Joe Biden said that no one liked busing. I disagree.

It was winter break of my 7th grade year in school so I was in Jr. High. The calendar rolled from 1971 to 1972 while we digested the news that we might be going to a different school due to something called busing. 

We are a white family that moved to Maryland in 1969 and we were living in a privileged neighborhood with relatively good schools. We’d moved there from Washington State and were told by the realtor that this was a white roof neighborhood. When I asked my mom what that meant, she said, it meant that primarily white people will buy these newly built homes. That wasn’t true actually as several professional black people bought homes next door and down the street, but at that time I didn’t really understand that they were the few.

We went to Catholic school, so my life was incredibly sheltered, however, my sister with a developmental disability had a chance to attend a private school in Washington D.C. that was expensive. My parents asked us if we were okay with going to public school to save money. We were all excited to attend public school (wear normal clothes) and be with our friends so the four of us readily agreed.

Shortly thereafter we were all affected by busing. They chose certain grades that had to go out of the district and other grades where children were bused in. My little sister in elementary school and my brothers in high school got to stay in their “home” schools while I was the only one who was bused seven miles away every morning to school, getting up almost an hour earlier than before. My siblings all lost friends who went to their “new” school as the boundary was only a few blocks over from us.

We were very close to Washington DC and clearly had heard a lot about what was going on and while it seemed it would never touch us, when it did I was secretly thrilled to be a part of such a huge social experiment. I’d grown up in the MLK and JFK era and was inspired by their vision of a better world for everyone. I was scared but also happy that I got to be a part of history. It didn’t hurt that one of my best friends and the boy I liked were also being bused. 

I peered out of the bus that first day and was shocked at the neighborhoods we drove through and more surprised that there was a barbed wire fence around our school with a gate that locked behind us when we entered. It was prison like and terrifying. We were later told the barbed wire fence was not to keep us in but to keep others out. I didn’t know who the others were and was afraid to ask. 

I’d been in neighborhoods like this one before, but only to drive through on my way somewhere else. I was to spend the next couple of years in that neighborhood attending Fairmont Jr. High and I would get to know the people of that neighborhood as they followed me to my home High School.

That first week was rough. I had no idea where to go and fumbled around with the few kids I knew from my old school. There were about 40% of students from my school and 60% of students that remained. The first day I went to the bathroom, it was like something from a movie about inner city schools. The room was filled with cigarette smoke and while it would be several months before I too began smoking, I soon realized it was where the girls would bond.

I didn’t understand many of the kids whose home school this was. The students who came from the neighborhood were primarily black with a few white kids. They all spoke with an accent I wasn’t accustomed to. I felt there was a communication barrier almost immediately.

I was super shy, but also almost six feet tall and very skinny so attracted attention just because of my stature. One small white girl from the neighborhood was in what she termed a gang and for some reason wanted to dominate me. She bullied me almost daily and took my lunch money. It was so cliche but also a reality that I couldn’t believe I found myself in. I got good at avoiding her, mostly by going to lunch before going to the bathroom to bond first. I saw her and her family at Disney World during Spring Break and she looked so ashamed and small without her “gang” at school. She never bothered me again after that.

In the first month, a girl who was black talked to me in class and asked me for some help with her work so I helped her. When I later saw her in the hall with her friends, I said “Hi”. She looked me up and down and said, “Why’s that white girl talking to me.” She and her friends walked away laughing. I was humiliated and angry, not understanding why she did that. But later, Edwina and I became friends, first just in class (I never talked to her when she was with her friends again) and eventually in public.

I’d been brought up to believe that we are created equal and to love everyone. I wanted so badly to be a part of helping to create equity and equality for everyone, so while I was nervous, scared, and intimidated, I was also open to doing my part in my most innocent ways. I was woefully unprepared for the experience as were the teachers and students. I’m not sure how we should’ve been prepared, but for an innocent white girl, I was so out of my league. I had no idea what it was like to be a person of color and even though I wanted to understand, of course, I never really can or will.I’m just as certain though that the kids who remained were equally unprepared for us and upset about losing friends to a new school. 

When the semester finished, I got on the bus on the final day and thought to myself, “We made progress”. As the buses with white children pulled out of the school yard I began to hear small pinging noises and girls screaming in alarm in the seats ahead of me. Our bus windows were being peppered with rocks by the children from the neighborhood. In my naivete I somehow believed one semester could make a difference. I went home deflated and wondered if it would all be worth it. 

The following year I learned never to go to the bathroom during class. My bladder betrayed me, as always, and I had to go. Upon trying to return to class, a group of black kids cornered me and a small student up front told me to give her my jacket. It had been hand made by my mom. We were a big family and couldn’t afford new clothes so she made a lot of mine. I refused. I couldn’t believe someone would ask me for a piece of my clothing and I wasn’t giving it up. She got closer as did they all, and she said it again. I again refused. She then pulled out a switchblade and snapped it open and replied, “I said, give me your jacket!” 

