Confession #21: I think I did a good job choosing my first husband.

I was 24 almost 25 when I met the man I married. I was wrapping up my college education and, frankly, had given up hope of starting a family before starting over somewhere new. Then I met my ex.

I wasn't planning on dating him. He wasn't a member of my faith and I had determined that I was going to marry someone with the same life perspective and goal I had at the time. This meant marrying in my faith because I was aiming to married not only for this life but also for the next. I believe these blessings are only fully available as we make promises with God and our spouse in God's house--a temple--using God's power that He restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith.

This isn't meant to be a lesson on religion but you have to understand a little bit about me. I live my religion. That doesn't mean I go around condemning people not of my faith. But it does mean that I needed someone who could handle someone who has my beliefs. On that note, to find out more about my faith, please visit Mormon.org which has information direct from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. These are the things that anyone marrying me would have to be okay with. To be my friend or associate, you don't have to agree with all my beliefs. We can agree to disagree. But marriage is different. 

My ex-husband did an amazing job convincing me that he adored me in large part because he convinced me that he adored my faith in God and how I lived it. Before and while we were dating, he praised my decisions and openly told me he thought my choices were amazing. 

And he embraced them, too. I didn't introduce my religion to him but met him as he was investigating my religion. By the time I really got to know him, he'd already decided to join my church. In fact, our first real conversation was tied to my form of congratulating him on his decision. I was going to make him scripture covers and needed to know his favorite colors. 

From the beginning, he was honest to me about his rough past. His life was different from mine in so many ways. He made some poor choices in his life. But I could see his goodness and that goodness only grew as I watched him allow God to influence his life. I watched him apologize for difficult things and truly attempt to be better. I watched him search to know truth and make difficult decisions. I watched him change for the better. I would go more personal but not all details of his story are mine to share. 

Along with his personal conversion to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, I watched my ex-husband to see what kind of a man he was. I learned that he was extremely devoted to caring for his family. I watched him reach out to them over and over again. I learned that he was strong willed and never gave up despite difficulties. I also learned that he was willing to serve as I watched him help numerous friends and strangers. I learned that he had the ability to set people at ease and help them feel happy.

We were a good compliment. I was quieter in public while he was more outgoing.  I helped strengthen his resolve to do good and provided stability while he helped me think more carefully about my beliefs. I helped him ground him just enough to keep us moving towards our mutual goals while he helped me have a little fun and enjoy life. When I made the decision to marry him, it was a good choice. He could have made a wonderful husband and father. 

The problem is that things changed. He quit doing the things that convinced me to marry him. How was I supposed to know? Maybe I should have seen the change. But, at first, they were subtle. Looking back, I can see the hints, the warnings. But even now, that's all they were: hints. We had a year long engagement. I almost broke off the engagement a few times because I was scared. Looking back, I realize that some of my fears were rational--the hints--but I couldn't figure out what was actually wrong. Especially since a lot of my fears were irrational--the fears of someone facing a very serious long term commitment. Was I really ready? Would we really make it?

I'm pleased with my decision. Marriage is a gamble. It's a gamble because it involves two people and you're only one person. You make your choices but the other person makes their own. When you get married, you gamble on whether or not the person is fully committed to that choice. If you're careful, you know your side. If you're careful, you have a pretty good idea of the other person's side. But, it's still a leap of faith in your partner. And my partner betrayed that trust.

I don't regret my choice. I was careful. I did all the things to find my answer to the best of my knowledge. And, once I made my choice and was actually married, I didn't look back. Divorce wasn't an option to me. Which is why my divorce was the most difficult and devastating decision I ever had to make. 

I divorced my husband because I loved him. When I divorced him, he was diving head first into a pool of bitterness and hate with me as the scapegoat to his unhappiness. He was emotionally and verbally abusive and it was only getting worse. I divorced him so it would stop. So he could be free from the burden he carried that only increased every time he treated me poorly. 

I also divorced him because I loved my sons. When I divorced my ex-husband, he was making poor decisions relating to Big Brother, his son, due to his feelings toward me. (Baby Brother wasn't born yet.) He was avoiding me and thus avoiding Big Brother. Big Brother was confused and missed his daddy. My ex-husband was using Big Brother in attempts to hurt me in order to control me which also scared Big Brother. I also worried about the life that Baby Brother would have in an unhappy home. A life where he might wonder if it was his fault his daddy wasn't there. I made a difficult decision. And, as I watch my sons develop a positive relationship with their father, I know I made the right one.

I wish I could say I divorced him because I loved myself. But I can't. Although I was happy with the direction my life was headed at the time, I struggled to separate myself from the lies my ex-husband constantly told me. A good part of me believed I deserved what I got. This is a battle I still fight today.

Despite not regretting my choice, my plan for finding a new husband has changed. My second husband will be my last. I learned a lot from this experience. I won't repeat this mistake. I won't put myself or my boys through this again. I'm not going to go into my plan here, it's a little too personal, but I believe that God will bless my efforts in following Him and will take care of my children.

Confession #20: I got stuck.

The point of this blog is to help me. To help me be a super mom. To help me survive my struggles and my pains as well as to share my hopes, dreams, and joys. To help me dump the extra weight somewhere so that it doesn't get dumped on my kids. Because super moms don't dump their extra baggage on their kids.

Right now, I haven't been doing that. I got scared. Scared of what everyone reading this blog would think if I was honest. Scared of the people who have hurt me in the past, the people who hurt me in the present, and the people who will inevitably hurt me in the future. Pain is a part of life. I accept that. The trouble is figuring out how to let that pain go in appropriate ways.

I got stuck because I was posting these blog posts on my Facebook page. It was good in some ways as I started because it's what I felt was needed. But, in reality, I can't be completely honest when linked to Facebook because I know those people and actively fear their comments. Fear their judgments.

That doesn't mean they're bad people. It just means that I don't trust them. Except for my mother. I trust my mother and she's my Facebook friend. But she spent 30 years growing that trust and definitely proved it the last five. And my dearest friend. She knows who she is because she's the one who was pregnant and dropped everything to come help me with my newborn when she heard about my separation. I trust her. Not as much as I trust my mother. But a lot.

The rest I don't trust because they don't love me. They may love some of the things I do or they may have loved me at some point. But they don't love me in the deeper sense that results in true sacrifice. The type of sacrifice my mother has shown me throughout her life and my friend clearly showed when she came to visit.

I don't blame people. There are so many people to choose to love and definitely people who should be priorities higher than me. There are some on that list that I wished loved me that much. There are some on that list that professed to love me that much but, in turn, betrayed the trust I chose to give them. There are some on that list that I'm sure think they love me that much. I'm sure there are also some on the list that wish they loved me that much.

I write this to relieve my heart of this burden--it's a heavy burden. I'm choosing to write it here because I feel like I'm not the only one. I imagine that there are other single parents who struggle just like I do. Who desperately wish to be loved by someone with a little more depth than their toddlers.

Parents who know that there perspective may be a little skewed at times. But it's the only perspective they have since they're alone doing the best they can.

There. Unstuck. Bravely posting my honest feelings. Which is extremely hard for me because of the emotional abuse I endured. At the hands of more than one person in my life. I don't care if you agree with my feelings. I don't care if you agree with my perspective. But I do. Because I desperately want to be loved, appreciated, and worthwhile. Yes, I doubt my worth. But, that doesn't mean I don't know my worth.

Confession #19: If I had to be single at 30, I'm glad I'm a single mom with two kids.

This post has been a month in the making. Lots of ups and downs and wonderings floating through my mind as I struggled with the chaotic balance of life with an exhausting full-time job, two energetic little boys, and trying to maintain a pleasant life. We spent most of this past month with at least one of us being sick which meant I was extra busy trying to solve the problems associated with sore throats, exhaustion, and missed work. Baby Brother is also (finally) getting some more teeth. Currently he has three teeth with one central incisor and two premolars hovering just under the surface or, in the case of one of the premolars, barely peeking out. They've been sitting like that for about three weeks now. Three weeks of poor sleep as we've cycled through trying to find the balance between consoling and helping him learn to sleep through it. Three weeks of extra irritable toddler. Of course, all of this has been on top of trying to maintain a healthy family life including daily meals, a relatively clean house, and paid bills. Oh yeah, and a job that always requires time outside of the work day. Oh and that class I'm taking so I can re-certify on time. So I can still have a job next year...

That was the negative side of things. Mixed in with all of this was the reality that we are keeping up for the most part. I was frustrated by some of the things I couldn't keep up with (a lot of which was caused by problems that will hopefully float away in the near future as our immune systems catch up and the teeth finally pop out) but really we're doing so much better than last year when I had a two year old and newborn and a huge emotional burden from being abandoned. We have food on the table consistently. The teething sleep interruptions are nothing compared to newborn eating habits. Our house has been so much tidier. We have regular outings as a family that don't require a huge sacrifice on the household chores. I get to breath occasionally as my boys decide they don't need mom for a moment and can play nicely with each other. I may have a lot on my "to do" list but I no longer have as much that has to be done at the same time. I'm able to spread the work out a little more.

