidal message telling them goodbye, the dad who not only threatened to run away with them but actually took me to court to try to take custody and lied in court, and all the other award-winning dad material that makes him worthy of being made a grandchild namesake.  The guy you wouldn't even remotely think was a good man, let alone a good father. Yet, I get nothing. Things they see me do for them, the things they take for granted that I'll always be there, and the things they never saw--things they'll probably never know because I won't tell them. The things they blame me for without knowing the whole story or the motivation behind it. I don't even necessarily want any grandchildren named after me. It just hurts when he seems to win parent of the year over me over and over again.

No, I'm not like many parents that would sit there and point out all of these things to them, in an effort to make myself look better and him look worse.  In fact, sometimes I find myself trying to explain why he is the way he is, almost (almost) defending him, not for his sake, but for theirs.  I've even said that they are smart enough to one day figure it out on their own.

And, yes, I'm sure "one day" they'll see things clearly and that I did the best for them that I possibly could and that he didn't. One day, especially when they have children of their own, I might hear a "thank you, mom" or an "I'm sorry, mom." But in the meanwhile, while I'm embroiled in a fight against the school and the bus company on their behalf, I wonder why am I wearing myself thin, stressing myself out, exhausting myself when dad's the hero. And then I remember that regardless of whether they recognize the sacrifice, I love them and will still do anything for them no matter their reaction. And I bet God feels the same way when His children forget Him. He just keeps on loving us anyway.

Madness takes its toll--please have exact change ready.

I know, I have suddenly been blogging a LOT lately!  Fear not, I will probably peter out of things to say and go dormant again for a while!

My therapist was encouraging me to do certain things to cope with my issues, such as art ( I should really get back to doing some of my more creative pastimes) and journaling, which is what my blog is!  So, for now you are stuck with my incoherent rantings!

My therapy the other day was a little hard and as he told me I would probably be processing through it, I thought I would blog about it.  I don't like to talk about my ex-husband a lot, especially online, but as this is my journal and I need to process, I'll say what I need to say this time.

I said in my last blog post that I have been wrapping my mind around the fact that I am flawed mentally and emotionally.  There are many contributing factors to my issues, such as the genetic lottery I won by inheriting depression or the fact that my dad was verbally and emotionally abusive to me growing up.  I have been forced to face and process some of the ugliness that has caused me to be the way that I am.  I used to hear voices, I have panic attacks, I suffer from depression so dark that it causes physical pain and were it not for medication, I don't think I could survive it.  I know there are people who have suffered horrific things and I am so thankful that I have not experienced these things, but I know that all the factors that combine to make me who I am make it hard for me to function on a daily basis.  There are some days when just breathing and going about daily tasks is exhausting.  There are days when I want to fold in on myself and disappear.  I beg and cry out to God to come quickly because I long for heaven and an end to the torture I feel inside.

There are probably two major happenings that have caused my natural brain malfunctions to overload in recent years.  The first was my dad's death which I have talked about in a previous blog, so I'll not belabor that event.  The summation was that I found my dad dead in his home and he had been dead for five days and was decomposing.  It was a traumatic experience that haunted me for a very long time.  I still have my moments, but for the most part, I have been able to get past the guilt feelings and view the situation more matter-of-factly.

The other major event was less a specific event and more of a time period culminating in an event.  Seven years of marriage to my ex-husband, during which time, he cheated on me numerous times, moved out of the house numerous times, possibly fathered other children, gave me a cancer-causing STD, disappeared often, hit me, possibly engaged in an escort service, was arrested for fighting a few times, had an alcohol problem, once scared me by talking about murdering one of his girlfriends to make things "right" for us, etc.  During that time, I felt so mentally and emotionally damaged, I could barely think straight.  I couldn't decide whether to leave or not.  I couldn't make decisions.  I would decide to divorce him, then change my mind.  I couldn't tell if I could trust him or not or if he was lying or telling the truth.  I was confused all the time.  I knew I had Biblical grounds for divorce, but the Bible also said to forgive 70 times 7, etc.  I couldn't even tell how I felt or what I wanted.  I once wrote down a list of pros and cons of whether to leave or stay and I filled up page after page.  I had many, many reasons I stayed, but I also had many, many reasons I wanted to go.  For seven years, I lived in a hell of turmoil that I wouldn't wish on anyone.  I was extremely suicidal and went to get help.  I got on some anti-depressants and for the first time, my mind cleared and I was able to think straight.  I finally made the decision to divorce and felt a peace flood over me.  Just when I thought things couldn't have gotten any worse than they had been, they did.

Even though he was living with a girlfriend, he continued to text and call me all hours of the day and night, alternately yelling and screaming and threatening me and then turning around and confessing his undying love and begging me to take him back, sometimes all in the same day.  When I finally started turning my phone off at night, he started showing up at my house in the middle of the night.  I'd answer the door so he wouldn't wake the children, but also because after spending 14 years married to this man, I had a hard time thinking he was a threat.  But after this went on over and over again, I started to see more and more instability in his attitude and behavior.  One night, when I answered the door, I felt an inexplicable jolt of fear and for the first time, I began to think that this man really could hurt me.  I started to wonder if we would end up one of those statistics on TV, the husband who kills his estranged wife, children, and then commits suicide.  I found out later that he was hiding at my house that night because he had tried to strangle his girlfriend and the police were looking for him.  Sometimes when he would show up, he would be angry.  Sometimes, he was crying or very distant and acting suicidal.  He had already spent 5 days in the local mental hospital, and while I thought that that had been more about getting attention, I still believed that there was something wrong with him.

I don't know the extent of his stalking me, but I know he was.  I don't know if he was listening at my windows at night or watching me as I went through my day or following me around or parked down the street from my house, but he knew things he couldn't have known otherwise.  I never saw him or caught him stalking me, which is almost worse, not knowing how he did it or what he saw and heard.