I am stubborn. It was made by my mom. For some reason I made eye contact with the only boy in the back and made a silent appeal. I then steeled myself and said “No.” In my mind, I wondered what the hell was the matter with me and promised that if she asked again, I’d take it off. The boy said something (I have no idea what) and they kind of melted away. I don’t recall ever seeing any of them again. I had to return to the bathroom to relieve myself once again.

My brothers stayed at their high school and a young man who was bused to their high school was a boxer. He was creating quite a name for himself and years later came back to talk about his experience at the Olympics. His name is Sugar Ray Leonard. I was friends with his sister at my school. She was delightful and so proud of her brother. She had a little boy while we were in High School and named him Sugar Ray in her brother’s honor. 

My experience is just one of so many. While it had its moments of terror, so do all new situations we find ourselves in. My mantra in life is, to know someone’s story is to love them. We needed time to know each other’s story. We needed time to learn to understand one another and to learn that we were not a threat to each other (with the exception of the few). We needed time to find common ground. To get caught smoking and suspended together. To goof off in art after our teacher fell asleep. To cry together when one of the kids got shot. To be allowed to say “Hi” in the hallway and to weave our stories together through it all.

Busing is hard on kids, but kids are resilient. I learned that we all want the same thing no matter the color of our skin. I learned that we all want to be loved for who we are. I learned that there is so much inequity in the world and that I can be a part of tearing down barriers one friend at a time, one hello at a time, one story at a time. 

I went west to go to college and when I heard that they had reversed busing I was saddened. I wrote to my congressperson about it and begged them to understand how important it was since access to housing dictates where someone goes to school. Inferior or superior. Every child is worthy of a wonderful life, and I was disappointed that what I thought of as a successful social experiment was now ending. I worried for the future of our world and the cultural divide that would continue to separate children who are black and white. 

Joe Biden said that no one liked busing. I disagree. There were many of us kids, both black and white who learned from one another, who eventually embraced each other and who lifted each other up. Without busing that never would have happened and I like to believe that the little slice of history that I was privy to was important. I know it was for me. 

There were so many wonderful moments at Fairmont Jr. High that I haven’t revealed. But the best one was when we drove away from that school the following May. Instead of kids throwing rocks at our bus, they waved goodbye. Progress was made. Lives intertwined and my hope for a new generation of people who would bury racism once and for all was revived. 

Happy New Day 2017

My social media has been blowing up the past few weeks (or months, if you count the election pleas) for this year to be over. 2016 was unkind to some throughout the year but especially at the end to celebrities when many were lost that were treasures and staples in our lives.

If I had a nickel for every time someone said, "I can't wait for 2017 to get here." I'd be rich. We all would.

When I entered 2016 I was filled with hope and excitement for the coming year. Yet early in 2016 I experienced health problems, incredible stress in my life, and a myriad of occurrences that made life seem like it was throwing me for a loop. The year continued in that vein and it wasn't one of my favorites.

The year brought tremendous joy for myself and my family members but also tremendous pain and sadness. It was a mixture of blessings and curses that made me want to jump on the bandwagon and exclaim that I too could not wait for 2016 to end.

Then I remembered. As happens every year, when I put my hope in the next 365 days I am setting myself up for failure and disappointment. 365 days is 8,760 hours or 525,600 seconds and that is simply too much of an investment for my hopes. I've done it before and my new year resolution for 2017 is not to do it again.

When I begin a year full of hope and things go wrong early, it sets the stage for a tough year ahead. It can taint the entire year and put me in the mindset of looking for the challenges instead of appreciating the blessings.

So here are ten things I'm going to do for 2017:

1) I will take this year day by day. I will plan ahead because as Ben Franklin said, "Failure to plan is planning to fail". However I will be more present in each day and look for the opportunity in each moment to be thankful or to turn a situation around.

2) I will wake up each day and wish myself a happy new day. I will know that each minute, each hour, each day, each week, each month is an opportunity for goodness to enter my life and for a frown to be turned upside down.

3) I will try to tackle one day at a time and do the very best I can on that day and try so-very-hard not to worry about tomorrow.

4) I will deliberately look for the good in each day and when I can't find it I'll know that tomorrow is a new day and I can begin again. Even with unspeakable sorrow, I know I can overcome anything that comes my way, given time.

5) I will hold onto the good in my life. The people, the books, the activities that bring me joy and I will immerse myself in those things as much as I'm able to. I will do it deliberately and often.

