Reasons to Smile

Yesterday Amos and I had a counseling appointment. During the appointment there was some talk about divorce. Not about me wanting it, but about him being scared of it. We talked about it a bit more after we left. Not a lot. There was no fights or any harsh words of any kind. We discussed scenarios that would have to happen for me to leave.  The night went on. And then I slept.

I had dreams last night. Lots and lots of dreams. 

It was like my head was creating scenarios that would force me to divorce him. It was like reliving broken heart after broken heart after broken heart. Exhausting.

When I woke up I spent 10 minutes just laying there convincing myself that they were dreams... just dreams. He didn't actually do those things and I never said those things and my kids never saw those things.

I basically gave my pep talk. Reasons to smile.

I have a nice house.

I have warm clothes.

I have plenty of food.

Good food. This is my FAVORITE pie. I've made it a handful of times and I've had it made for me a handful of times and Sweet Heavenly Father... it's good. It's a Black Raspberry Cream pie and it is WONDERFUL. And as far as pies go, it's not THAT horrible for you. IF you schedule your meals carefully and show restraint, you can work this dessert into your supper. The recipe is here. My problem is that I don't show restraint. I MUST lick the bowl and spoon and I MUST have half a pie per sitting. So it's going to be a minute before I make another one of these bad boys.

My weight loss plateau is over. I've been bouncing around between 217-220 since the surgery and it was getting extremely discouraging. I'm now at a 214. This is how much I weighed when I got pregnant with Ruth meaning this is my lowest weight in nearly three years. I'm a size 16 which is, although still big, much better than a 24. It's a loss. And I'll take it. I made a personal goal for myself to be below 200 by Easter. I can do it. I KNOW it.

I'm not alone.

These are the flowers that were given to me by my sister-in-law when I was having a rough day last week.  It's easy for me to feel alone and lonely out here without my family and friends but this gesture was special to me and certainly a reason to smile.

I have a husband who loves me and thinks I'm worth fighting for.  Yeah, I know that some of you would argue that comment, but it's true.  We were talking about counseling last night and if we were going to continue. He's made no secret that he doesn't enjoy it (who would? I don't.) but he's also said "If you want me to stand in a bucket of ice water with a tuna fish on my head... I will." And he means it. He's taking his lead from me and will do anything I think is necessary to help our marriage.

I have my health.  Yeah okay, aside from the disgusting 84 pound blob of  extra weight that has taken up residence in my body, I'm healthy. I am 28 years old. I have my whole life ahead of me. And life is what I choose to make it.

And finally... My kids. My loves. My heartbeat.

My Artist.

She is perfect. She is smart. She is tiny. She is two. I adore her. I realize I am going to sound like a conceited mama, but I don't care. Everyone loves her. She is a charmer. Strangers stop just to urge a little grin out of her. She'll change someone's life one day. Just wait.

My Chunk.

He usually smells a little... off. He almost always gets his shirt dirty before I'm done putting it on him. He weighs about five pounds more than he should. And he, too, is perfect. Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes, and one stunning smile. He's so laid back and mellow. He coo's and goo's and giggles and he has his mama and daddy utterly enchanted.

My day will not be dictated by a few imaginary bad dreams. I have reasons to smile. And today, I will.



Daddy's Girl

I'm going to take a break from talking about Amos today.  Today I'm going to talk about my father.

I call my father "Daddy." It's common enough in the south, where I was raised, but referring to him as "Daddy" here  (not the South) raised a couple of eyebrows. I don't care. That's who he is. Daddy worked hard for everything we had. He was well known around town and to this day if you're out and about with my father, you're going to get more than a few "howdies" thrown your way.  One of the most common conversations you'll hear is this:

Random Person: Howdy! What do ya know good?
Daddy: Awe nothin much. What do you know?
Random Person: Nothin.. nothin..

And the conversation would take off from there. That was one of my favorite things to hear as a child.  Daddy is not only well known, he's well respected. 

He is a mechanic by trade. A GOOD one. I remember once as a child, 8 or 9 years old, Daddy had just started working for the local BP as their in house mechanic. It was a front page story in our local paper. I kid you not. There on the front page was a picture of my daddy... smiling like a fool.  Eventually Daddy wised up and realized that the business would go where he went. So he opened up his own shop and he kept it open until he retired about 5 years ago.

He is a business man by heart.  I can not tell you how many times I heard these phrases:

"Your pappy could sell dirt to a farmer!"

"That Daddy of yours could pawn off snow to an Eskimo!"