Anyway, as my mind battled to focus on the good when it's so easy to notice the overwhelming side of things, I also realized that I turn 30 soon. Normally, I love birthdays. I don't mind growing older. I find it exciting. Not the body struggles that come with aging. That's not exciting. But I'm not old enough to really understand what that's like. I see life as a great and grand adventure. Birthdays mark the beginning of a new chapter and a celebration of having been born. Life is full of opportunity and I'm grateful to exist. At least, that's how I usually think of birthdays.

But this year something was bothering me. At first I couldn't figure it out. I was turning thirty. I told myself I should be excited. But I wasn't. I don't feel thirty. (Do you ever feel your age? It always seems to sneak up on me.) Then it hit me. The problem wasn't turning 30. The problem was that I'm turning 30 as a single mom with two kids. I haven't been on a date since my ex-husband. I didn't go on many dates before my ex-husband. And, I felt like a single mom most of my marriage. So it wasn't turning 30 that was bothering me. It was the fact that I feel like I've been perpetually single. And no one really likes to be single.

Especially as a mom. Being a parent is exhausting. Being a single parent is beyond exhausting because you feel like you're doing it all by yourself. Sure, there are people there to help you but not like a spouse (in a good relationship). A spouse shares your dreams, goals, and desires. You have different perspectives, ideas, and ways of doing things but ultimately (in a good relationship) you want the same thing: whatever is best for the family. What this means is that when one spouse feels like the world is ending and everything is a disaster, the other spouse steps in with a different, reassuring perspective. Sometimes both spouses have a challenge where both of them feel like the world is ending. But in a good relationship, they at least get to share the burden and understanding of that burden with each other. It's so hard to understand what you haven't been through.

As a single parent, you feel the weight of the family on your shoulders. There is no other person who steps in and helps make your family function. It's you. And it's hard. More than just the hard of trying to make it to places on time and keep things functioning. It's hard because of the weight of wondering if you're doing enough, good enough, or how your mistakes will affect the kids you love. And having no one to consistently, regularly step in and reassure you that you are. Sure, people outside say things like "You're a wonderful mom" but they weren't there to see you make mistake after mistake after mistake.

As a single parent, you also wonder how you ended up as a single parent. I think it's pretty rare for someone to plan to be a single parent. Then, at least in my case, is the wondering why you weren't good enough for your spouse. Or all the other potential spouses out there. (Yes, it can be easy to get bogged down with the negative perspectives. It's easy enough for all the married women in the world to tell me how amazing I am. But, they aren't the single guys. Who apparently have a different perspective; one where I'm not worth the risk.) And, it seems harder to be single with two kids because you really don't interact much with single people your age. Plenty of married people. But you don't meet very many single people in our circles. Which makes it easy to wonder how all the people around you ended up happily married.

So I'm turning 30. And I'm a single mom. It isn't where I expected to be. But am I okay with where I am? Am I okay with my burdens? Could I be content with my current adventure? It's been a little wilder ride than I was expecting. Do I still like roller coasters?

Life would be so much easier to be single at 30 with no kids. No one to interrupt my sleep. Lots of time to catch up my grading, go to movies and socialize without any time constraints, and a lot more money for other things. Basically, being able to do whatever I want whenever I want without the burden of really worrying about anyone else.

I thought about it. And prayed about it. And reflected. I reflected on my life and considered other paths I could have taken. And, I decided.

If I have to be single at 30, I'm glad I have two kids. They really are the best thing to ever happen to me. I wouldn't trade them for anything. The enrich my lives in more ways than I could ever imagine. I'm such a better person because of them. They are so good to me. They encourage me to be my best self and help me to see myself through clear eyes.

Because of them, I'm more productive and yet more relaxed. Instead of coming home from an exhausting day and lounging around on the couch idling away my time watching TV, I'm encouraged to include some art (let's paint pumpkins!), music (impromptu dance parties) , and outdoor activities (most often the park) in my day. They encourage me to explore my talents ("Sing me a song on your... [points to my flute]") and they provide an opportunity to practice selflessness (What else do you call meeting their never ending needs?) daily. Ultimately, because of them, I'm more focused on the things that truly lead to happiness rather than wallowing away wishing my life was more like movies or books or someone else's life. When I was single without kids, it was a lot harder to wisely choose these things. Now I usually have to consciously choose not to accept them.

I'll take the teething because it means cuddling, three-toothed grins, and soft pats on the back. I'll take the temper tantrums because they mean someone feels safe and trusts me enough to help them as they make difficult decisions. I'll take almost breaking a leg on the balloons leftover from a three-year-old's birthday party because they mean giggles, games of "catch", and shouts of "Mama! Please play with me!" I'll take the exhaustion because it means I'm truly learning what it means to live.

At times I struggle with being single because it means being alone in a weighty burden. But I'm never really alone. I'm glad my children don't really share my burden. It means that I'm being well taken care of by God, by family, and by friends who consistently reach out to remind me they're there for me when I need them. Yes, the burden of where my family ends up is my burden. Mine because I get to choose who shares it with me. Because I get to choose who I trust with the welfare of two children who are more precious to me than anything else. So, a special thanks to all those who have reached out and helped my family thrive!

Now it's time to figure out how to celebrate my wonderful day. Actually, I've almost already planned it. I'm going to keep it a secret though. It's not how I expected to celebrate my birthday at 30. But just as wonderful. Because I'll be celebrating with my best little buddies. We're going to have some fun spoiling mom a little.

Confession #18: Sometimes it's hard to be grateful.

I've had a lot of things going through my mind the past few weeks. Various possible posts have come to mind. I debated what to write. The point of this blog is to help me overcome various challenges that make it difficult to be a good mother. Some of the things I could write don't actually help me with that. I struggle with gratitude. As such, out of all the things I contemplated posting, this is the post that I feel will help my family and I the most. In no particular order, here are 15 things that have been hard, unpleasant, difficult decisions, or just annoying but are also reasons to be grateful:

1. My divorce. Last weekend I told a friend that I have a good life. As I've felt overwhelmed by everything I'm dealing with right now, I've also reflected on my statement to my friend. Do I really have a good life? Or am I just a good liar? I'm happy to report that I wasn't lying! I have a great life. Sure, my life is very hard. It's not easy being a single mom. But it is so much better than my marriage. Divorce wasn't an easy decision for me to make. I lied to myself throughout my marriage and did a very good job convincing myself that my marriage was normal. But it wasn't. Or it shouldn't be anyway. It was nasty. I'm so glad I'm no longer in that marriage. 
2. Staying home sick with Baby Brother. As mentioned a moment ago, although I have a good life, I have a very hard, overwhelming life. As much as I hate being sick, staying home today was a much needed survival break. Now I can make it.
3. Baby Brother and I just have mild colds rather than super sick. (Being miserably sick with a sick kid is torture. You can't think straight, feel awful, and are trying to care for someone who is also extremely cranky. Today hasn't been too bad.)
4. I have flowers on my kitchen table. These flowers represent God's love for me because, no matter how many times I try to convince myself I don't need the flowers anymore (they have a story behind them) because I really can't afford them, somehow I keep buying them. And somehow, my bills keep getting paid despite being broke all the time. The flowers are so beautiful. Even when everything else is falling apart, they're a reminder that there is hope.
5. I have piles of laundry on my couch which means my family has clothes to wear. Sure, Big Brother's are getting a little too small. But they still fit enough. They also show that even when I wondered how I was going to buy the next bottle of laundry detergent (everything seems to run out when you run out of money), somehow there was a way.
6. My substitute at school today is my favorite substitute ever. I know he will follow my plans and, even better, will be able to teach my students what I need them to learn. It's always so hard to miss a day because, after my sons, my students are my number one priority. It's a relief to have this man sub for me because I've had substitutes who haven't followed my plans. Which meant my students didn't get what they needed that day. And sometimes got more confused because the sub tried to teach them something way past their current knowledge. Sure, I was able to fix things. But my students and I have enough on our plates without the extra burden. Having a sub I can trust makes it easier to miss a day because I know I won't find unpleasant surprises when I return tomorrow.
7. My floor is littered with toys. Sometimes they hurt my toes. But they're a reminder that, compared to many kids throughout the world, my boys enjoy a life full of plenty. They have no idea how hard life is for their mother or why she gets worried. All they know is that their mother keeps them safe and full. Emotionally, physically, spiritually--they're fed and well nourished. Maybe not perfectly but very well. 
8. The curb pulled my fender off my car a little this morning. First, this is not my fault. They only half way fixed our road which has left an unnatural curb in my parking spot. Combined with the deep gravel of our partially fixed road and my car didn't handle it well. At first I stressed because I really worry about what would happen if I lost that car. Now I'm reminded I have a car. A car that, despite the rough fender at the moment that I have no idea how to fix, runs well and gets great gas mileage.
9. I ran over a (dead) squirrel Sunday with my double stroller. First, it wasn't as gross as it sounds.  Second, it was a bit hidden by the (parked) car I was trying to get around which is why I didn't swerve in time to miss it. Third, I have a double stroller! I can go on walks with my boys without having to lug one of them in my arms or listen to the other one complain that his feet hurt. These walks provide relaxation, enjoyable family time, much needed sunshine, and are free. Beautiful.
10. My fridge needs cleaned out. It's been on my mind. Unfortunately, there have been other things that were more urgent. So the fridge has frustrated me a little bit. But now, as I write this, I'm reminded that a fridge with various remnants of leftovers only happens if there was food to begin with. I've stared at the empty fridge before and wondered what to we could eat. Not fun. I'd much rather stare at the fridge that needs cleaned out.
11. This experience: Monday I got to work and was cheerfully completing my final preparations for the school day. I'd had a good weekend, felt good, and was excited for a great day of teaching. Then I heard "You've got mail!" Happy for the reminder to silence my phone before school started and a little excited because I rarely get texts or phone calls, I went to retrieve my phone. And read the following text: "I think you need to be more careful about what you put in your blog. Just a word of advice though." Instant panic attack. A year ago, my trust was severely betrayed by two people who were supposed to be people I could count on to love me no matter what. One was my ex-husband. The other was the person who sent this text. This person is very special to me so despite the hurt, I've been trying to rebuild the relationship. Things seemed to improve over the past year and, despite the fact that this person ignores me for the most part, I was starting to hope that we were rebuilding an important relationship. Then I got the text which instantly put me back in last year and my mind filled with fear. Irrational fear as really this person can't do anything to hurt me except say mean things to me. But it's hard to feel safe when you're the only one protecting yourself. Long story short (there's definitely more to this story), the anxiety was distracting and I didn't know how to get rid of it. Who would help me? During my prep, I tried calling my parents because I know I can count on them. They weren't home. So I prayed. And found instant relief from my panic as I was reminded that God was there for me. I still had to deal with the situation the best I could but I was no longer distracted. I was able to return to more important things full of enthusiasm and focus. I'm grateful for this experience because it reminded me that God will always be there for me. Even when everyone else fails me, He has yet to fail me. Because of Him, I'm able to keep going, to keep trying to build positive relationships even though people have failed me in the past.
12. This blog. The text mentioned previously also made me reflect a lot on this blog. Was I being careful? What was the point of this blog? Is it helping? This blog is helping me. I'm grateful for a place that's safe but not perfectly safe so that I can rebuild my perspective of me in a positive manner. You can't hide from the world and expect to find it's beauty.
13. Baby Brother is teething. We went to the doctor yesterday (another thing to be grateful for, good insurance) to make sure he didn't have anything that needed medicated (we really can't afford long term illness). As part of the exam, we were peering into his mouth trying to see his throat and there they were! The starts of some upper teeth! Baby Brother is almost 15 months old. He has two bottom teeth that he got around 10 months or so. He's complained off and on but never gotten any more teeth. Eating will be so much easier with teeth. And, finally, there's an explanation for his fussiness!
14. Big Brother. "Mama, I want to give you a kiss." Over and over again he has been expressing his love for me in this manner. Randomly. Not randomly. Hugs. Pecks on the cheek. Asking for a kiss back. Smiles. Laughter. Complaining because he knows I care. I love this boy. He makes every day easier. I would happily potty train forever in exchange for keeping him forever. (Fortunately, I don't think I'll have to potty train forever. Whew!) 
15. Baby Brother. When I come to pick him up when he's in his crib or after daycare, he rushes to me and throws his arms around me. He gives me a hug like no other hug I've ever received. Long hugs. "Keep me safe, Mom" hugs. "Make it better, Mom" hugs. "I love you, Mom" hugs. "I missed you, Mom" hugs. Then he squirms so I can put him down to play. Or, with middle of the night hugs, he falls instantly back to sleep and rests peacefully. I love this boy. He makes every day easier. I would happily deal with teething forever in exchange for keeping him forever. (Fortunately, I don't think I'll have to deal with teething forever. Whew!)

There you have it. I feel so much better having written that list. Before I wrote, I was really feeling down, depressed, and overwhelmed. Now I feel refreshed. God is watching over me. Somehow the pieces will fall into place. Meanwhile, I'll keep doing the best I can and focus on the things that matter most: my boys.

Confession #17: I struggle when my kids are gone.

I miss my kids. They've been at their dad's for a week now and my anxiety levels are sky high. I try to pretend that I'm used to when they're gone and that I'm alright. But I really struggle.

For the most part, at this stage, it's not because I'm worried about their well-being. I know they're safe. Their dad's house is a safe enough environment for their ages. It's not like I was sending them somewhere scary. It's a clean, comfortable place. Mostly, I trust that God will take care of them while they're away.

I also know that this trip was essential. They need a good relationship with their dad. In fact, it's one of the main reasons I divorced him. I knew he cared about Big Brother but, because he was so busy hating and avoiding me, he was destroying his relationship with him. I can't guarantee a great relationship or anything but they definitely have a much better one than they did before the divorce. (Baby Brother, too, he just formed his relationship after the divorce since he'd just been born.) 

This trip was essential to me because their dad just moved over five hours away and I wanted my boys to understand why they weren't going over to dad's every week anymore. I wanted them to know that the problem wasn't them; the problem was the distance. It was also essential so that they got used to longer periods of time away from me. Up until now, they really haven't spent a full week away from me. It's always been part of a week and often only part of a day. Now that their dad moved, they're guaranteed a full week or two away from me at time. They need to get used to it. They need to come to understand that mom loves them even when they're not home with her.

So they went to their dad's. And, yes, they miss their mom. And I miss them. We Skyped almost every day. It was awesome. Then it was not as awesome. As the week went on, I could tell it was getting harder for Big Brother. It wasn't that he wasn't having a good time. But, like I said, they're not used to being so far away from me. It was hard for me, too.

Despite being hard, Skyping was fun and beneficial. Baby Brother has a hard time staying focused on a computer screen or staying still for any length of time. But he flitted in and out. He would also come up to the screen with a content grin if I called his name to get his attention. It was definitely worth it to see that he was doing well. With the tantrums he can throw in my presence when leaving or returning, it's good to see he's not as distraught the whole time. 

Big Brother showed me his toys and insisted I read him stories. He talked and share details about his life with me. He was pretty upset most nights when I said good bye. Insisted on one more story. Begged me not to go. But I did. Because he needed to know that, even when we miss someone, we keep going. We'll be alright. 

But, I struggle. I struggle to eat when they're gone. I'm used to filling my day thinking about their needs. A large part of that is figuring out what and when to feed them. With them gone, I lose focus and forget that I need to figure out dinner. It's so easy to procrastinate dinner. (Which is what I'm doing now since I'm sure my rice has finished cooking by now...) I'm used to knowing they'll get hungry soon so I better have dinner ready. But, with me, it's easy to push my hunger aside to finish something first. I'm also used to sitting around the table enjoying meals with my kids. Meals are less exciting without company to enjoy it with. Sure, it was easier to eat when I finally made something to eat. I didn't have to stop to help my boys every other minute. But it was lonely.

I also struggle to sleep. One reason is because I don't have to worry about them waking me up in the morning. So it's a lot easier for me to rationalize staying up too late. But I still wake up at about the same time every morning because my body is used to it. The result less sleep. I also have a really hard time convincing myself to go to bed when I'm lonely. I already struggle with loneliness relating to my failed marriage. It makes it hard to go to bed knowing that my loneliness will still be there in the morning. It's even harder knowing that the next day my kids will be gone, too. I don't consciously focus on these thoughts most of the time but they're back there as I choose to read a book or watch a movie to get out of my life for a moment or two or an hour or two or too many. Sometimes it's nice forgetting my life and getting into someone else's.

Finally, I struggle with the empty. Until the divorce, I had never spent so many nights alone in an empty house. Just me. By myself. I grew up in a large family. It was noisy and loud and I loved it. Even on the occasions when it was quiet, it felt alive. Then I moved out but I always had roommates and people around. And again, it was noisy and loud and I loved it. And, on the occasion that it got too quiet or seemed empty, I just invited people over so it would be noisy and loud. So it would feel alive. When I got married, at first, I had a husband. It was a little quieter but not like this. And before I could really get bothered by the quiet and before it started feeling empty because he was gone a lot, I had a new baby. The rest of my marriage was not quiet or empty. Because I was either at school with a room full of noisy teenagers or I was at home spending time with Big Brother. I got used to running at a frantic pace but also slowing down to enjoy the moments with my family.