6) I will take one problem, one tweet, one issue at a time and I will hold it up to the light and act on it in the best way possible. I will not bury my head in the sand and I will also not let it bury me in sorrow.

7) I will be careful with my heart. I will guard against those that wish to upset my apple cart or that I allow to upset my apple cart and I will choose my friends wisely. I will have no time or energy for uninvited negativity.

8) I will have hope for the world but also be vigilant for injustices and do my part to ensure that someone else doesn't experience unspeakable sorrow or damage.

9) I will do everything in my power to understand those I disagree with which is different from tolerating what I know to be wrong. I will work to understand different perspectives allowing me to feel love for the person separate from their beliefs. I will attempt to stop judging people according to their vote and will work to influence those I disagree with through love and patience.

10) I will seek counseling when needed from my friends, my husband and perhaps a professional to get me through each day on a positive enough note that I can make it to the next with some hope and efficiency.

Just like planning to lose weight, I will inevitably fail at this early on. I will allow fear to take me down a path that will be negative and unproductive. I will fail and then it will be easier to think that it was bound to happen and since it happened so early, my fate is sealed until December 31st 2017.

This is why I am committed to one day. I am only promised one day. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow may never come so all I have is today. - Alan Coren.

The promise of one day is so incredibly enticing and feels manageable. More manageable than my norm which is to look so far ahead that I am either retired or dead in the story and I'm not certain how I got there in a matter of minutes.

I will work to be patient with me and I will look forward to tomorrow when I lay myself down to sleep. I will work to treat every evening as a December 31st and appreciate the promise that each new day brings. I will not mark my time by arbitrary dates, but rather by the opportunity in each moment coupled with the promise of tomorrow.

So, I wish you a happy new day in 2017.

All 365 of them.

One at a time.

16 things I learned from my dad in 16 years.

In June we honor dads or the men in our children’s lives. This is one of the most important jobs a man can have and the impact of a father on a son or daughter’s life is profound. I had a wonderful father for the first 16 years of my life. His sudden departure from a heart attack left my mom with 5 teenagers, one with special needs (no, not me) and her career was as a piano teacher from home and caring for her big family. It was hard, but we made it and I truly feel that the impact my dad had on us when we were younger helped get us through the really tough times without him. Here’s 16 things I learned from my dad in 16 short years.

11)      I learned that if you want something, work hard for it. My dad always had big dreams and he worked so hard to make his dreams happen.

22)      I learned to work with my hands. One of my dad’s big dreams was to build a log cabin on our property in Coeur d’ Alene. It took over a decade to happen, but in that time we learned to make cement, build footings, frame walls, cut wood and logs, build reinforcement walls, make a plan and the list goes on. He passed away just before it was finished.

33)      I learned to dream big. My dad was a dreamer and he was a visionary. He loved technology (the little that existed back then) and often talked of the future where cars would drive themselves and TV’s would hang on walls.

44)      I learned to appreciate the stars. My dad loved astronomy and he spent many hours looking through a telescope and teaching me about the world outside of our planet.

55)      I learned to listen to people. My dad was a really good listener. He rarely jumped to conclusions and had a true interest in what people had to say. He would come home and go to each of us and ask about our day, then he would listen. What a gift that is especially when a man listens to his daughter and shows interest in her world.

66)      I learned about justice. One time he saw me hit my best friend when I was way beyond the age of it being developmentally appropriate. He came out and told us both to come in and he sat down and made us talk through it. He listened and he meted out justice. I had to apologize, but in the long run, I kept my friend.

77)      I learned about forgiveness. My dad was one of the kindest people I know. He gave people the benefit of the doubt and forgave slights in a way that made him easy to be your friend.

88)      I learned about faith and tradition. We were raised Catholic and no matter where we were we always attended mass. One time he attended in his bright orange bathing suit because we didn’t have time for him to change his clothes and he said, “God doesn’t care, he cares more if I’m not here.” The congregation evidently cared though because the next week in the bulletin it said, “No bathing suits at church please.”

99)      I learned that education is crucial. We lived in Maryland and would drive to our cabin in Northern Idaho every summer. On these trips we drove through Moscow, where both my parents went to college and he would proclaim, “This is where you kids will go to school.” We’d pour out of the car and walk around the gorgeous campus and 3 out of 5 of us did go to school there.

110)   I learned how to drive. My dad LOVED driving a car, in fact he loved cars. He was an engineer that built dams for a living but was passionate about engines and vehicles. We had six vehicles at times which we didn’t realize the neighbors hated until my sister told a friend my dad bought my mom a new car, and she proclaimed, “Is it another junker?”

111)   I learned to take time to travel. My dad took 5 weeks off every summer and we drove out to Idaho, a 2,500 mile trip in a station wagon with 7 people and 2 dogs. My parents made this the best memories of our lives. The getting there was equally as much fun as being there.