I once had a boy in high school come up to me and say "When I grow up I want to be just like your Daddy." 

Daddy's a smooth talker. He's a good ole boy. He's everyone's best friend and nobody's fool. His family is his heartbeat. He'd break his back for a dime if he thought one of his kids needed it. In fact, he has.

All this to say... I love my Daddy.  He's a hard man to live up to.

When I was about 16 years old Daddy went to the hospital. Again.  He was in and out of the hospital alot in those days. There was always something wrong with him. But this time he wasn't in our little town's rinky-dink hospital. He was taken to a much larger hospital in the state capitol.  He had been there for a while. It feels like weeks but it could have been only days. I honestly don't remember. Then one night I was being taken home by my sister. I asked when Daddy was coming home. That's when they told me.... he wasn't. He had cancer. The kind that kills. The kind that kills fast. This was in November. They told me that he wasn't expected to make it till Christmas. It was a massive malignant tumor on his pancreas. It had already spread to his liver, which is why he was so yellow. I later learned it was called "jaundice." They told me he was in alot of pain right now. They couldn't keep his pain levels under control and he was maxed out on morphine. Any more and it could be lethal.  They were going to try an operation the next day. The operation wouldn't save him. It would only extend his life... his suffering.  I was blown away. Stunned. I was 16 years old. SIXTEEN. I was way too young to lose my father. I wasn't done with him yet. And so when I got home, I went to bed and I prayed. It was a Tuesday night. I don't know why I remember that, but I do. I layed in bed for a while crying and praying and begging. One thought ran through my mind over and over...

"Jesus, you healed a blind man. You made a lame man walk. You raised people from the dead. You CAN heal my Daddy. Will you? Please? I'm not done with him yet. Please?"

Over and over and over... until this warmth spread over me. A physical warmth and a peace. Instantly I no longer had the desire to cry. I felt warm and safe. In my mind's eye I envisioned myself sitting on the knee of God. I didn't know how it was going to end but I knew it would be okay. And so I slept.

The next day was the longest day of my life. I had gone to school with a promise from my sister that as soon as they knew anything they would call the school. Finally, in French class, I heard an announcement over the PA.  They were calling me and my nephew, G , to the office. When I got to the office I saw my sister, G's mother, standing outside of it's glass walls waiting on us. My pace quickened and my eyes blurred... why was she here to deliver the news in person? It must be bad. Real bad.

But then I saw her smile. And the tears spilled from my eyes and I hugged her. Because I knew. And I was right. God had healed him. The tumor that yesterday was killing him had completely disappeared. No sign of it whatsoever. His color was normal. He was no longer on morphine. In fact, he was demanding to go home. However, Daddy's doctor was hearing none of it. He didn't believe in God, nor Jesus, nor miraculous healing. The doctor just couldn't explain it. He didn't believe it. They did everything but turn my daddy inside out looking for that tumor, and now... 12 years later... they're still coming up empty.

Do I think that every time we pray for healing that it will happen? No. God answers every prayer we pray.  And sometimes the answer is "No." I don't know why God healed my father. Maybe Daddy's healing was a testimony to someone. I don't know. But I am thankful nonetheless. Because I am a Daddy's Girl.

Freebie!

A lovely lady whose blog I recently started following just posted a lovely little freebie. Find her and her sweet deal here.  I already ordered mine!

No I'm not trying to scam you to sign up for anything. I will never knowingly lead you astray.

Hopefully I'll have some more later for you... I have another blog post up my sleeve, I just need the time to put it together! Why are you still reading this??? Go get your stuff!

Getting Around x3watch

I have had two visitors recently who reached my site by doing a google search for "getting around x3watch."  At least one of them roamed the site for quite some time. Sigh. If you reach my site by looking for a way to lie your way around an accountability program... I would urge you to read my story. Please. Don't do it. You have the accountability program there for a reason... someone, either yourself or a loved one, is hurt by your decision to look at porn. Take a step back. Re-evaluate it. It's not worth it. I promise.

Jaded

Over the course of the past few months, since the introduction of The Porn Widow, I have noticed a trend. I am writing posts geared to make my readers jaded towards Amos. Of course I am. The Porn Widow is my crying place. It's my shoulder, my crutch, my vent. When I make posts, it's normally because I'm angry or hurt or a combination of both. This post is geared to tell you all the things I've never told you about Amos. About my Amos.