Then I got divorced. And suddenly I was given nights all by myself. Quiet, empty nights. They were few at first but gradually increased. Baby Brother was on a modified plan at first so he didn't spend any nights away, only days, until a few months ago. Then it was hard. It gave me time to think and be lonely and wonder what had happened. Now I struggle less with that but still struggle with my empty house. I'd invite people over but I don't know who. Most of the people I know have families of their own. I don't really have any single friends my age any more to fill the void. So I have some quiet, empty nights.

They're good for me. It's not that I don't enjoy quiet. I don't care if the people around me are noisy or quiet; I just care that they're there. But I'm learning that I need to be able to be content with who I am and what God has given me. My house isn't empty because I'm in it. And I'm pretty awesome. I'm learning to use these "empty" moments to take a much needed break. It definitely gives perspective for those days when my boys are home and things are a little beyond chaos.

I'm also learning to love at a deeper level as I choose to fill "empty" moments with serving others. I am learning how to love my boys even when they're not here as I choose to do tasks that benefit them such as cleaning the house, prepping meals, and doing special things for them. (Like prepping Big Brother's 3rd birthday party. I am so excited!) I'm also learning to recognize who else I can help while they're gone. 

I'm also learning how to love myself more. Learning to be okay with focusing on a talent or doing something fun. I went to a few social events this past week. Not sure anyone really benefited from my presence but I definitely benefited from theirs!

It's getting better. As the years pass, we'll get used to this. It may not be the perfect life I always imagined. But it's a good one. I'm grateful for it. I'm learning to be more grateful for it and to show that gratitude better rather than wallowing in lonely moments.

Still, the boys get back tomorrow and I am THRILLED. CAN'T WAIT. HURRAY!!

Confession #16: Sometimes I make mistakes.

My most recent, more noticeable one was in my last post. If you didn't get a chance to read it, sorry but you won't get to read it. I deleted it. If you did get to read it, I'm not sorry for my viewpoint. It hasn't changed. However, I am sorry for sharing it the way I did.

Because it doesn't fit who I am or what I believe in. I am a Christian. To me, Jesus Christ is a wonderful example of living. Yes, I believe He's my Savior but even if He wasn't, He is the perfect example of goodness. I want to be like Him. There's more to that but it doesn't fit the topic of this post.

In reflecting on my last post, I've realized that it wasn't in harmony with my belief in Christ. If Christ was in my shoes posting in a blog or on Facebook today, I don't see him posting a post written the way I wrote. Because my post was antagonistic. I believe Christ loves everyone and has better ways of helping us understand things.

I believe in repentance. When I make a mistake, I believe it's important to do my best to fix it, learn from it, and do better next time. Which is why I got rid of the last post. It doesn't need to exist here. And I'm going to triple think before I post anything like it again. (And probably call my mom as she is infinitely wiser than I am and is part of the reason I realized my action was wrong. Not that she said it was. And she wasn't the only hint God sent me about my mistake. But she did help me see the better solution to my heartache.)

On the other hand, I'm grateful for the learning experience. Throughout my life I've feared making mistakes. They're upsetting as you wondered if they can be fixed or if you hurt anyone in the process or how you'll handle the lost time. But, as I've made more and more mistakes in my life, more and more I'm realizing that, if I let Him, God really does fix things. Somethings take longer than others, but He's able to fix all the important things. He can fix the unimportant things, too, I'm sure but often doesn't. Which has helped me better recognize what's important and what's not. And He definitely knows the best timing. The point is, I'm less fearful of mistakes these days.

So, if God can fix a mistake, surely He can prevent them, too. So why does He let us make mistakes? This is something I've spent a lot of time thinking about. Especially after suffering a painful divorce that not only affects me but also my children. I believe it's because mistakes are an essential part of learning. There are somethings we just can't understand until we've experienced them. In some cases this means we make mistakes. Like my experience with my previous post. Or a child who eventually does something (like touch something hot) despite the warning of a parent. As mentioned in a previous post, I believe that this life is a learning experience. As such, we were given the freedom to make choices. And with that freedom comes mistakes.

On the other hand, I believe that as we seek His guidance, just as I sought my mom's, He will help us make choices that won't lead to mistakes that destroy us or those we love. His guidance comes in many ways and has never let me down.

So I make mistakes. But life goes on. I repent. I do my best to live happily knowing I'm doing the best I can. And then leave the rest in God's hands.

And I try to teach my kids this. There are times I watch them do things incorrectly. Nothing that would hurt them or is above their level. But I don't rush to the aid of my children every time they can't do something yet or are going to make an easy to clean up mess. And I love the joy that shows in their faces when they finally "get it".

[Note: If you did read my post, I still don't plan on sitting idly by watching society participate in things I strongly disagree with. I'm still going to do something about my concerns. Just something more uplifting.]

Confession #14: Life rarely goes as planned.

I've spent the past few weeks contemplating a variety of topics which has culminated in this post. It's a thought that has been going through my brain since I started this blog and it's time to write about it.

Has anyone's life gone "as planned"? In big or little ways, it seems things have not worked out the way I planned.

Let's start at the beginning of when I started really planning. Life after high school. Owing to the wonderfully steady and safe home environment my parents provided and the blessings of not having any traumatic events at the time, my life went as planned for the most part before I left high school. Sure, I had a plan but I didn't really think too hard about it. Enjoying life and graduate high school.

During high school, I faced the decision of what I wanted to be when I grew up. It was difficult but not too difficult. Most of high school I alternated between a career as a marine biologist or as a science teacher. Both seemed awesome to me but ultimately stood secondary behind my ultimate career goal: being a stay-at-home mom. I wanted to be my mother: involved in my children's life, involved in the community, involved in my church, and doing my best to be a blessing to everyone I met. When people needed me (especially my husband and children), I wanted to be readily available to help. There's a flexibility in this career choice that fit what I wanted from life.

As much as I loved marine biology, I gave it up because being an educator better fit the role as wife and mother that I envisioned for myself. The same way I decided not to pursue life as a college athlete (track and field.) It would've been awesome. But life is too short to fill with too much and I had a plan. Besides, I LOVED (and still love) teaching. Don't think I sold myself short. I wasn't a dummy in the sense of not aiming for what I wanted. I still bought plenty of marine biology books, topped off my education with an oceanography course, frequented the mini aquarium at my college campus, and gazed longingly at the track as I walked home (an injury prevented actual running at the time.) I was just willing to sacrifice for what I wanted most.

So what was my plan? When I graduated high school, my five year plan was: go to Brigham Young University, get a degree in biology education, somewhere over the course of my education meet Mr. Right, marry him, live happily ever after as either a stay-at-home mom or science teacher.

Pretty simplistic but ultimately I'm easily pleased. I don't want much in life and family is where I'm happiest. That plan lasted a semester before it was interrupted...

By a service abroad teaching English to children in Russia. Sure I could have meet Mr. Right in Russia. You never know. Especially in the middle-no-where-Russia where most Russians only spoke Russian and I only spoke English and Americans were extremely rare... I always wanted to live in a foreign country so when my newly found best friend poked her head into my dorm room with the perfect opportunity I was sucked right in.

And never regretted it. I came back from Russia fully intent on sticking to my plan. A year later I was a bit frustrated with the fact that my plan was not going well. The problem: dating. Or the lack of really. How was I supposed to find Mr. Right without going on any dates? Why was no one interested in me? Although intent on finding Mr. Right, I wasn't going to be stupid about it and marry the first guy to come along. I wanted to explore my options. I did the best I could by going to all sorts of social events. But I had a problem. I was extremely quiet and shy. But confident, too. I've been told it's very intimidating. It was so hard for me to open my mouth and chat with people I didn't know. But I was also well trained in speaking with confidence. I did have friends, typically people who were forced into my life through work or sharing an apartment. They saw more of the real me than most people I met.

Anyway, 2 years into my plan and I'd successfully been on dates with two different guys. Both blind dates. They didn't ask me. Someone set it up. As I was discussing this problem (both the dating and the shyness) with God, I decided to deviate from the plan and take a break. So I went on a mission for my church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It was awesome. The perfect learning environment for me. If there's one thing I could talk about at the time, it was my absolute faith in God. And, with my missionary name tag, people expected me to talk about God. It gave me an opportunity to improve my conversation skills while doing something I loved. And, no stress about lack of dating. My plan was on hold and I was okay with it.

When I came back I was 4 years into my 5 year plan and less than 2 years into my college education. Time sure does fly. Fortunately, a church leader wisely told me as I was heading off to college the first time to "not let my college education get in the way of my education." Although my college education was a little delayed, the skills I gained from the delay were worth it.

My plans were up in the air as I faced so many choices that I never imagined. I am blessed and cursed with a fascination of everything good. I still had the ultimate goal of being a stay-at-home-mom but by the time I returned from my mission was smart enough to realize that it might be more than a five year plan. I was contemplating changing my major as I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with my life in the meantime. Did I really want to be a teacher? I was (and am) most fascinated by people and really wanted to travel the world. What degree would best serve my purposes?