112)   I learned the importance of eating dinner together. My dad and mom insisted that we eat dinner together even when we had jobs and homework and school and practice. We still had dinner together almost every night and when he passed away it was the thing I missed most.

113)   I learned to love music. My mom was the official musician yet my dad was a piano player who loved to improvise. He would begin a song and I would recognize it then he’d go off on some tangent and create his own version of it. It was always hard to sing along, but we laughed a lot about it. We all played an instrument and some of my favorite memories are of us as a band.

114)   I learned to hope. In Maryland we rarely had snow. One Christmas Eve I was pretty sad about it and he told me not to lose hope. That night about 1 a.m. he came in and woke me up and took me outside to see snow on the ground. What a gift that moment was. We watched for several minutes and by the morning it was gone. I learned to never give up hope.

115)   I learned to be funny. No one thinks the typical engineer is funny but my dad was funny. He loved jokes, he would do a little jig now and then and he would be silly at times. He teased us often, but never in a way that made us feel less than.

116)   I learned to do my best. When my grades came in and I was upset to show him I’d gotten a C in math (one of his favorite subjects) we had a heart to heart. He asked me if I’d done my best. I responded that I had. He told me that if I put everything I had into that grade then I should be proud of it. I learned too to take pride in my accomplishments even when they fell short of my expectations.

It’s the everyday, simple conversations, examples that are set, moments to remember, that make up a relationship. Dads are super special. They contribute beyond measure to the positive outcomes of their children. It is my hope today that you love on your own dad and the dad or man who is raising your children and recognize him for the incredible gift he is to this world. Happy Father’s Day. 

"Mom, did you ever feel loneliness after we were born?"

When my youngest daughter recently asked me about giving birth and how it went, for a class she was taking, I decided to send her an email because I couldn't possibly explain it all by text message. Once the floodgates were open I was shocked to find myself back in those early days of motherhood. 

When I explained each of my three deliveries, how they differed, how they were the same, how I felt, what I wish had been different, etc., she then emailed back, "I can't believe you ate a whole block of cream cheese in one sitting!" and "Did you ever feel loneliness in the first year after we were born?"

It was really hard to write back. 

I never want my children to feel like things might have been "off" in their childhood, however the reality and sticky, messy part of parenting is that it isn't always easy.

What I discovered as I wrote the story of my journey into motherhood is it was harder than I like to remember. It's nature I suppose, how we survive those early years and somehow as time goes on and kids get easier we forget how really hard it all can be.

This is how I replied:

"Yes, I was lonely with our first especially because we moved away from home, to Idaho Falls 1 week after he was born and I didn’t know anyone but your dad who worked a lot. We moved to Salt Lake City when he was 4 months old and there were two ladies there that I’d known from dads work when we lived in Boise, so at least I had them but they weren’t very nice to me. They had kids and they were both overweight as a result and they were just mean about the fact that I wasn't. One of them left out these super tiny curio things all over her house and “taught” her kids not to touch them. Alex didn’t do well at her house.

We also lived near Steve and JoAnn but they didn’t have any kids so we didn’t get together often. I didn’t work outside the home and we were super poor and I could only shop on triple coupon days. I loved being a mom but I was so lonely for family and friends. I’m sure I was depressed looking back. One day JoAnn said that she couldn’t understand why I’d want to be home with a baby. It kind of hurt my heart because I felt like she thought I should be working and that what I was doing wasn't important. When she delivered Lindsay, her first, she called me crying and apologized and said she totally got it now.

I went to the Catholic church hoping to find fellowship and friends. No one ever approached me or talked to me and I was too shy to put myself out there. I thought having a baby with me would help, but it felt more lonely to be with people who I thought should be MY people in the heavily populated Mormon state I lived in but I left disappointed. Your dad didn’t go to church back then so again I felt isolated.

Before he was born I never understood how a parent could be abusive. I had one of those moments when he was about two months old and he wouldn’t stop crying that I looked at our balcony and thought about just tossing him off of it. I started to sob at the thought of it so I put him in his crib and went and took a shower and sobbed for about 30 minutes. I kept thinking that I now understood how bad things can happen and that I was lucky enough to have the capacity to problem solve that moment and do something to take care of myself. When I returned he was sleeping peacefully in his crib. I cried until he woke up and I could hold him again. I never had that again with any of you.

When we moved away from Salt Lake City he was just over a year. I realized I didn’t have anyone to call to say goodbye to. That broke my heart and I promised that I would never let that happen again. When we got to Reno, I joined the Welcome Wagon and became very involved because I recognized I needed a village and I’d gone way too long without one. A year later I was getting a divorce and moving back home."