The physical... He's 5'10 with broad shoulder, a slim waist, dark curly hair, blue eyes with long thick lashes, straight white teeth, and a gotee. His hands are soft, which I think he may be embarrassed about, but I love it. Except in the summer. He loves yard work so in the summer his hands are rough and calloused from overuse... which I also love.

The emotional... He's over confident.... cocky. He's hilarious.  He's extremely intelligent. He hates crowds. Bugs creep him out.  He's very attached to his dog. I think it might bother him more for our dog to die then for a relative to die. He is head over heels in love with his kids. He hates Apple products. Passionately. He hates sports. Passionately.  He's whiny when he's sick. He'll do anything for a head rub.

The facts... He is musically gifted. He plays the drums exceptionally well, plays the guitar well, and sings to boot. He suffers from vasovagal syncope.  This terrifies me because it always looks like a seizure when it happens.  He's dedicated to having no debt... and so we don't. We have two cars that are both paid in full. We have about $300 on a credit card left over from a medical procedure that we're paying. Other than that we owe only on the house. I have him to thank for that.  He enjoys the odd and obscure. When I married him he had a very large and mean looking pirhana. He knows the dumbest facts. He could probably tell you who invented the paper clip or the bulletin board.  He's been on tour with two different (very popular) Christian bands. He desires the approval of his father. He's an IT guy. He has his own blog which he calls a journal and has had it for years... long before we ever married. He loves the Beatles. He enjoys road trips. My daughter knew how to read her ABC's and say them by the time she was 18 months... this is primarily because Amos spent so much time with her.  He's a garbage disposal. He'll eat anything you put in front of him. He loves nature documentaries. He is possibly both the least judgemental and most judgemental person I know.

The embarrassing... He giggles. Like a schoolgirl. He watches cartoons. I've seen him cry at movies. He's abnormally ticklish. If you look like you might be thinking of tickling him, he squirms away giggling.

The husband... He kisses me every day when he wakes up before he leaves. Even when we're mad. He's told me I'm beautiful hundreds of times. Almost daily. He paints my toes for me. He is extremely supportive of me. If I told him that I've decided to fly to the moon in a hot air balloon, he'd start researching ways to get me there. We were both virgins until our wedding night. When we sleep at night he cuddles around me until he has me completely surrounded my his arms and he stays there. We only use about two feet worth of bed space. He once wrote me a song and performed it for me  as a surprise at a coffee house in front of a room full of people. My ears turn him on. I don't know why.  He's on kid duty on Friday and Saturday nights and lets me sleep as late as I want. Usually until 10 or 11.   He does 100% of the laundry. He'd go without so that I could have something that I wanted. He set up a fund so that I could fly home and visit my family whenever I felt like it. Even if he couldn't go with me.  He thinks I'm the best photographer around.

And now you know.

AGAIN with the EFFING Valentines Day Crap!

Folks... What you are about to read is a real live word-for-word conversation I had with Amos via instant messenger. I copied this conversation and am pasting it here. The only changes have been spelling errors on both our parts and obvious grammatical errors.

Psych Majors... Enjoy.


 HIM: I love you every day...including Monday.  I hope you know that. And I hope you know it every day...

ME:  Including Monday?   Did we fight monday? I know you love me 

HIM: This coming monday is the 14th

ME: Ah. Yes I know you love me. And I know Valentine's is against your religion.

HIM: I am going to love you equally that day as I do every day, which is the maximum. I want zero negative feelings. Only positive..like every other day in the year. Are we down with that? or...am I just going to get in trouble for something else or...I'm trying to get a barometer on your feelings. I am not just..telling you how it is. I'm trying to communicate and confer and make everything comfortable

ME: You know how I feel about valentines and I know how you feel about it. It's not new. While I doubt I will be overly happy on Valentines Day, I'm not going to yell at you if thats what you mean.

HIM: Its not about...yelling AT me..its about how you feel inside

ME: You know how I feel though so when you ask "are we down with that" what am I supposed to say?
" Yeah I'm totally cool w/ everything"? For the last 6 years I've tried to enjoy valentines day WITH you and it just hasn't worked so wether you want to admit it or not you're kinda forcing my hand.  I'm not being ugly about it. I'm just saying what it is and Monday will happen and there will be romantic stories all over the place. I'll just turn off the internet and in 24 hours it will be Tuesday and then it will be over.

HIM: It will be a positive great day..just like Tuesday and Sunday and every other day. Thats how I see it.