Over the next few years, I became more flexible in my planning. I couldn't control when I met Mr. Right. But I was determined to finish my college education. I transferred schools to be closer to my family and, with the transfer, dropped the education degree in favor of a biology degree. I just wanted to graduate and I loved science, especially biology.

For the next few years, my life mostly went as planned. I went to school, hung out with friends, and had a great time. I was still a bit frustrated with the dating scene but grateful that I'd finally been asked on a few dates and even had a couple short-term boyfriends. (Some wonderful guys, too. Just not the right one.) I overcame most of my shyness and think I was a pretty friendly person on the surface. Scared to death on the inside a lot of times. But friendly and sociable on the surface.

By the time the spring of 2009 rolled around, 6 years after I graduated from high school, I was a semester away from graduating and finally had to face life decisions again. I was graduating. What did I want to do? Get a masters somewhere? In what? Travel the world? Add a teaching certificate?

At this stage, I decided that I'd tried meeting Mr. Right in likely places and that hadn't worked so I figured that I could just as easily find Mr. Right in an unlikely place. So I came up with a plan. One my dad wouldn't have liked but as long as I felt God approved, I was going with it.

The new plan: Take another year of school to add a teaching certificate to my degree (add more options to my degree), move to Africa and study the people and culture of Africa first hand, meet Mr. Right where ever I happen to meet him, marry him, live happily ever after as either a stay-at-home mom or science teacher or whatever fits our family best.

Now, before you laugh at my plan and consider it not very well thought out (in the Africa department), when I made this plan I had a year to figure out whether or not I was really moving to Africa and add more steps to the plan as needed. (Africa was just the place that fascinated me most at the time. Currently I really want to visit New York City and Washington D.C. A few years ago it was Great Britain. Really, I'd love to visit everywhere...)

It was a very flexible plan but at least my life had a sense of direction and purpose. Shortly after making this plan, I met the man I married and my life took a dramatic life shift and my life is now on a completely different, totally unexpected path.

I'm not going to go into much detail on those 4 years. When I got married, I really thought my plan was finally in place the way I wanted it to be. The man I married and I truly had the potential for the life I envisioned. But things didn't go as planned. I made a choice based out of trust which was eventually broken. Divorce was always my biggest fear. Definitely not part of my plans.

Eleven years after my initial post high school plan, and here I am. Still working on fulfilling my life-long dreams. At first I really struggled with the sudden plan shift. My plans were failures. Over and over and over again. Or were they? Sure, things didn't go as planned on the surface. But under the surface, things have always stayed right on track. My ultimate goal is to be a good person. My aim to be a stay-at-home-mom was aimed at an ability to be flexible in order to help as many people as possible, especially my husband and children. Sure, I'm not a stay-at-home-mom yet (and may never be one) but the experiences I've gained in life have always been on a path towards my ultimate goal. With all the plan changes, wasn't I learning to be flexible? And I very clearly, regularly was (and still am) faced with the choice of putting family or my selfish desires first. So my plans haven't been failures. They just didn't go as planned.

I believe God has a plan for each of us. A beautiful, perfect plan that leads us to what we desire most. But if we're too busy worrying about ourselves, we may miss seeing God's hand in our lives. I struggled this past year to remember the ways I'd seen God's hand in my life and to see past my pain into the door He opened for me. A much better door than the door I was hopelessly trying to force my way into. A lot of struggles led up to this post. A year's worth of trying to figure out what I was doing with my life. And a summer's worth of frustration at all the everyday plan changes that leave me feeling like I have no control. But I do have control. I always have choices. Not always the choices I want. But I always have control over the choices I face. And I always control my what I desire most. That's always up to me and no one can ever take it from me.

So what's my new life plan? It really hasn't changed from before. Current plan: Be a Supermom! while also being a science teacher, meet Mr. Right in an undefined amount of time, marry him, continue my adventurous life-long education.

It's a pretty awesome plan.

[Note: I decided to use the term "Mr. Right" in reference to my future eternal companion (since I desire to find one man for me for forever, a forever commitment.) The term "Mr. Right" makes it seem as if I believe that, among the 7 billion people on this planet, there's only one man that would be the right man to marry. This is not what I believe. I believe that any two people fully committed to a marriage relationship can make it work. Yes, it's ideal to find someone who is as easy to be married to as possible but ultimately I believe that commitment is the key. Real love is a choice. If you choose to love someone, although difficult at times, you will find a way to make the best choices for your relationship. So, in using "Mr. Right", I'm referring to whoever I choose to marry in the future not implying that my options are limited to one person.

As a random side note: If I do switch career paths away from being a teacher, I've decided to study neurology instead of marine biology. I love (for the most part) that life has so many choices!]

Below are some other unplanned events from this past month. Some good, some not as good, some that didn't matter.

I didn't plan on Baby Brother falling twice and banging and scraping his head while camping. (Looks worse than it is. He loved playing in the dirt so the band-aids are mostly to keep dirt out of the scrapes.)

I did not plan on getting stuck in pretty much stopped traffic in the desert between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. In fact, I timed the trip with the plan to miss a lot of the normal traffic. (There was an accident on the road.

Remember this? I planned on washing laundry not books. (See Confession #11)

I planned on making a bunch of freezer meals this summer. Then I didn't have time so I pushed that plan to Labor Day weekend. Then work was delayed and unexpectedly I made a bunch of freezer meals last week.

I planned on cooking those eggs not dropping them...

I didn't plan on making superhero masks for myself and my boys. It just kind of happened. I don't even remember how. Deciding to make something crafty with them. Knowing Big Brother loves superheros. Seeing the black foam. Who knows. But there are plenty of things in my life that weren't "planned" that are so good. So many good unplanned moments with my boys.

Confession #13: I believe in God.

In Confession #8 I mentioned my ex-husband calling me a religious fanatic. After a few years of pondering this point, I've decided that I am religious but not a fanatic. The objective of this post is to share my view.

I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To get a detailed description of what I believed from a trusted and reliable source, please visit www.mormon.org which is the website designed by my church to help people understand our beliefs. I believe it's always best to go to the source to find out things rather than just believing what I hear from others.

Meanwhile, to summarize the core of my beliefs, I believe in God who is our Heavenly Father. I believe we lived as spiritual beings with Him before our lives on earth. We learned many wonderful things but eventually needed to separate ourselves from Him so we could really learn who we are and have learning experiences. To me, this has always reminded me of a kid going off to college. You learn a lot at home with your parents. But some day you have to test out your wings. Can you make good decisions on your own? Without dad and mom hovering over you? Of course, dad and mom are still available to help and the wise child seeks advice from them.

That's my view of this earthly experience. A time away from home where I get to test out my wings and learn to fly. Sometimes I do something stupid and instead of flying I'm falling. Or I get stuck in a storm and injure my wings. Which is where my big brother, Jesus Christ, comes in. He rescues me, repairs my wings, and helps me get going again. Sometimes this process takes a while. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever fly again. But I always do. Life is so much better from the air.

One day, I'll leave this life. I'll return to my Father in Heaven. I'll share with him what I've learned and we'll rejoice in the opportunity I had.

That's a brief summary of what I feel is the core of my religion. There is, of course, more to it but this is my center.

A depiction of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ

I'm not very vocal about my religion. Growing up, this was mostly because I wasn't very vocal about anything except with close friends. I was just a touch shy. I've always thought people are amazing. I always got tongue tied because I was worried about saying something the wrong way. Not just about religion. I was really self-conscious about what others thought about me.

After high school, I had a lot of experiences that lessened my fear of others. I still wouldn't share what was deep in my heart but I was much more outgoing and, for the most part, happy with who I was.

For me, religion is a way of life. I want a personal relationship with God and Jesus Christ so I seek to build one just as I strive to build a relationship with my parents or with my kids. So I talk to them through prayer and I listen for their answers. These answers come through the Holy Ghost (a messenger who aids us in our journey) in a variety of ways. I talk to them about everything and have from a young age. Because from a young age, the answers have always led to happiness. There is so much I don't understand. And sometimes I get frustrated with my lack of knowledge. Which is why I study my textbooks (scriptures and other resources), go to church, and keep the commandments (or safety rules for life.) Not perfectly but I try.

My ex-husband decided to marry me knowing full well how religious I was at the time. I didn't hide my religion from him but lived my religion as described. And, I finally opened my heart and showed him the deepest parts of who I am and what I believed. He loved it. He praised my convictions and encouraged me to remain true to my beliefs.

Then things changed. We were engaged for a year. The first half of that year I was busy doing my student teaching in a neighboring town. We saw each other weekly and talked on the phone but not enough apparently. I was doing some intense decision making as I questioned some of the answers God had given me. He was busy with school and a big social life. As a result, things changed without me realizing it. The second half of the year we saw each other more but I didn't catch on to what had changed.