After I signed the final divorce papers, I went out with Scott, who is now my husband.  I have blogged about that night before, so I won't detail it again, but the short version is that he was in my house with the children when I came home.  He had been calling me, threatening to run off with the children.  I had a restraining order, so all of these times he was at my house, I should have called the police.  But, this time he was IN my house and began to shove me around and throw me around.  For a brief second I contemplated the knives that were within my reach, but I knew that if I went that route, I'd have to be prepared to go all the way with it.  I could tell he had a very thin layer of control and was shaking all over.  I could see that even though he was roughing me up, he could do a lot worse and wasn't.  If I pulled a knife, I knew that the control would snap like a rubber band and if I wasn't prepared to use it to stop him for good, he would take it from me and kill me.  And I knew I couldn't do that.  For one, I am squeamish and stabbing is up close and personal.  For two, I didn't think it had escalated at that point enough that deadly force was required.  For three, I couldn't do that in front of the children.  So, I abandoned the thought of the knives.  Sometimes I wonder if I should have.  Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I could have gone through it.  Maybe I would feel better, but I know my kids wouldn't.  Not long after that, he grabbed me by the throat and basically said he would kill me if I didn't tell him where I had been.  I didn't tell him.  I knew that knowing I had been out on a date would not pacify him, it would ramp him up even more.  And, even though I knew what it might cost me, I felt I had to stand up for myself in some small way.  So, I choked out one word: "no!"  The next thing I remembered was hitting the floor and being unable to move for what seemed like an eternity.  I was aware that the kids were nearby, so I assumed they had distracted him or stopped him from what I believe would have resulted in his killing me.  When I was finally able to move, I shoved the kids out the door and we ran and called the police.

He was arrested, but since he hadn't been arrested for the incident with his girlfriend and since I had been dumb in not calling the police for any other time, this was a first offense and he got a slap on the wrist: anger management and probation.  I was scared to death.  Every noise outside made me think he was coming back to finish me off.  I couldn't imagine dropping the kids off at school, praying he wouldn't pick them up and run off with them.  The thought of going anywhere and looking over my shoulder, wondering if he was following, watching, going to kill me terrified me.  He knew all my friends and family and would eventually find me no matter where I went, so I did the only thing I could do: went with Scott to Kansas City to feel safe and to think.

I feel like something broke inside of me that night.  I don't feel like I have ever been the same since.  I had had such a hard time seeing him as a danger since I had lived 14 years with him, but ever since that night, I have a hard time seeing him as anything BUT dangerous.  Sometimes I think I must be overreacting and he's moved on and remarried--he couldn't possibly still want to hurt me.  But, even though I try to convince myself of this, his behavior--his anger and yelling at me nearly every time I try to talk to him--keep that doubt in my mind.  He occasionally has what we call "meltdowns" where he sort of goes off the deep end.  For example, one of these meltdowns included him calling me and leaving me a long suicidal voicemail, apologizing for everything and telling the kids goodbye for the last time, etc.  Those instabilities worry me too about what he is capable of.  I had thought he was calming and was being easier to deal with, but his anger has really escalated in recent months.  I can't talk to him about the kids without him getting angry and yelling. I dread having to talk to him.  He blames me for everything and undermines my authority to the kids behind my back and encourages them to make fun of Scott.

I have had nightmares ever since that night that he is coming back to hurt me or take me.  I have panic attacks.  My chest aches and I can't breathe when I have to talk to him or see him.  I feel like I am shattering into a million pieces.  I would do almost anything to get out of having to deal with him.  I am so relieved when he doesn't show up to pick up the kids, I almost feel giddy.  Some days, I feel like I am a hair's breadth away from a total breakdown or a mental institution.

Not long ago, when he was yelling at me when I tried to talk to him about Billy's behavior, I lost it and started yelling back.  I usually try to keep the peace, not rock the boat, bite my tongue.  But, this time, I couldn't.  I didn't let it all loose, but I couldn't be a doormat any longer.  Immediately I felt better that I had stood up to him, but sooner than I'd have liked, it wore off and I was afraid.

My doctors have diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and I have been in therapy.  I didn't want to go back to therapy after having gone to counseling off and on for years, but my doctor, whom I highly respect, said, "you have to pull your hand out of the toaster before you can begin to treat the burn."

My therapist used a technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) this week.  At first, I thought he was nuts for thinking that my eyes following his fingers back and forth would help me deal with this.  I don't totally understand the science behind it, but something about the eye movement activates both sides of your brain and helps you process trauma.  As he had me think about the situation and follow his finger movement with my eyes, the feelings bubbled over and I began sobbing uncontrollably.  Then as he had me think through calming thoughts, I was surprised as I started to feel better.  He had me think about the support I receive from my husband and I thought about how he would never allow me to again be in a dangerous situation with my ex-husband.  That helped me to calm down some--to know that the likelihood of him ever having the opportunity to hurt me again was slim to none.  Then he asked me to choose a safe place I can go to in my mind.  He said it could be a vacation spot or somewhere I have never been or an imaginary place.  My first thought was Heaven.  That is the safest place possible and how could you be any safer than in the Lord's arms.  But, imagining that as my safe place made me cry because it made me terribly homesick.  So, I decided to instead use the beach where we had our cruise.  He wanted me to recall the sounds, the feel, the sights.  I imagined us lying on the warm sandy beach, looking into the crystal clear water, seeing the fish and the ship and the people all having fun.  Safe because it was so far away from my ex-husband with no worries or troubles.  Then I remembered the smell of the BBQ and the sound of the island band playing.  I started to snicker, remembering the band singing, "I shot the sheriff," in their Jamaican accent.  How amazing that I could go from sobbing to giggling in just a few minutes.  I'm sure I am not totally there yet, but maybe this therapy isn't as silly as it originally sounded to me.

I am looking into hiring another lawyer to change the jurisdiction of the case to Missouri since we both left the county we were divorced in.  I am also looking to tweak a few things, such as the pick up location.  We were court ordered to meet at police stations because of the history of domestic violence.  However, he moved out to the middle of nowhere Kansas with no police stations nearby.  He expects us to come to his house to pick the kids up, which I am not comfortable with.  He generously (read with sarcasm) suggested that the only other place he would meet at was the deserted sandlot across the street from his house.  I want to address this issue, along with the child support.  I also contacted the court trustee to inform them that he has moved and has stopped paying child support.  He is supposed to be under their supervision for the next couple of years and if he violates their parameters, he SHOULD go to jail for six months.  I doubt it would happen though.  He has been violating everything all along and they don't do anything about it.