So yes, I experienced loneliness as a new mother. Which could be part of why I built a village around myself with the other two. A place where I would never be lonely and I could help others who perhaps were, especially other new moms.

Happy mother's day to all moms, new, and old but especially to those experiencing loneliness right now.  

Sauerkraut and Christmas

 My grandmother was a Brunner so I suppose she learned young how to make a mean sauerkraut, a richly inexpensive, labor intensive German dish made from cabbage. As a young child my mother gave it a go on occasion, probably as a nod to our German heritage, expecting her five children to love it as much as we oddly enough loved liver and onions.

I don't recall if I was the only one that despised sauerkraut but I do remember having to sit at the table and choke it down because coming from a large Catholic family, if we didn't eat what was put in front of us, we were not given seconds of what we liked and often "strongly encourage" to sit until we finished our plate. I sobbed when we had sauerkraut, I begged when we had it (almost as much as when we had peas and eggplant) but to no avail. I ate the nasty stuff and hated every minute of it.

My mother figured out that it was easier and less stressful to make and serve food we all liked so I spent many a happy years not eating my least favorite food, the dreaded sour-beyond-belief-sauerkraut that tasted like my brothers' socks smelled.

When I first got engaged and we spent 7 days at the future in-laws house for a week during Christmas break from college, I was thrilled. My future mother-in-law was the consummate hostess. She loved having family near. She balanced an ex-husband, a current husband, three kids, her mother, her brother and many beloved friends during the holidays. Their house was the place one wanted to be.

The house was decorated, the cookies were baked, the food was plentiful and we played games every night. The tree was bursting with new gifts and memories in each ornament of years gone by. The fireplace was roaring and everyone ran to the door when someone arrived. It was a place filled with love, laughter, joy and a reason to celebrate how lucky we all were to be under that roof.

The holiday arrived and we all had more gifts than anyone deserved. We had amazing meals and we all watched as Judy conducted the show. The kids ironically talked about how "Mom always blows up during the holidays." and took side bets on which day that would happen. At the time I foolishly thought it was kind of amusing and wondered why it happened but didn't take the time to try to understand why. It would be many years before that piece of the puzzle found it's way to me.

After a week of amazing dinners and late night celebrations on our last day Judy announced we'd be having sauerkraut and sausages for our final meal. I was instantly a 7 year old child who sadly felt it was appropriate to express on several occasions how I felt about sauerkraut. As it slowly simmered on the stove I was relentless in my rudeness about my distaste for it and as I reflect back on my 20 year old self, I am ashamed.

I inwardly cringe when I think about the fact that my rant was the cause of my future Mother-in-laws meltdown that year.

Up to that point I had no idea what her kids had been talking about then I found myself deservedly at the center of it. She blew up. She put me in my place and let me know how ungrateful I was and how hard it is to cook for a house full of people for a week and to make everything perfect and to decorate and have no one help and to stay up late playing games and doing everything possible to make it perfect for her family (deep breath here) and to spend all that money and time and effort and to make a very special family meal (she was born a Freytag) and to have someone be so rude about it.....you get the picture. I'm six feet tall and I felt about three feet tall.

Fast forward 35 years.

I can't help but cry when I take down my decorations. I cry because of the treasured memories encompassed in not only the decor but in the act of taking it all down and reflecting on the season and the many memories of celebrations gone by. I am certain that when my then future MIL took down her decorations that year, it was with a mixture of sadness, anger, happiness, relief and resentment.

After 30 plus years of recreating the story book Christmas for my own young and many family members and friends, with the women in my life; my mother, my MIL and generations of loving women leading families as my example, I now understand.

I show love to my family by making my home, my meals, my time and my presence the present during the holidays. It takes effort. It takes time. It takes money and it takes planning. It takes it's toll, one that my ancestral females all simultaneously suffered from and treasured.

I don't know if there is a local bookie that annually secures my children's bets on when I'll melt down, but from their gentle teasing I know they expect that it might happen. Some traditions just carry on no matter what we do to prevent them.

So while taking down the decor and tucking away the seasons newest memories I'm reminded.

I remember that fateful day that I was the straw that broke the camels back. I'm reminded that my own clan is too young to understand my own experience of the season and that our own sauerkraut moments are bound to happen.

I know with certainty that someday I will pass the baton to one of my unsuspecting daughters or daughter in laws and I will sit back and remember.

I will know that the joy they experience is worth the moments they won't be proud of.

I will know that they do it out of love for the season and for their family.

I will know that they too will cry when they take down the decorations that represent so many decades of memories both to be treasured and carefully tucked away into a space of shame with the promise of doing better next year.

I will know that they will hope for the perfect holiday but that the perfect holiday means someone will likely blow up and that it will most likely be them.