Right after we were married, I realized that the man I married was no longer interested in religion the way he professed to be interested in religion. I came to realize that he had started just going to through the motions to please others but didn't really care about it in his heart. Not only that but he was determined to destroy my beliefs.

I had a choice. Live my religion in my home and be mocked. Or choose to give up my beliefs.

At first, I chose to do my best to hide my religion. I hid my prayers and my scripture study and avoided the topic of religion. He still went to church with me but it was painful as it was accompanied by intense criticism of everyone who went to church. It was also a little confusing. I could tell he was battling within himself about whether he wanted to stick with it or not. So I tried to give him some space to figure it out. He was always accusing me of forcing him to be religious so I stepped back and really gave him space. I even told him that I felt our family was more important than a religious battle. Even if he stopped going to church, I'd love him.

And I wasn't lying. I did love him. More than I'd ever loved anyone. I knew he was struggling but I also knew his potential. (And I'm not just talking about religious potential here.) Gradually I realized that, by hiding my religion, I wasn't helping him. What he was really looking for was happiness and living my religious life brought me happiness. Hiding it wasn't bringing me happiness. I didn't shove it at him but I started trying to stop hiding it. I started reading a verse of scripture and saying a prayer with Big Brother. He was invited to join if he wanted. We also said prayers before meals.

He retaliated with a variety of attacks. Some subtle; others blatant. According to him, I was the only one with my believes. Even other members of my religion. (and he would name specific people, typically friends or people I trusted) didn't believe. According to him, I only believed because I'd been brainwashed by my parents into believing. I never thought for myself and was blindly following a pack of lies. These are some of the ones used most frequently.

The more subtle attacks were usually little verbal comments or criticism on specific commandments I choose to live. There are movies and TV shows that I have no desire to watch for a variety of reasons. He knew that from before we even started dating and openly supported that decision. Until we were married. There were so many things we could agree on to watch but it was never enough because of what I wouldn't watch. Most attacks centered on this item or my choice not to drink alcohol or wear skimpy clothing in public.

At first, I would get defensive which resulted in a verbal debate. I realized it wasn't helping our situation and strove for peace by holding my tongue. I would never convince him by arguing with him so I focused on reviewing my beliefs including his comments. What were my beliefs? Why didn't I drink? Was it that important to me? What really matters to me? Why do I believe what I believe? Would I still believe even if I was the only one who believed? I spent a lot of time reflecting on these and other questions.

Eventually, I had to put my foot down. I didn't want my kids to be raised in a home where one parent was continuously attacking the other for whatever reason. I told him that it was time to stop attacking my beliefs. We were equals and needed to treat each other with respect. We needed to agree to disagree and focus on what we did agree on. We needed to focus on strengthening our relationship and our family. I started refusing to stay in his presence when he was verbally attacking me. I would do my best to politely tell him that when he was ready to have a discussion then I was happy to participate. But I wasn't going to let him keep attacking me.

Which is when he quit. And when I realized that he stuck with our marriage as long as he did because he really thought he could convince me to change my beliefs. When it became obvious that I wasn't going to give them up, he moved on. Angrily moved on. He still lived with us but he actively started avoiding being part of the family because it meant being around me. And when in my presence, the attacks only worsened. (I should pause and mention that, although religion was the biggest issue, he eventually wanted to change most things about me. My profession, my opinions, my house keeping, etc. None were good enough for him by the end. Religion came up the most but there were lots of other things brought up.)

Eventually he stormed out one night and I told him that it was time to fix things. If he didn't want to start treating me with respect, then we were through. It took two months of letting him choose and he didn't choose me.

I believe in God. He is an active participant in my life. I believe He answers my prayers and helps me make good choices. When I choose to follow Him and His ways, I am a much better mother than when I don't. I'm not saying if you don't believe in God you can't be a good parent. I'm saying that I believe in God and I believe He helps me in my role as a mother.

But I'm not a fanatic. Religion adds perspective to my life but most of my life is pretty typical. I play, I work, I do everyday normal things. I just do it with the belief that God has my back. I also don't insist you believe the way I believe. I hate quarreling and also don't believe in forcing beliefs on others. I believe the best way to share your beliefs is to live your beliefs. Unfortunately, there's plenty about this life and about God's ways that I don't understand. I'm still in my education. I'm happy to share what I do understand and my opinion but usually I wait to be ask. I do invite people to join in a variety of religious activities. But I don't think any less of anyone if they decline my invite.

Life is a personal journey. Sure we interact with a variety of people and perspectives and experiences but ultimately we choose what we believe, who we are, and what we get from it. I choose to believe in God.

Confession #12: Sometimes I dress up. Sometimes I don't.

Yesterday I was busy with house work, a touch of grocery shopping, and, of course, playing with my boys. I don't have a picture of me yesterday. But picture how I look in the picture below except the dress was pink and with a different haircut:

Today I was busy with housework and playing with my boys. I looked like this:

Why am I posting this? Because for a moment today I felt lousy about how I looked. Because I was worried about what other people thought about how I looked. Yesterday I felt self-conscious because I felt over dressed at the grocery store. But I'd chosen to wear the dress that day and we needed milk. Today I felt self-conscious because my ex-husband brought a bunch of people I didn't know with him when he picked up the boys.

Then I realized that my boys loved me yesterday and loved me today and they'll love me tomorrow. For the most part, how I dress has little affect on how I care for my boys. Yesterday and today were only slightly different as far as my relationship with them was concerned. We ate meals together, danced together, played with cars, and did some laundry both days. They didn't care whether I did my make up or put time into my hairstyle. They didn't care whether I was dressed up or in a t-shirt and shorts. All they cared was that I loved them and showed that love in ways they recognized.

I believe in good hygiene. I believe in dressing appropriately such as modestly or as etiquette requires. (I wouldn't wear the t-shirt and shorts to church, for example.) But I don't believe in dressing out of fear of the judgment of others. I've done that before and all it did was hurt me. It didn't help anyone.

Now, I'm sure most of you are looking at this and see a beautiful woman in both pictures. Which is kind of the point of this post. In order to be Supermom, I'm learning to let go of incorrect perceptions built from years of mixed, confusing experiences. I'm beautiful and I know it. But sometimes I listen to the voices that try to convince me otherwise. Voices that would distract me from my role as a mother and cause my family and I unhappiness if I listen to them.

So today I chose to listen to the voices that told me I was beautiful no matter what.

P.S. Most days I dress at a level in between the two examples shown. Depends on my mood and, as mentioned earlier, the occasion.

Confession #11: I washed a book with my laundry.

My house was almost completely organized and clean a few days before we left on vacation. Then I took Baby Brother to the doctor three times before I got sick as well. (Don't worry. We were all fine. The first appointment was a routine check up. The others were "better safe than sorry" visits.) The night before we left I frantically packed and by then the house was a wreck.

We had a great vacation. A bit stressful but so nice to not worry about the mess at home.

Then we came home. And started cleaning up the mess. It was going pretty well. We were all so excited to be home and the boys were happy to play with their toys and "help" me with the chores.

Apparently one of them (my guess is Baby Brother) was helping with the laundry more than I realized. I sorted clothes from a pile on the floor and put the ones I was going to wash first into a box. One by one I made sure each item belonged in the pile and was the right side out. Then I took the box and dumped it into the washing machine without really paying attention.

I found the book while I was putting the clothes in the dryer. That's when I realized that, while I was busy sorting clothes, one of the boys (both of whom were playing in the laundry) must have dropped a book in the box.

Fortunately, it was a bath book so no harm was done...

Confession #10: I hide a lot of my pain out of fear.

I don't like the blame game. One of the reasons I'm divorced is because my ex-husband was searching for happiness and expected me to be the solution. By that I mean that he felt that if I lived the way he wanted me to live, then he would be happy. If life went the way he wanted it to go, then he would be happy.

The first part of our marriage, I desperately tried to find ways to show him how to be happy and change myself in an attempt to prevent myself from being a barrier to his happiness. I had lines I wouldn't cross though and ultimately we were divorced.

The reality of the matter is that I could never have made him happy. Just like none of you could ever "make" me happy. Sure, there are ways others could ease my burdens. Just like there are ways I could ease the burdens of others.

The reality of the matter is that happiness is a choice. One I really struggle to make right now. It's tempting to blame everyone and everything. So and so should have been there for me. Too many bills. The list goes on and on. I think I'm afraid to hope for good things in my life because if I hope for them then I risk that hope being crushed.

I have a good life and I know it. My boys are beautiful and they love me. Sometimes I feel like I'm the worst mom ever but I know that my boys know I love them. We have plenty of clothes (hence the never ending laundry) and food on the table (hence the never ending dishes.) There is a roof over our head and I have a good job to keep it there.

I struggle with the unfairness of life. I struggle with the pain and suffering that everyone experiences. I struggle to maintain my perspective.