I hate having to go back into a fight, since I don't like to rock the boat.  But, I have to do what I need to do to feel safe.

Am I the Only Person Who Dislikes Skulls?

One of the great joys of sharing children with an ex is the Christmas and birthday gift conundrum. For one, if they don't consult you, then you sometimes end up getting the same thing. For example, for my son's 5th birthday, my ex-husband called to criticize me for not consulting him and buying the same cake, decorations, piñata that they had planned on having. It apparently didn't occur to him to check to see what we were doing or that our son picked it out himself, that we were trying to give him a theme birthday, according to his interests, or that we had gotten ours first. Or, how about that it doesn't even matter that Billy had the same cake, piñata, and decor for two parties? Did Billy mind? No!

Second, there's the argument of where these gifts should stay. Should they remain at dad's house, or do they go home to mom's with the kids? Thirdly, which ties in to the second problem, he and his girlfriend or wife sometimes buy gifts that we don't like or approve of, such as loud, noisy gifts (a guitar, kazoos, etc.), a remote controlled snake (Scott doesn't like snakes of any sort in this house), or clothing that you would never allow your 8 and 10-year-old daughters to wear (padded bras, shorty shorts, pants with words across the rear, drawing attention to your little girl's butt, or used underwear--yes...i said used).

Yes, all these things I have mentioned have happened in our situation. I am sure there are worse things that they could receive and maybe will in the future. My solution to the problem: donate any clothes that are inappropriate and ask him to keep all gifts that he buys at his house. However, though I have discussed this with him a couple of times, this past Christmas, the kids were preparing to bring home their gifts, saying dad told them they could. I said absolutely not, becoming the bad guy and it was obvious that he was very unhappy with my refusal. While I choose my battles, this time I stood my ground, not willing to allow the walking over me to turn into an Olympic decathlon. He sent them with just a few items that were non-toy. Even that was an issue because Kimberly got two calendars from his mom and another calendar from my husband's mother. Now, where is she going to put three calendars? What does an 8-year-old need with three calendars? Or a 5-year-old, because Billy got three, as well.

The other item that I didn't like was a purse that they got for Arrena, my 10-year-old. It's a Monster High brand and features a skull on the side of it, with a bow on its "head." Even though I don't like it, I can't take it away from her without being the bad guy again. She adores this purse and takes it everywhere and shows it to everyone.

There are worse things that she could have and this is really just my own personal issue with it. Likely few will understand my aversion. I see skulls everywhere. And not just as a tattoo on a big hairy scary-looking man's bicep. I see women wearing skull shirts, earrings, etc. as well. Just the other day, I heard about someone that wanted skulls decorating their baby's blanket. My problem is that it is a symbol of death. Most would be appalled if someone were to walk around with a severed head as a decoration. However, this is the same thing, only more decayed--minus the skin, blood, and tissue. That is disturbing to me. I see a skull and a severed head as the same thing. It is disgusting to me to decorate with a human body part. I also wonder if it desensitizes people to death and gore. And the cute little bow on top of the skull on my daughter's purse makes me shake my head. Yeah, let's make it better by decorating the severed head with a pink bow. O...kay. Totally my opinion and others obviously do not share it. So, I am currently stuck with a skull purse in my house. Guess it's slightly better than the other purse she likes to carry around--a photo tote, which she decided to fill with an old family picture from when my ex and I were still married as well as a family picture taken at my wedding to my new husband. (It's a little weird...)

Trying to Get Kimmy to Strive to be Like the Apostle Paul...

I have apparently taken a two month hiatus from blogging. My wonderfully supportive husband has pointed out that I should be writing, but I have been so busy that my blogging had to be put on hold. I have many topics to write about that I will get to in the coming days.

My 7-year old daughter Kimmy has had the hardest time with all of the transitions in our life: my divorce from her dad, our move out of state, and my new marriage. At first, she seemed to welcome all the change. She rallied in support of moving and my marrying Scott and after witnessing her dad almost kill me, wanted nothing to do with him. But, once her dad started to manipulate her, in my opinion, her attitude towards it all started to change. She has asked a lot of really hard questions. It is hard to explain adult topics to a 7-year-old, but on the other hand, I feel she deserves some answers. And I hope that she can learn from these situations as well.

For example, one day she begged me to know why her dad and I couldn't just say we were sorry and make things all better. How do you explain to a child why you absolutely cannot stay married to such a man? Or that you TRIED to do that over and over again? And how do you convey to your daughter that she should NOT marry someone with the qualities that her dad possesses without badmouthing him and damaging the father/daughter relationship that courts and psychologists alike deem so very important? I don't know and this is still a fine line that I find myself trying to navigate.

Yesterday, Kimmy begged an audience with me. What was her topic of choice? She wanted us to uproot and move back to our hometown. She wanted my husband to quit his job and forget his 9 years of seniority (who needs a paycheck anyways, right?), for us to leave this house that we just spent $80,000 adding on to as well as very recently refinancing, for all of us to pack up and move for the third time in a little over a year, she and her sister to change schools for the 4th time in as many years, for me to go back into the same environment as my abusive and psychotic ex-husband...all because she liked our hometown better and had more friends. At first I was angry. I was becoming tired of having to justify myself to her and dealing with her sudden change in loyalty. I was livid at her suggestion that I didn't care about her and wouldn't do anything for her (she will never know all I did for her). A few weeks ago, she was plotting to run away back to our hometown and live with her dad. I told her that we would absolutely NOT move back and it was ridiculous to even think about it. I explained all the reasons not to, as listed above, and left her in tears.

I calmed down a bit and thought back to my teenage years. My mom and dad fought a lot and often mom would leave the house with us kids. Sometimes she would want to head to Oklahoma to live with her sister. I would always berate her and talk her out of it. Why? There was no love lost between me and my dad in those days. I hated my hometown and couldn't wait to leave when I was old enough. Pure and simple, I was selfish. I had friends or a boyfriend that I didn't want to leave behind. I didn't want to start over in a new state. And while I believe a seven-year-old can recover from a move easier than a high school student can, I began to understand and empathize with her feelings.