I will know that in 30 years, they will have the grace to gaze lovingly upon their young and know and understand the future baton holders aren't capable of understanding that sauerkraut at Christmas might just be a part of the equation and that it's a dish best served in the warmth of family, love and tradition.

My first and second husband: Part III

For those that have been or are married for any length of time, it's no secret that marriage is hard. It's work. Think of your last roommate and about the simple things like negotiating who is paying for what, who is doing the dishes, who does or doesn't pick their towel up off the floor and who doesn't know the nuances of proper toilet paper installation. Negotiation is a part of relationships that begin when we are kids, siblings, mates of some sort, then a permanent partner.

Knowing this doesn't make it easier to repair a broken relationship especially years after a divorce.

So when I began dating my ex husband without anyone's knowledge and sneaking to counseling with him, I was skeptical at best but felt it was worth the "old college try" for a few reasons as follows:

1) After dating several other men I realized that there was really only ONE man in the world that would love my son as much as I did and it was his father.

2) After dating several other men I realized that the one I'd originally chosen wasn't as bad as maybe I imagined him to be at several points throughout our marriage. I hope you know that the word "several" is an exaggeration on all counts. 

3) After time worked it's magic anger was replaced with things like respect, excitement to see him take on responsibility I wished for before and affection. There is nothing sexier than watching a man parent his child...nothing.

It was a very sweet time in our lives. There was no pressure, from each other or anyone else since no one else knew what we were up to. (Keep in mind there was no Facebook or gasp....should I say internet during this time period.)

It was peaceful, restorative and healing.

It was fun and it felt like we were doing something uniquely our own that shut out the world and was focused only on us as a couple and our future as a family.

Joe's work had an annual event in McCall so we decided to go together and while I arranged for Alex to be taken care of by my family, we snuck away for the weekend with his company filled with people who didn't really know that much or care about our history and were not surprised by my presence. It was fun to be incognito and to practice being a couple again. I don't remember the second "first kiss" in our relationship but I remember being nervous about it. Evidently things went as one might expect, swimmingly.

It was just what we needed. We decided to give it another try and still didn't want to tell anyone until we were "sure". It wasn't long after this that my mom said we should take another family photo.

Faced with the dilemma of taking a family picture without Joe who I literally thought might be BACK IN THE PICTURE presented a challenge.

I still didn't feel like it was the right time to tell my family we were giving it another "GO" but by the same token I was reluctant to get family photo's without Joe in the picture because I was filled with hope.

I mustered up the courage to ask my mom if she cared using the excuse that Joe was Alex's dad so would always be a part of his life and therefore he should be in the picture. She fell for this clever ruse and said yes, My siblings looked at us like "what the hell" when Joe arrived and either my pleading looks or my mom's silent "mother" glare that can only silence her own children worked. There were questions after but I still didn't fess up. I just wasn't ready to hear what other people had to say about it.

For a woman who thinks she doesn't have good intuition,my mom's radar was going off like mad. Oprah was a new program on the TV and my mom called me one day and told me about how there had been these divorced couples that wanted to get back together but their biggest barriers were their families. She told me that if I ever wanted to get back together with Joe she didn't want to stand in the way and neither would anyone else in our family. I still didn't say a word.

I'm incredibly grateful for that time together to just focus on us as a couple without the scrutiny of others. While I'm not a big secret keeper unless it belongs to someone else, I kept this one close to my heart. It reminds me of that brief time after my dad died that only our family knew...no one else. It's intimate, precious, without prying eyes, judgement and without the opinions of others or the world crashing in. It was just us, deciding about our future.

In that future we envisioned a bigger family, a happier family and hope for a future yet unborn.

Just three years earlier I'd stood in Alex's pediatricians office in Reno, Nevada and told him we were moving to Idaho because I was getting a divorce. This man gave me a gift that day I'll never be able to repay.

He said, "See that little boy who looks so much like his father? As he grows up and looks in the mirror he will see the reflection of his dad and what you say about his dad and how you talk about him to others is how he'll see himself."

What a gift. Really, what a gift.

My thoughts and anger and frustration and all the things we spew when we end a relationship, Alex was shielded from as much as humanely possible. So when we told Alex we were getting married, while he didn't completely understand what that would mean, he was happy and couldn't wait to be a part of the ceremony.

We set our date for May 31, 1989 which was a Wednesday. We decided that we didn't want two dates to remember and it seemed fitting. When we went to the Catholic church to plan the wedding, we were informed that according to the church we were still married and had only been civilly divorced. Head shaking ensued and we commenced with the planning of our renewal of vows.

The big day arrived and as I walked down the aisle toward my two fella's standing on the alter I was struck by how lucky we were to have a second chance. How lucky we were for forgiveness and grace and for the love we just couldn't deny. How very lucky.