Ultimately, I believe that God loves us. I believe that the experiences we go through in this life are temporary and are the best learning experiences ever. I believe that Christ made it possible to one day have the life I've always wanted. A life full of kindness, love, and family. Also, I believe that the majority of people are good. We have a hard time being good given our circumstances but I do believe that we want to be good.

So I hide my pain. I really just don't know what to do with it. Sometimes I intentionally hide it but, at this stage, I often subconsciously hide it because I don't understand it and I'm confused. I get stuck between the problems I face and my positive perspective of the future and of people. I really feel torn in half.

When I intentionally hide it, it's because I was terribly hurt by, not just one, but four of the people closest to me in the last year. Four people I came to trust with my pains and joys and fully believed they would always be there for me. People who betrayed that trust. All of whom were manipulative. Two of whom were violently hateful in their treatment of me. So, although deep down I know your intentions are probably good, I'm afraid of you. Afraid of what you'll do with my broken heart.

I have a very small list of people I trust enough to let see inside. My parents are at the very top of that list. I also have a very dear friend who's spent hours on the phone helping me without judging me. These people have seen all ugly yet love me anyway.

Other times, I intentionally hide it because most of my pain is caused by people letting me down. Little things have seemed amplified because of the big things I've gone through. Deep down I know it doesn't matter that someone didn't help me with that task but it bothers me.

Why does it bother me? Because of all the times my ex-husband told me to "just ask" if I need help with something. But then I'd ask and he wouldn't help. Eventually I stopped asking. Sometimes people don't help despite being asked. I rarely ask twice these days. Sometimes people don't help because I didn't ask. I feel safer not asking because then I don't feel like people consciously chose to not care about me. I'm afraid that you won't like me. Not only that but I'm afraid that your professed concern will result in hateful and/or hurtful interactions in the long run. I'm afraid that you're only helping me because you want something from me. Not because you care for me.

Anyway. Those are my fears. That's a little of my pain. I feel like this is a bit jumbled. It's been a rough week. A rough year. Things are getting better. I believe that.

Oh, I'm also afraid that you'll judge my feelings. When I was married, I wasn't allowed to have any feelings other than happy. Feelings are real. This is my perspective. It doesn't mean it's a perspective I want to keep. I hate fear. It's an unpleasant emotion. So, here I am. Sharing my feelings. Hoping it helps me heal. I know that it does. I feel so much better already. Ready to face life again.

Confession #9: I don't work out. I play.

I'm skinny. It's true. It's genetic. Also, I don't have six-pack abs.

Okay, got that out of the way. But I suppose I should clarify a little so that I make just a touch more sense.

As a child and teenager, I ate a lot. My brother and I used to have contests to see who could eat the most pancakes. I could eat a lot of pancakes. Once a school bully passed me in the hall after lunch and said, "Hey anorexic." I think she thought it would hurt me. What she didn't know is that I had just eaten lunch. Not just my whole tray full of lunch but all the pieces of my friends' lunches that they didn't want. I remember smiling at my locker because I couldn't understand how any one could think I was anorexic.

In my life, I put on weight once. I lived in Russia for a few months and my host mom seriously thought I was starving. She shoved food at me. And that food stuck for some reason. I think because it had a higher fat content (lots of oil) and my body was still adjusting to the fact that my activity levels had dropped dramatically in the last year. (Intense runner before; injuries led to being forced to slow down.)

When I say I "put on weight", I mean I added about 10-15 pounds. I was still in a healthy weight range. I don't think most people noticed. Why would they? (All the pictures in this post are from this stage.)

I don't count pregnancies as putting on weight. That's baby weight which is the creation of a life form. But, if you want to look at those, I lost weight with my first child and maintained my weight with my second.

That's a little background. Here's the reason this is a post topic.

Frequent comment this past year: "You just had a baby! Wow! You look great!"

I don't know how to respond to this because it's tied to a societal struggle that I wish didn't exist. I didn't want to burst their bubble but the reasons I looked great either weren't things I could control or weren't happy reasons.

Here's the reasons I looked great right after having a baby:

• Genetics. Look at my family tree. We're skinny people. Trust me, skinny doesn't prevent heart problems or other health problems. However, we can eat pretty horribly, miss the exercise, and not gain enough weight for society to notice and deem us worthy of their concern.
• Stress. My husband left me three weeks before Baby Brother was born. Yeah, I struggled to eat. I forced myself to eat. I had a baby to grow. But it wasn't enough to keep me from losing weight. (The reality of the matter is that a woman's body typically ensures the baby grows at the expense of the mother. Not always but usually.)
• More genetics. I have a stomach problem I inherited from my mother. We're still trying to figure it out a bit but basically sweets, lack of sleep, over abundant stress results in a very unhappy tummy. And when you're tummy is unhappy, who wants to eat?
• More stress. Some people eat more when stressed. I eat less. I lose my appetite when depressed. I forget to eat because other things are on my mind. Without the baby inside, I struggled to make myself eat.
• Keeping up is hard. It is really, really hard to work full-time, manage two little kids, and still find a way to put dinner on the table. So dinner usually isn't very exciting. My kids don't care. But sometimes I struggle with it. Then I get really distracted during dinner trying to feed both kids. I'm pretty good at using both hands so that multiple mouths get food. But the result is, sometimes I forget to eat enough. If I don't get dinner on the table, I usually forget to pack lunch for the next day. Even if I do pack lunch, I get so busy working through lunch so I can keep up that I often forget to eat until it's too late.

Now, before you get too worried, I've already made food a focus and do much better eating. Not perfect but much better.

My point with this. Why in the world are you complimenting me for an unhealthy lifestyle? I think women who just had a baby should rejoice in their "baby fat". Life was created! A large part of me wanted the baby fat. Because then maybe my family wouldn't have had to go through all the awful we went through.

On the other hand, I believe in properly caring for your body. I'm not encouraging people to overeat or not to exercise or engage in other unhealthy habits. My point so far was just to provide the truth of the matter. I didn't "look great" because I was healthy. In fact, I was extremely unhealthy.

Let's talk working out. For the past year I've been working to become more physically healthy. Step one was to eat better. Stop weight loss. No more missing meals. It's not perfect yet. But well on it's way to being on track.

Step two was to increase exercise. I really struggled with this until I realized that I really wasn't struggling with it as much as I thought I was struggling. See, I was trying to fit a mold. I felt that to exercise meant I needed to work out. So I tried to figure out some work out routine that would work for me.

I love to run. But running wasn't an option because I'd have to leave the house and I have two little boys in bed. Yes, I have a double-jogger stroller. But, the sidewalks near my house weren't made to be ran on with a double-jogger stroller. So to go running with my kids, I'd have to load all of us up in the car to go to the paved trail. Right...

I tried jump roping. But I had to be up before my boys so I wouldn't worry about hitting them. I didn't want to buy a work out program plus I own one. But the same problem as jump roping. Kids everywhere. (Note: I already get up early because school starts early. By the time they go to bed, I'm too exhausted to work out.)

I kept making goals. Try this. Try that.

Then I realized that I got plenty of exercise so why was I so worried about working out? Here's what I discovered is my "work out":

• Legs: Walking. I love taking my boys on walks. Walks to the park. Walks to the library. Walks to the Farmer's Market. Walks just to walk. We love to walk. Pushing that jogging stroller up that hill with 50 pounds of kid plus however much the stroller weighs is a work out. Same with holding it back so it doesn't run away without me as we walk down the next hill. 
• More legs: Jumping. Dancing. Tip-toeing. Chase. 
• Arms: "Fly me around, Mama!" says Big Brother in his Buzz Lightyear box. He weighs 30 pounds. Baby Brother is also a huge fan of flying. (He gets to fly a lot more than Big Brother since he weighs just over 20 pounds.)
• More arms: Dancing. Picking up toys. Picking up kids. Lots of picking up kids...
• Core: This is a little trickier for me to categorize. Bending to tickle. Up to chase. Bend to tickle. Up to chase. Laughing. 
• More core: Wrestling on the floor. Also, rolling back and forth with Baby Brother and, sometimes, Big Brother. (Baby Brother loves this. Basically I lie flat on my back. Baby Brother lies on top of me. I hold him in my arms so he doesn't go flying off. Then I quickly roll back on forth. Close to squishing him but not quite. His own personal mini-roller coaster.)

Once I made this discovery, exercise became much easier. When I feel like I'm sitting around too much or realize I haven't been very active that day, I get up and play with my kids. Not only do I get my exercise but I feel so much happier because I'm spending time doing something that helps them be happy.

My point is that I think that sometimes we end up on the wrong side of the whole eating and working out thing. Yes, I know there's an obesity problem. There's also an anorexia problem. (Which is not my problem. I struggle to eat but not because I fear I'm obese.) Most of us have an eating problem of some kind. Focus on your problem not the problems of other people. Let your doctor help you, let your body help you, don't let society help you.