I went to her more humbly than before and told her that story about my parents. Sometimes now I wish I hadn't talked my mom into staying in Kansas. I wonder what would have been different if we had left. Going through a nightmare marriage myself, I can start to feel bad that I terrorized my mom into staying in hers. (Thank God that I didn't wait until the kids were teenagers to divorce their dad!) I explained to her that even though she thinks it is the end of the world right now and swears she will go back to our hometown as soon as she is 18, I believe in the next 11 years, this will become home to her. She will have spent more time in Missouri than she did in Kansas. I told her that she will make friends that she will feel like she couldn't have imagined her life without, the kind of friends that last a lifetime. I told her that I stayed in contact with NONE of my friends that I knew in second grade or earlier. The friends I have now are those I made upwards of third grade. And I told her again that this is the best choice for us, that it is my responsibility to make decisions that are best for us, and that we will NOT be going back there. And I explained to her that she has a decision to make. She can choose to hate the situation and make herself miserable and make everyone around her miserable and not make any friends and grow up a very messed up kid or she can choose to accept it and look for the good in it and be happy.

The situation took a very humorous turn when my husband chimed in with the evening's devotion, which just so happened to be about being happy. We talked about the apostle Paul and how he learned to be content even in prison. I burst out laughing when he quoted Philippians 4:11b "for I have learned in whatever STATE I am, to be content."

Thanksgiving 2009

My thankfulness post may be a long one because I have so much to be thankful for.

First and foremost I am thankful that God sent His Son to die for me and took the punishment for my sin upon himself so that I may have an eternal home in Heaven. Words can’t describe how wonderful that gift is. All pales in comparison.

I am thankful for my children. Only one of them was a planned pregnancy, but God sent the other two to me at special times in my life when I needed them. They are each unique and special and enrich my life. Though they often frustrate me and make me angry, I cannot imagine a life without them in it. I feel as though they are my entire purpose on this earth. I am grateful for their good health as my heart breaks to see parents lose children in death. I appreciate Arrena’s responsibility and willingness to help even when not asked. I appreciate Kimmy’s sense of humor and her intelligence. I appreciate Billy’s bond with me and his observation skills. I am thankful for the privilege of having them lent to my care for a short time and pray that I will not waste the opportunity and that they will grow up to be all God has planned for them.

I am thankful for my family. I love my mom and am so very grateful for her care for me. She has really gone above and beyond this year, allowing me and the kids to live with her for a time, loaning me her only vehicle, lending me money, and generally being there for me. She is (again) making me a wedding dress. She and I may not always see eye to eye but she is always there for me. I remember one night this year in particular when I called her, bawling my eyes out and she talked to me and calmed me down and gave me direction to get through the problem. I am thankful that my mother raised me the way that she did, that she taught me God’s Word, kept me in church, taught me to read, was a stay-at-home mom in my early years, etc. I am thankful for all the rest of my family. I have many loving members of my family that I am proud to say I am related to. I am thankful that God answered prayers this year for my grandpa’s health. I feared he wouldn’t see another Christmas, but he is still with us.

I am thankful for God’s financial provisions. This last year has been a very hard one, in many ways, but especially financially. I hadn’t planned on being a single parent. I had actually wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and my husband had agreed. So I didn’t go to school and learn a high-paying skill. I eventually went to work part-time to try to pay down some debt, which never seemed to go away. When I found myself parenting alone, the part-time pay was fine as long as we lived simply and had child support money coming in. But when the kids’ dad lost his job, he stopped paying. I tried to go full-time, but any extra I made went to paying for childcare for me to go to work, so it made no sense and helped us not at all. I also had to pay for health insurance. And then work started cutting my hours even further. Sometimes I was only bringing in about $650 a month. My rent alone was $575. How do you support 3 kids on that? My ex and I had also been supporting his missionary foster parents with $50 a month and I knew I had to keep that going because they depended on their support to live. God also burdened me to pledge $10 a month to our faith promise missions at church, in addition to my 10% tithe. $10 doesn’t sound like a lot, but it was to us. I had no idea how I could afford all of this. But I read Luke 6:38-- “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” and Malachi 3:10-- “ ‘Bring all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house, and try me now in this,’ says the LORD of hosts, ‘If I will not open for you the windows of heaven and pour out for you such blessing that there will not be room enough to receive it.’ ” And God’s Word is true.

Early on in this divorce/separation, I was staying at my mom’s and I had nothing to my name. I had no car, no money, and it was not payday week for me. I ran out of foundation make-up and conditioner. No big deal in the grand scheme of things and not something I would complain about. Who cares about makeup when your life is in a shambles and I’d just have to live with brushing tangles out of my hair the hard way. But then there was a knock on the door. I was tempted to not answer it, as it wasn’t my house, but I did and found a group of women in the yard and on the porch. They handed me a heavy gift bag and invited me to a “Friend Day” at their church (which, in a twist of fate, was the old building of my old church, where I “grew up”) where they give away clothing and canned food and free medical screenings. I thanked them and went inside. When I opened the bag, I found it was full of cosmetics, including foundation (and in my skin shade!), and some hair care products--no shampoo, but a bottle of conditioner! Tears sprang to my eyes and I knew that if God would take care of little details like conditioner and makeup, He would handle my needs as well. My little insignificant details were important to God. Wow! And when times were tight, God always provided. It doesn’t make sense, the numbers don’t add up, but at the end of the month, I always had enough. I paid my bills and gave to the church and the missionaries. It was always there. Sometimes it was interesting how God provided. I had to swallow my pride many times. I had to go on food stamps and go to a clothes closet and a few food pantries, which I loathed doing and was so ashamed of, but I came to see it as God’s provision. Twice, the kids’ dad came up with some money when I needed it. And when Scott came along, he sent me a check for $500 to help me out. I resisted because I didn’t want to take charity or owe him anything. But I prayed and asked God to provide another way, but if not, I would know that Scott’s money was meant to be God’s provision. I had seen too much for too many months to doubt that God would provide. It became a matter of “how” not “if.” God provided no other money that month, so I swallowed my pride yet again and cashed Scott’s check.