When Joe and I clasped hands to renew our vows, this little person came up and stood between us, looking up at us. There is not a picture of this anywhere I know of other than my mind. The audible gasps and aww's from the crowd gathered to bless us that day echoed what was in my heart. Perfection. A little family restored.

Our second marriage began that day and we now count from the first date, not the second. We call those the growing up years that helped us grow together again. If we hadn't had that time to work on ourselves it might never have happened.

I'm not sure I have any sage advice on how to keep a marriage strong, or going or even how to avoid a divorce. All I know for sure is even the second time around, it's still hard, it's still work and it's still terribly rewarding and wonderful all at once.

For us it's a matter of knowing we CAN live without each other but daily choosing not to. It's not something we fantasize about, it's not something we imagine, it's something we lived and by living it made a choice that we are better together than apart.

My friend Janet's mom has an assortment of sayings that resonate with me. The one that perhaps is the best piece of advice, if you will, goes something like this:

"A successful marriage is one where you don't want to get divorced on the same day."

Getting remarried didn't and doesn't make us immune from wondering sometimes why we did it again. It's that choice that is made every time one has the thought that they may want to throw in the towel. 

We both know we can throw in the towel but we both know what life is like without our matching Mr. and Mrs. towels side by side. It's been 34 years since that first vow taking and I'm planning on at least 34 more if he'll have me.

My first and second husband PART II

Divorce is both an ending and a beginning. While the possibilities of how things will turn out are both fascinating and terrifying it's a precipice we stand on for some time before we know where we land.

I was 27, divorced with a two year old (read last blog, Part I for details) and terrified yet fascinated by what my new world would bring. They say divorced adults act a lot like teenagers without most of the reservations we had as teens. I would say this is somewhat true, but will also spare you the details other than to say my sister Jeanine and I loved going out dancing on Friday nights while mom took care of our kids.

After a year apart Joe, my first husband, whom I was now divorced from, moved to town and life got more complicated.

I had settled into a routine with our son, Alex that included arriving at work at 6:30 am, leaving at 3:30 pm then riding my bike with him on the back through the parks in Boise. I lived in a lovely home on Bannock after a brief stay with my mom who graciously allowed us to live with her for awhile. I was saving for a house and I had two jobs.  

One was at a childcare center that was very expensive (I could only afford to have my son there because I was a teacher) and launched my career in early childhood. The other was at J.C. Penny's selling housewares which was my Friday night and weekend job that landed me downtown near my home on Bannock.

Repairing relationships takes many things, most of which are really, really hard, much of which simply takes time.

When Joe moved to town, I wanted one thing. A routine that was predictable and that Alex would benefit from. At first it was sporadic and I would arrive at his center (by then Alex had moved to another branch so he could benefit from some separation) and I would arrive to find out his dad had picked him up. Our first of many negotiations ensued.

It was the hardest thing we'd done to date. We sat down and worked out a schedule that we promised to stick to. We were all about Team Alex and while we didn't like the restrictions, we knew he was at the center of our decisions and worked hard to be adult about it.

Joe's parents had been divorced and set a wonderful example of communication and togetherness and compromise that we tried to follow. In fact one of my favorite memories of this time was when his parents called me and asked if they could bring Alex a gift. They knew I had a yard at the Bannock house and asked if they could bring him a swing set.

It was one of the most touching moments of my life.

They showed up in their pick up truck with a swing set for him. In a gigantic box that took all three adults and one toddler to heave out and carry to the back yard.

My Mother-in-Laws husband, Jon, spent an entire day putting it together in our back yard while Judy and I visited and she basked in the presence of her grandson. She expressed her fears that she worried I wouldn't want them in our lives anymore and how much they still wanted to be a part of our lives. We cried, we hugged, we made promises that were kept.

Healing occurred that day. Healing that was both important and necessary for our family to restore it's brokenness. 

By family I mean everyone. We put off telling our family because as the first married on both sides, we knew how disappointed they would all be. We knew that facing that disappointment and seeing it in our families eyes would hurt...and we were right. It did. They grieved and adjusted too.

When my mom told her best friend, who was the mother of my best friend and Maid of Honor, she replied, "I would do anything if my daughter could call and tell me she was getting a divorce."

Her daughter, our Maid of Honor had passed away in a car accident just a few years before.

My mom said this changed her entire perspective...there are worse things than divorce. 

It's odd watching your ex spouse date other people and there was always Alex to think of. How long do you wait before he meets someone? Should he ever meet someone? Should the ex be able to introduce him to other women and if so, when? These are all important questions that divorced parents face.