Same with working out. I love that there are so many work out options. And I'm happy when I see people who love their work out. But I'm unhappy that some people, like me, who get a reasonable amount of exercise yet feel guilty because they're not "working out". So again, let your doctor help you, let your body help you, don't let society help you.

(By society, I mean the pressures of society such as all the Facebook nonsense about whether or not people are fat. I don't mean variety of resources that are accessible to help you such as nutrition facts or that work out DVD you love. Just do your research and find something that makes you healthy and happy.)

I'm not the epitome of health. But I am the expert when it comes to my body because I live with it every day and I try to understand it. I don't know your body. But I do know mine.

Lastly, the six-pack abs. That comes from the latest comment I received related to my size. I was at a conference and they had these cream-cheese danishes. I was talking to a woman there about the danishes as we contemplated eating one. I don't remember our full conversation but I do remember both of us ending up with a danish. Also, that she commented that I could afford to eat one since I had six-pack abs. I guess you can't tell through clothing but I don't have six-pack abs. Skinny, yes. Toned, no. That would require more focus...

Confession #8: I read my journals to help me heal.

This one's long. Kudos if you read it all. But the lessons learned cover almost twenty years of life and various stages of life so I needed a little length.

I started journaling as a little girl with a little help from my mom. Not much as a little girl but I became an avid journaler as a teenager. The first journal in my stack is from when I was 13. I wrote almost every day; only missed if I fell asleep thinking I'd written. Entries were never very long and showed the simplicity of my youth. For example, I flipped to this entry:

I always ended entries with "Night." Journaling is a weird thing. I always wondered who was my audience. Since I always wrote at night right before I went to bed (or before I stayed up too late reading...) "Night" seemed like an appropriate way to end an entry. Later I ended with smilies. Now I initial after the entry.

Anyway, I have short journal entries covering almost every day for about five years. Sometimes I reflected a little bit but often it was just a daily list of what happened that day.

After graduating from high school, I was a lousy journal writer. My life style took a dramatic shift. I had a blissfully easy childhood. By easy I don't mean I didn't learn to work. As shown by my journal entry, my parents taught me the value of work. By easy I mean that I had an extremely safe and smooth childhood. It's something that I've had used against me at times, especially in my previous marriage. "You've had an easy life so you have no idea what you're talking about."

I have always been a very thoughtful and reflective person. I may have had an easy childhood but I witnessed enough outside my home to know I had an easy childhood. It's something I was grateful for and I cherished. I knew I didn't have personal experience in the depths of what pain could be but I knew I didn't like pain and, having seen others pain, I could empathize with others. Who really knows. My perspective, your perspective, we all have perspective. I've been through enough life now that no one is accusing me of not knowing what "hard" really feels like anymore.

Anyway, growing up I went to school, did chores, played sports, and spent A LOT of time reading. I socialized a bit but mostly with my family. (With seven siblings, I didn't feel like I lacked a social life.) After graduating, I became a lot busier and, away from the shelter of home, experienced a lot more stress. School was harder, socializing took a lot more time, and somehow I had to make sure I ate and kept a roof over my head. I attempted to journal but it was frequently interrupted, shoved aside for more pressing items (like a touch of sleep), or forgotten altogether. Fortunately, I veered into some new forms of memory recording that document these years a bit.

I did journal a little bit but it was hit and miss. Some months I journaled frequently; others were neglected. I also have a few partially used journals. All of my journals up to this stage always had the intent of recording my memories, particularly what I was up to at the time and fun times I had. Although life was harder than as a kid, it was also so much more rich in experiences. It was a fun and adventurous stage of life.

Most of my journals (Yes, there are some missing...)

About five years ago, my journals became more reflective. At that stage, I was really frustrated with life and struggling to figure out how to be happy despite my life not going as planned. Sure, I had a good life, but I'd always dreamed of marrying and having a family. My dating life was pretty dry. Other than a 6 month spurt of dating the year before, I never really dated. My social life was active but guys just didn't seem interested in me enough to date me. Frankly, I felt pretty worthless. On top of that, the end of my college education was in sight and I didn't really know what I wanted to do with my life.

A friend gave me a journal and I started journaling again. About three months of mostly long, detailed entries. Then it became another partially filled journal. But it was an essential shift in my journaling and good preparation for the journals that now help me the most. I met the man I married and later divorced that year. Not documented in that journal. A few scattered entries in a computer journal. I wish I'd journaled more during that time frame. Oh well.

My marriage struggled from the beginning. I didn't worry too much about it. All marriages are hard, right? Shortly after I was married, I realized that I shouldn't spew my frustrations on my husband. That wasn't fair. Or, even when it was, it wasn't a good way to build a positive relationship. So I started journaling again. Very sporadically. As my marriage became worse, I journaled more. I recorded answers to prayers. I recorded the joy of my first child. I recorded my testimony of God. I recorded miracles. I also recorded that my family was struggling and my perspective on it.

When my mind convinced me that things were going to be better, I stopped. Things changed. I went through some difficult months. But I was convinced things were going to get better.

Until the day my husband threatened to take Big Brother from me screaming at me that I was a religious fanatic. This wasn't the first time I'd he told me that I was a religious fanatic. Or screamed at me. Or threatened divorce. But it was the first time he'd made such a point of it with the involvement of my son. (Baby Brother was still a couple months away from his due date.) A couple weeks later, this dramatic experience tied to what he termed his "mid-life" crisis which essentially was his choice to finally separate from what were once our shared beliefs. Maybe someday I'll post more on the topics of this paragraph. But tonight my focus is on journaling.

I didn't know what to do.  At the time, my policy was to avoid contention by letting him get out his frustrations while I quietly held mine in. I firmly believed he would eventually realize that I loved him even if we had some areas where we didn't agree. But this added a whole new dynamic to the trouble. I couldn't stand up for myself; I didn't know how to without adding to the contention. And I hate fighting. But he'd involved my son. That was unacceptable. I knew that if I was going to stand up in an appropriate manner, then I needed a place where I had the freedom to voice things in any manner I wanted. Where I could speak without fear of a fight. I needed somewhere I could safely reflect so that I could put my foot down in a way that worked towards providing my son with a safe home but without adding to the terror.

So I went out and bought a journal. I put a lot of thought into journal buying these days. They represent a stage of life

and I like them to visually help me. I bought a Marvel comics journal covered in superheroes. I figured if I was going to keep my family together, I'd need super powers. I was still firmly convinced that this was just a phase and that things would get better.

The first week of my new journal I wrote long entries that went back and forth about whether or not my situation was as bad as I thought it was. I did some serious analyzing. At the end of the week, I had my answers without the need for reflection. My husband and I actually had a good conversation. By good, I don't mean happy. I mean he actually let me stand up for myself and my family without yelling at me. He also seemed to reflect a bit on it a little and was a little honest with me. However, that was also when he told me he was actively avoiding being around me and basically deciding if he wanted to stay with me. That was Mother's day weekend 2013.

My "divorce journal" documents only 3 months worth of reflection yet fills almost all the pages. I was making some very difficult, life changing decisions. Ones that would not only impact me but also my children. My last entry was a week before the divorce was finalized. A month later I switched to the "blue journal". I chose it because blue is my favorite color and it's one of my favorite shades. Plus, blue typically represents sadness and I knew I was a bit sad. Little did I know it would truly document my "blues" as it documented my struggles after a severe bout of depression. (I struggled to write during the severe depression phase but wrote a ton the months that followed.) But it also showed how these struggles aided my healing.

Healing that I may not have noticed if I didn't re-read what I wrote. Healing that would have been delayed if I didn't re-read what I wrote. I needed reminders of my reflection processes. I needed reminders of the good, the bad, and the ugly. When I hated and blamed myself, I needed the reminders of previous experiences to help me see outside my current perspective. I needed to see my experiences and thought processes from while I was married to help me understand why I was no longer married.

How does this apply to being Supermom? I've learned that journaling helps me keep the right perspective.

The "Blue Journal"
(The "Pink Journal" is currently misplaced
but looks the same. Except bright pink...)

It helps me sort out my thoughts and feelings. The time to reflect allows me to deal with my frustrations with individual and family problems without taking them out on my family. It allows me to come back from my reflection and make decisions, not in the heat of the moment, but in the quiet, calm periods of reflecting. Finally, as mentioned earlier, reading my journals helps me heal. And I need to heal so I can be Supermom.

Sometimes it's hard to take the time to write. There's so many other, very visible things that need completed. But my heart needs the peace that comes as a result of journal writing.

I don't journal in book form extensively right now. I have a family blog that documents the joys known as my boys. This blog is currently helping me reflect on a variety of life issues that impact my parenting. I really needed it in this format right now. My current actual journal is the "Pink Journal". A bright bold pink as I learn to embrace the beauty and excitement of my new life. In it I record things I'm not comfortable sharing with the world. More personal reflections.

Finally, the beginning of the first entry of the "Blue Journal" shares what I've learned as I've re-read my journals: :