And now, I am pleased to find that God has placed me in a sound financial situation. Scott makes good money, enough to where we feel like I will probably not have to work and will be able to be a stay-at-home mom like I always wanted. I am thankful that he had some inheritance money built up so that he has been able to accommodate us and our needs. He has been paying for my lawyer and bought many things to make us more comfortable in this house and make it home for me and the kids. And he was able to pay for a new addition on his home to give us more room. Construction started a couple of weeks ago. While money doesn’t buy love, the practical side of me had that aspect on my list for a potential husband: financially responsible and secure. I am ever thankful for how God has provided for us this year and I trust that He will in the coming years.

I am thankful for encouragement from God, which has come in many forms. Song lyrics are an obvious choice and I won’t go into all of the ones that have spoken to me as you can read them here in this blog. Scripture verses that I find at timely junctures in my life are another encouragement. Today I was reading Psalm 37 and found it very soothing for what is occurring in my life at this moment. I may blog that one, it’s so good. It was mentioned in my Sunday school class last week, which causes me to believe it was not accidental, but a seed planted for me to harvest in my mind later as the week’s troubles unfolded. Once when I went to one of the food pantries, I got home and was unpacking the food items. At the bottom of the large sack was a random bottle of conditioner! I felt like it was God's little love note to me, His reminder of how He provides for me! sort of a, "Don't forget, Robin, I will even provide you with conditioner!" There have even been times when I feel like God is revealing a truth to my heart, such as Jesus dying for me PERSONALLY, not just as part of the collective world, or about my feeling condemned and like a failure because of my sin, or about there being something greater in life than my personal struggles, or feeling that God is with me in the midst of fiery trials and that He is in control of it all and has my best interest in mind. Knowing that He is ultimately in charge, not any judges in a courtroom or whoever, and that He will ultimately work things out for MY good! There have been some instances where I felt encouraged by being able to get back in touch with friends I hadn’t talked to in a long time. One day, a woman walked through the YMCA locker room singing a hymn that fit the need in my life at that particular moment. I saw a note on a piece of mail at work that had the words to a hymn and the phrase "If you can't see past earth's shadow, look to Jesus and his light!" There are times when a specific word or phrase or verse comes into my heart at the precise right time. There have been times when I have felt like God has literally caused me to stop what I am doing and come to Him in prayer, pouring my heart out. Once I truly felt pushed to the ground and held there. I needed to stop and rest and receive peace and comfort and I did. In the courtroom, I felt like Jesus was there, holding my hand, and in my mind I imagined reaching my arms up to my Father to hold me like a child and was calmed by the thought. The list could go on extensively.

I am also thankful for my future mother-in-law, whom I not only like, but truly love to death. She is a sweet, wonderful lady. It’s very nice to have a mother-in-law that you like because I have had the other kind and it ain’t pretty! I have gotten along well with Sue since we met over 16 years ago and even continued to write her after Scott and I broke up back then. Whenever she wrote back, she was sensitive to my feelings and never mentioned Scott to me, which I was always amazed at. She prays for us and encourages me often. She has welcomed me and the kids into the family with open arms and as though we were not tainted by divorce and remarriage and step-parenting, etc. She treats us as her own. I love her as a mother-in-law, but also as a friend. And she babysits too! ;)

Finally (I think), I am thankful for Scott. I am thankful that he never stopped loving me in 16 years. That’s so amazing to me that I can’t comprehend it. I am thankful for how he treats me. It is radically different than what I have experienced and it feels nice to be put on a pedestal. He accepts me with all my faults and some of what I thought would be deal-breakers, he actually finds endearing! What’s wrong with him? Ha, ha. I am thankful that even though I tried to scare him off, he wouldn’t run. I am continually amazed at how eager he was to take on all my baggage, because, let’s face it, there is a LOT of it. I am thankful that he has not only accepted my kids but actually loves them and treats them very well. I am thankful that he is willing to help me parent and does such a great job with Billy--better than I do even. I am thankful that he is generous and was willing to give up his money to buy trampolines and swingsets and tickets to Hannah Montana concerts and pay for preschool and a lawyer and to add on to his house, among many, many other things. I am thankful that he wants to go Christmas shopping for the kids with me, even if that caused a minor misunderstanding. ;) I am thankful that he is so even-tempered and doesn’t get mad often and when he does, his reaction is to become quiet. I am thankful that he is willing to help me with chores around the house. I am thankful that he agrees with me not working. I am thankful that he brings me flowers. I am thankful that he listens to me and remembers what I say. I am thankful that he searched for and found a replacement for something that had been very important to me. I am thankful that he went to Jared's (ha, ha)! I am thankful that we have a lot in common. I am thankful that he is an encouragement to me. I am thankful that he gave up his brand new SUV for me to drive while he drives his old pickup truck to work. It’s a minor thing, but I am glad that he likes to decorate for Christmas. There are so many things that I appreciate about him that I would be here the rest of the day if I were to list them out. I’m not delusional, it’s not all a bed of roses, and there are things about him that drive me nuts, but I appreciate him more than I can say. More than anything I appreciate how he was there to catch us when we fell. God worked it out so that he was there at the right time to be able to take us in and care for us when we had nowhere else to go. I can never thank him enough for willingly walking into our nightmare and accepting all that came with it. I love you, honey.

I’m sure if I sat here the rest of the day, I could think of many more things to be thankful for. But I will leave it at that.

And while I am not thankful FOR the situation that I am in now, I am thankful while I am IN this situation (I Thessalonians 5:18-- “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”). Romans 8 says that God will work it all out for my good and to conform me to the image of Jesus Christ. The ultimate goal is to be more like Christ. Praise Him from whom all blessings flow!

My Story, 2009 Chapter (part 1)

In honor of thanksgiving, I wanted to blog about all that the Lord has blessed me with this year, but felt I should write some background first. Most of what I write will be no surprise to those that follow my blog, but in case a stranger should wander in (and for posterity’s sake), I won’t make them guess what I am referring to.

The word for this year was divorce. This is the first time that I am publicly acknowledging my personal issues, other than a relationship status change on Facebook. As I indicated in quoting Beyoncé below, I am not here to slam my ex on the internet, but I want to share what has happened as a way to help someone else who may be going through the same thing. I would hate to have gone through all this for nothing. I am sure that my ex has a different story, colored by his personality and experience and I am sure that mine is colored too, but I am honest and we’ll leave it at that.