For us, it boiled down to trusting that the other person was firmly and forever Team Alex. That doesn't mean there weren't fears, or concerns, or jealousy or anger. What it means is we tried hard to trust that the other parent would make the best choice possible and that we had to let go because, after all, we'd created this.

We both ended up doing what the other wished we'd done all along. I had to work and build a career. I couldn't be at home, sulking, wishing for more involvement from my spouse. I guess it should've been no surprise when Joe sent me a huge bouquet with a congratulations note when I became the Director of the childcare I worked at. In the meantime, he was parenting more.

I was so proud of him each time he took his sons hand and walked away from me to their life together but it also broke my heart that I wasn't a part of it. To share your child with anyone, even if it's their biological parent just doesn't feel right. When you're away, you want them, when you're together you think about when you'll be apart and figure out ways to enhance your own life and fill it with meaningful things until you can be together again. It was both brutal and good for me.

I was a better parent by far, and so was he. Our respect for one another was growing each day.

I did buy that house and as parents we struggled along and did our best and when I asked Joe if he wanted to take a parenting class with me, he agreed. Alex was having some behavior issues and we wanted to co-parent in such a way that we would all benefit. We blamed ourselves. If everyone is doing the same thing, then how could we lose?

So we signed up and off we went. There was a single mom who was a widow. There was a couple with the grandma who was too lenient. There was a mom and dad and the new step-mom parenting 3 kids together. We were a motley crew, but our collective goal was to have healthy families no matter what those families looked like.

Toward the end of our class, we got the proverbial question, "Now why are you guys divorced?"

It was said often and we didn't always have an answer. We were both dating other people and when we had our party at the end, a round robin of games, he brought her. I'd met her and he had reassured me that she was wonderful with Alex. She seemed nice enough.

So we played and played and played games all night and the winners of each game kept ending up at the same table and those winners were consistently Joe and Lori. She was in another room, playing different games, working hard I'm sure to reunite with her boyfriend who was having a blast with his ex wife. 

Is this where I admit that I was wickedly enjoying her angst?

It was only a few short months later that we went to my sister in laws wedding. Both Alex and I were in the wedding and so was Joe. Odd to think we were all up on the alter together being altered together in that moment.

After the ceremony the family priest asked my mother in law what was going on between us during the wedding ceremony while Joe's girlfriend sat in the pew watching? She saw it and wondered too.

While I was aware of the moment, to me it was one more step toward healing. Sure I looked at him as if to ask, "What happened to us? How did we let this happen?" He looked back with the same question in his eyes. 

Sure we succumbed to the moment that everyone does at a wedding where we feel hopeful and loving toward everyone and excited about futures and were misty eyed doing that.

Sure we were in the wedding photo's but also careful not to stand near one another for fear of giving anyone, including ourselves hope.

The next day, the girlfriend flew out, and I was putting Alex down for a nap. Alex kept asking for his dad and Joe overheard so he came in and laid down on the other side of our baby, now almost 4. Alex was basking in the joint attention of his parents which hadn't happened before as far as he could remember. Then something happened.

Alex took my hand that he was holding and he took his dads hand that he was holding and he slowly and deliberately brought them up above his body and put them together. The adorable smile on his face when our hands met had us all giggling, albeit nervously. It wasn't long before we all fell asleep.

Love lies in many places, but it always lies where our children do. 

A few short days before, Joe had taken us to the wedding (2 hours away) and was now driving us home. On that ride home, he said, "Promise me that if we're still doing this five years from now you'll think about marrying me again."

What bravery men have. They are usually the one to muster the courage to ask a woman on a date. They are the ones who ask a woman to marry them. Even harder, they may be the person who asks a woman to marry him again. That's putting your heart on the line. That has to be many moments made up of sheer terror.

I said "No." I didn't shout it, I wasn't angry, I was resolved and not ready to possibly fail again. I reminded him that when we were married, I wanted to go to a counselor and he didn't. I said that if we were to try to do it again we couldn't do it without help. I knew he would not go to counseling with me, so I had a valid excuse and thought the conversation was over.

The next week he called me and asked me if I could meet him at Milt Klein's office. I asked him why and he told me Milt was a counselor and he had set up an appointment for us.

He called my bluff.

I cried and railed against possibilities I wasn't ready to consider again. He had a girlfriend after all and what if we tried and failed again, what about our family, but most importantly, what if we got Alex's hopes up? What if I got my own hopes up and we failed again? I did not feel ready for that. I was the don't-look-back-be-realistic-girl.

Joe is a salesman and a really good one. He told me he broke up with the girlfriend. He suggested we not tell anyone including Alex. He told me it could be our little secret and if it didn't work, no one but us would be the wiser. I wasn't sure my heart could take it but I foolishly, I thought, said yes.

It was then that I started sneaking around with my ex husband unbeknownst to anyone but him.