I have been married for 14 years. I got married when I was 18 years old. Not a smart thing to do, but hindsight is 20/20. I’ll blog my soapbox on that at a later date. My husband made me believe that I would have the life I desired, a life in full-time Christian ministry. My wake-up call was when I arrived at our new home, a military housing apartment in Germany, 3 months after the wedding and found pictures of him at the German bars with beers in his hand. My heart sunk. I don’t drink and I didn’t want to be married to someone who did. And I knew that as a teen, my husband had had an alcohol problem and I feared that.

We had our differences in the beginning because it was obvious that we were complete opposites. But I thought the alcohol was not a problem because he was always with me and was never drinking. We moved to Tennessee to go to Bible college, but he never attended. With me working full-time and going to school full-time, we didn’t have much time together and he was often with friends or his aunt, uncle, and cousins. The one real problem was when we would go back to Wichita, Kansas to visit our families. He would morph into this monster. He would act like his old self, the guy that was into selling drugs, stealing car stereos, hanging with the wrong crowd, rude, and drinking. He treated me like garbage every time we were in town, but as soon as he would get back home, he would turn back into the good husband. It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I knew we could never survive living in our hometown again, if his behavior was any indication.

After I got pregnant with our first child, he announced that he was quitting his job and moving back to Wichita and I could come if I wanted to. I was floored that he was actually going to leave me behind, which I was going to do because there was no way I was going to live with Mr. Hyde full-time. We eventually compromised and decided to move to Tulsa, OK—closer to home, but not actually in Wichita. However, when we got there, we found out that the house that we had rented was condemned and the landlord was in jail for child molestation. We had no choice but to continue on to Wichita and stay with family. I felt like my spirit died then. Maybe I doomed things with my negativity but I knew it was the beginning of the end.

Immediately after, I went out to Arizona to visit my best friend (she was so wonderful in paying for my trip and taking me shopping!) and while I was there, I called my husband to check in and he thought I was someone else…his ex-girlfriend, in fact. Apparently she had just stopped by and intended to call him later.

Everything went downhill from there. He sometimes stayed out all night, drinking with the guys. I would be up crying, even out searching for him. He got arrested a couple of times for bar fights. Things seemed to calm down a bit after our first daughter was born. Not right away, but eventually he seemed to settle down and prefer to be at home with us.

Then 9/11 happened. His National Guard unit was activated and he was sent back to Germany to guard the post there. I was pregnant with our second child at the time and had a really bad feeling about this deployment. Call it women’s intuition or whatever, but it turned out to be true. He informed me in a letter, a couple of weeks after our daughter’s birth, that he had met a German girl and was having an affair and was leaving me. I was devastated. I think physical abuse or even killing me would have been kinder. I was severely depressed and contemplated suicide. For some reason though, even though I had sworn to myself I would never let a man do this to me, I decided to fight for my marriage.

He agreed to come back and work things out, but left again after only 3 days and flew the girlfriend to town. He came back to me again, begging forgiveness. I allowed him to come home, but it was never easy. I believed he had a mental illness. Manic-depressive disorder and schizophrenia runs heavily in his family and I wondered if that was the problem. I had him in to see doctors and psychiatrists. They put him on different anti-depressants and anti-psychotics and as long as he took them, he seemed to do better, but as soon as he would stop, he’d “go off the deep end.” Over the next 6 years, he left me 9 more times. Sometimes there was no indication that anything was wrong, not even an argument. He would just come home and pack his stuff and leave without a word. He’d always come back, beg for forgiveness, promise to never do it again, and I’d forgive and let him come home. I think I died every time, though.

Those 6 years were full of things you might see on a bad episode of the Jerry Springer show. I suspect he may have been involved with prostitution for a time, I contracted HPV (an STD) and had to have pre-cancer cells removed, there was another affair that resulted in a child that may or may not have been his—she refused DNA testing, he punched me in the face, he regularly phoned and visited other women, he stayed out, he drank, etc. I also had my third child in the middle of all of this. I had a ton of reasons why I stayed—some make sense, some do not. But that list is long.

Last September (2008), he threw me out of the house and said he was keeping the children. Of course since he was never around, he didn’t know how to take care of the children. The children seem to agitate him, he can only take them in small doses and for some reason, never has them alone. If he has them, he takes them to someone’s house. Anyway, it didn’t take 12 hours before they were back with me 95% of the time. We stayed at my mom’s for a month, but he was begging me to come home and I was struggling with some severe depression and was quite suicidal. So I went back. I was there for 2 weeks and he left. Then he came back again, then left again. I had gotten on some great anti-depressants that allowed me to think clearly for the first time in a long time. I had finally had enough. For the benefit of 14 years and 3 kids, I gave him one final chance. I told him in December that he had until March to get himself together or it was over. In January he admitted that he was living with a new girlfriend. I moved to my own house and filed for divorce.

I had been in turmoil and fought it for so many years, but overnight, God gave me complete peace about letting my marriage go. He was still back and forth, begging me to let him come home or being belligerent and hateful, but I felt calm. I had feared being alone, but I found that I loved it. He continued to bombard me with texts and phone calls, and often showed up at my house in the middle of the night. I was starting to get scared. He was threatening suicide and I feared a man on the edge would try to take someone with him. I feared becoming a statistic or one of those stories you hear on court TV where the man snaps and kills his wife and kids and himself. One night when he showed up, I felt a definite jolt of fear and thought, “this man could really kill me.” I found out later that he had come to my house to hide because he had just tried to strangle his girlfriend and the cops were looking for him.

That is some of the background and it is long enough. I think I will split this into two posts. The rest of the story to follow….

My Story, 2009 Chapter (part 2)

When I was 16, the first boy I ever really dated was Scott Davidson. The relationship was far from perfect, but we got serious fast and started talking about getting married. But he broke my heart when he broke up with me to date someone else (he said later that he was scared at how serious it had gotten and how young we were). He tried to date me again after that, but I was too hurt and too angry. He was pretty relentless for a while and drove me batty! The last time I saw him was 9 years ago when my oldest was a newborn. I had nothing but negative feelings for him. I held onto that grudge and spit venom every time I told people the story of him, which was often. I would occasionally try to look him up on classmate-type websites or the yellow pages to try to keep tabs on where he was. Maybe I protested too much…

Earlier this year, after my husband and I had split for good, I got a friend request from Scott on Facebook. I debated and overanalyzed and overthought that one to death. Surely he had seen my “complicated” relationship status and would hound me to try to get me back. He would be an internet stalker and that’s just what I needed—I already had a husband stalker. But I was curious and I wasn’t sure why. And we had so many friends in common, he would have some indirect access to me anyways. One friend said to go ahead and approve it and if he bothered me, delete him. So I winced as I hit the “approve” button, as though the stalking onslaught would be immediate in coming. But there was nothing. No “hi, how ya doin” post on my wall, no personal messages, no photo comments, nothing. I was almost disappointed. Maybe my husband’s rejection wouldn’t get to me quite so bad if there was a man out there who had been pining for me for 16 years! But, alas, no. He virtually ignored me. I went on with my life.

After a few months, Scott eventually made some innocuous comments on a few of my posts. But nothing more. In July, I was surprised when he suddenly struck up a chat with me and even more surprised when I enjoyed talking with him. He initially offered to pay for me and the kids to go to Worlds of Fun (he lives in Kansas City) because he saw from my posts that we seemed to be having a hard time. At that point, I was so broke, I didn’t know how I would pay bills. I was getting no child support and my part time job was cutting back even more hours. I was on food stamps (which I hated) and had also had to go to some food pantries and clothes closets (which hurt my pride even more). But apparently I still had enough pride to not want to take someone else’s charity (plus with our history, I didn’t want to owe him something), so I refused. He tried to talk me into it about 10 different ways, but finally laid off and just chatted. I was surprised when he listened and asked questions and pretty much let me talk and seemed to enjoy it. I like to talk and it’s rare to find someone to actually enjoy listening to me. After a lengthy chat, he said he’d like to talk again sometime. That night I had a dream that I married Scott and he loved me so much and treated me so well. When I woke up I thought that it would probably be true, but I was also sad. Sad that someone showing a little bit of kindness to me could make me feel so wistful.

Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about Scott after that. I kept trying to put him out of my mind and remind myself of how much I hated him all these years, but it didn’t help. I would sit on Facebook and wait to see if he would get online and want to chat and get disappointed if a) I didn’t see him online or b) he was online but didn’t strike up a chat. He sent me a few messages, but by Saturday, I was a wreck. I resembled some angst-ridden teenager! I sat at work, crying, because I wanted to talk to him so much. It was ridiculous! I was so disgusted with myself for how I was behaving. I went home and immediately logged onto Facebook and checked every 5 minutes to see if he was online. I sent him a message when I saw him, but he said he was tired and was going to bed early and I was deflated. I had deluded myself into thinking he would be just as excited to talk to me, but apparently sleep was more attractive to him. I cried some more, but tried to pull myself together and just played some games to calm myself. I was surprised when I got a chat window from him. It was so funny how I immediately relaxed and calmed, like a big sigh of relief. That was the first night of many nights where we stayed up till the middle of the night either chatting or on the phone.

He admitted that he had never stopped thinking about me and felt he had really missed his chance. He admitted he still had feelings for me, but that he was content having his best friend back if that’s all there was. He said he would be open to dating later on, if I was. I was surprised to find that I was. The lengthy hours of talking daily made our relationship go serious very quickly. We agreed that we wouldn’t date until my divorce was final, but he already knew that he wanted to marry me. And he would have married me immediately. I was a little more cautious and had my own “plan”. We jokingly named them “stages.” Stage 1 was us dating, stage 2 was introducing him to the children, stage 3 was engaged, and stage 4 was marriage. I wanted stage 1 to last a long time.

Speaking of plan, I had previously made a list of all the qualities that I wanted in a future husband. After I was done, I proclaimed that the guy couldn’t possibly exist (or if he did he was 85 or 12 or lived in China) and told God it was impossible. Oops! Wrong choice of words to use with God. That’s like issuing a challenge. Luke 1:37—“For with God nothing will be impossible.” I was surprised to find that Scott met every one of my criteria.

I signed the final divorce papers and was told they would be before a judge to be signed right away. So Scott and I planned our first date. I was anxious because I had not been out with other adults in a long time. My 2 closest friends in town worked the night shift, but I switched to days to make child care easier, so our schedules didn’t mesh well. I was craving adult conversation and some time away from the kiddoes. Their dad was going to take them camping Saturday night and his mom offered to take them Friday night so I could have a whole weekend to myself. I didn’t tell anyone what I was planning, which was to meet Scott in Emporia (sort of halfway) and then go up to Kansas City with him to spend the following day. I was either going to sleep on his couch or he was going to rent me a hotel room, but I didn’t think people would understand, and it would look scandalous, so I didn’t tell but one friend. I packed a bag and hid it in the back of my SUV, then I packed the kids up for the weekend. I picked them up at school and dropped them off at their grandma’s, then I headed out of town. I am usually very conscientious of people being able to get a hold of me when the kids are not with me, in case of emergency, but I didn’t think about my Cricket phone not working out of town. I had been on the phone with Scott as we drove towards each other. I missed a call on the other line from my mom and then I got a text from her, saying to call her. That was odd because she would normally just tell me what it was she wanted, so I was a little concerned. But just about then, I lost signal, I think a little ways past El Dorado. I had only been on the road about 30-45 minutes. I thought I would have signal once I hit Emporia and could call her back, but I didn’t.

Scott and I met at Applebee’s and had dinner. I tried to enjoy myself but I had a nagging sense that something was wrong. My grandpa had been sick in the hospital so I wondered if something might be wrong with him. Scott gave me a beautiful sapphire ring and then we headed to Kansas City, leaving my SUV in the WalMart parking lot in Emporia.

On the outskirts of Kansas City, I finally got signal and called my mom. She said that my ex-husband had been calling me (I now had 8 voicemails) and that he called her, saying that I took off and left the kids, had packed a bag and left town with a boyfriend (how did he know this?) and that he was going to take the kids and I would never see them again. My phone died then. I also found out later that he had been calling one of my friends, questioning her as to my whereabouts. We turned around and went back to Wichita, picking up my car first in Emporia. Scott offered to go to my house with me, but I said I would be fine, just needed to get the phone charged so I could call my ex and get to the bottom of this and talk him out of his tree. Scott went to his mom’s in case I needed him and instructed me to call him as soon as I got in the house.

When I got home, there were lights on in the house and I could see the TV was on. I knew I had turned it all off when I left. I had told the kids’ grandma where my key was hidden in case she needed to take the kids by the house for anything. I assumed maybe she was there now. I knocked on the door and was surprised when my ex peeked through the blinds. The divorce papers included a temporary restraining order that says he is not supposed to come around my house without my permission. His middle-of-the-night visits had prompted me to remind him of this and tell him to never do it again or I would call the police. Now, here he was IN my house.

He let me in and I saw that the kids were asleep on the couches, then he started grilling me about where I had been and who I had been with and why hadn’t I answered my phone. I told him the phone had died and that the rest was none of his business. He started puffing up and getting in my face and said, “I’ve never hit you before (which is a lie), don’t make me start now.” I told him to get out, but as I had a dead cell phone, how could I call the police? He refused, and kept yelling, calling me a whore, and woke the children. I again asked him to leave and to calm down in front of the children, but he refused, so I went for the door because I had a sheriff’s deputy that lived down the street. But he grabbed me and started shoving me against the kitchen counters and the walls. The kids came up and tried to get him to stop, but he kept shooing them back to the living room. I thought about the knives that were in the cabinet right near me and the pepper spray that was so far away in my bedroom and about striking out, but I had the distinct feeling that it would be worse if I fought back. He was shaking all over and I felt like he had some thin layer of control, but if I did anything it would snap and I would be no match for him, whatever my weapon. I tried to turn on my phone in a desperate attempt and was surprised when it actually powered on! But he kept trying to either knock it out of my hands or grab it to see who I had been talking to. I managed to keep a hold of it, but couldn’t get anything dialed. I had managed to get near the back door, but he blocked it so I couldn’t get through. He demanded that I tell him who I had been with. When I said no, he grabbed me by the throat and held me against the wall. I remember thinking, “oh my God, he is really going to kill me.” He said, “tell me his name and it will stop. If you don’t tell me, I won’t stop.” I managed to choke out the word “no” and then I felt everything going black and fuzzy. Next thing I knew, I hit the floor and I was aware that the kids were behind him, so I assume that they had stopped him. It took me a moment to get up because I couldn’t move at first. He had moved enough away that I grabbed the closest 2 children and flung open the door and shoved them out. I told them to run to the neighbor’s and call the police. But they just stood there, rooted to the ground. He had turned around and went back to get his boots, so I grabbed the last of the kids and we ran out the door, me pushing all 3 in front of me. I started dialing 911, amazed that my phone was on at all. I don’t know if he knocked me down or if I tripped, but I know I ended up in the grass. He knocked me over the head with his boots and then shoved them on and started running down the street. My across-the-street neighbor had come out and came over to us. I had enough battery to tell the 911 operator what happened, where I was, and which direction he was heading before it died.

The police came quickly and it took longer to explain everything than it took for it to actually happen. They took pictures of my neck and told me that they had arrested him and that he would be out in 4-8 hours depending on if he was able to post bail or not. I finally was able to call Scott who was beside himself by that time since it was more than 2 hours after we had parted. Then I called my mom and she came and stayed with me, per Scott’s orders. He is a paramedic and he was worried about me being alone if I had lost consciousness. My mom and I were scared to death. We couldn’t sleep and I was a nervous wreck, thinking about my ex coming back to kill me or snatching the kids. Every noise made me jump. I knew I couldn’t stay there. Scott had offered to let us come and stay with him for a few days and I decided to take him up on the offer.

I hated having to traumatize the children further by introducing them to mom’s new boyfriend, but I needed for us to feel safe. My ex knew everywhere else I might go except Scott’s. I felt it was the only safe place. So we went with the idea that it would only be for a few days.

But things started to unravel. I kept trying to call my lawyers to figure out what to do but they would never return my calls. Hooray for legal aid! I knew I couldn’t trust the kids’ grandma to babysit anymore because she had obviously told him where the key was hidden. Also there was a dispute over how this got started. HE said that SHE called him, freaking out, saying that I had dumped off the children, etc. SHE said that HE showed up, demanding his children. But I couldn’t trust her and she was my primary Saturday babysitter while I was at work. So now what should I do? Then I got a call that the girls’ school transfer hadn’t been approved so our whole reason for moving into that neighborhood was gone, they would have to go to a different school. Then I found out that work was doing a schedule overhaul and not one of the new schedules would fit into our school/childcare schedule. And the fear didn’t go away. I made the decision to stay in Kansas City with Scott. We would get married soon because I was not okay with being a live-in girlfriend.

Except then I found out that the judge had never signed my divorce papers and I was still legally married! My lawyers started trying to get me sole custody and supervised visitation and I was going back to Wichita to get a Protection From Abuse order and to pack my things. The “ex” kept calling but I ignored the calls and eventually they stopped. Long story short, I agreed to move the PFA over into the divorce papers, he got a lawyer which stopped all the divorce papers cold and got him diversion on the domestic battery case. I was informed that sole custody is pretty much a joke and I would never get supervised visitation so we agreed to a 4 hour visit with the kids every other Sunday, but for 4 times, he didn’t show up. I was happy, thinking he would lose his parenting rights, but the next thing we knew, he hauled us into court, trying to take the kids away from me, saying I had kept them from him for 3 months. I hired a new, better lawyer and of course, he didn’t get the kids.

I have signed 3 sets of final divorce papers, but it seems like it all may finally be over this Monday! If that is the case, Scott and I will be married December 15. Our relationship has been pretty abnormal and all of the stress hasn’t lent itself to romantic interludes. We trade off sleeping on the bed or the couch, to try to maintain some sense of propriety. The kids really love him and he has proved himself to be good dad material. I will be glad when this is all over and we can relax and start a new life.

The kids had to go for their first weekend with their dad 2 weeks ago. I was nervous and cried a lot, but it all worked out okay. They go with him again tomorrow and I pray it will be easier for me this time.

So that is my 2009 in a nutshell. My nutshell is REALLY long so I will save my thankful post for tomorrow!