ME: K. Here's the thing about girls.... They go through their whole adolescent and adult life looking for "the one" and until they find him then Valentines is sooooo depressing. They look forward to the day when they can openly share the day in the year set aside for romance with that special guy who will celebrate with them and you can each spend some time to make the other feel special.  There is ZERO of that with us. This isn't new It's not new feelings . I didn't bring valentines up because I know how you feel about it.  And if you're just going to bring it up to tell me , yet again, how you feel about it... what's the point in bringing it up?   Just to remind me that Monday is gonna be weird?

HIM: My hope was to make it not weird by discussing it ahead of time. If I said nothing...it feels like there would be expectations. And...the point is...that I love you every day and try to make every day special. Every day is valentines day. Every day is maximum. You are special to me every day. Why only have special one day?

ME: Okay. Don't worry. I had and have no expectations.

HIM:  Thats good right?

ME: It's a cop out. The thought is nice but it's a cop out. We don't need to have this conversation. It's not going to make you happy. 

HIM: I'm happy. I refuse to be anything but happy. I want you to be happy too.

ME:  Okay.  I really wish you hadn't brought that up. Now it's all I'm thinking about and I'm hurt and mad.

HIM: I'm sorry. Not my intention. 

ME: Why would you do that other than to just ensure that there were no expectations and to squash that thought right off the bat?

HIM: I wanted you to be happy and feel loved.

ME: By telling me you refuse to celebrate a holiday that I enjoy?!?! Yeah I'm feeling the love. 

HIM: I wanted to say something ahead of time rather than say nothing...and then have this crushing thing happen on Monday.

ME: WHY would I expect ANYTHING on Monday other than the same exact big fat nothing that's happened every other year? All you did was rub me raw and hurt me . You say you care about my feelings on the subject but you care about them only as far as they don't interfere with your own.
 
HIM:  I disagree with that. 

ME: It's certainly what your actions are saying.

HIM: What actions have spoken to you to tell you that I only care about your feelings only as long as they don't interfere with my own?

ME: Valentines day for the past six years.  I suppose it's the lack of actions that confirms it.

HIM: Every choice I make revolves around you. And I'm happy that it does. I love you.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

ME: So you express it by making sure I have no special expectations on Monday?  Let me make this clear....  I have ZERO expectations. I have never had any expections. You have made it perfectly clear to me that Valentines Day is a coorporate rip off and those who celebrate are poor blind sheep being led to the slaughter. And you specialness has given you that unique perspective that no one else has been blessed with. I get it. Please stop rubbing it in. It's hurtful .

HIM: To say special implies there's a day when its not special. Everyday is special.

ME:  Ever day is special is bull crap.  Its a cop out. Don't use it again unless you intend to make it so.

HIM: It is so

ME: Let's please shut the matter and never talk aboiut it again

HIM: You brought it up on your blog. January 20th. That's what makes me think something is up in terms of expectations.

ME: I made it very clear, I thought, that we didn't celebrate Valentines because you hate it. That entire post was dedicated to the fact that we WON'T be celebrating it.

HIM: But that's not the reason. It's not about me hating it or not.

ME: What's it about?

HIM: We don't celebrate it for the same reason we don't celebrate Hanukah. No reason to emphasize something that is at maximum emphasis every day of the year. That is the point.

ME: Really?  Let's think about this.  I have been suffering from lack of romantic attention for a long time. But this is a PERFECT excuse to make me feel special...  a great day set aside to celebrate romance. But instead of honoring my feelings on it (thereby making me feel loved) you choose to boycott because it is already at it's "maximum emphasis."  Your logic is skewed and flawed.

HIM: Disagree we have luniversaries ( side note, a lunarversary is our once monthy date night. ) and anniversaries that are continuous throughout the year.  We have us all the time. The logic is solid. I'm not saying I have been the romantic expert at all times or anything , obviously I haven't... trying to work on that. But...even through the weak times...its been at maximum. 

ME: Well since we're talking about MY feelings on the subject I think I can confidantly say that my love bank is NOT filled. But apparently that doesn't matter.  I dont want to talk about this anymore.  How many times do I have to say to let it drop? Youre just hurting me more and I'm begining to think that maybe you're just trying to pick a fight.

HIM: Trying to avoid any confrontation by dealing with it directly ahead of time.

ME:  There wouldn't have been any if you had just let it lie.  We don't celebrate V Day because you hate it.  I get it. You can paint it however you want to. But that's the way it is. 

HIM: Which is , of course,  not why we don't celebrate it.

ME: Let's please drop it. 

HIM: Ok..dropped


EDIT:

Let me also add that for the past two days (and other various times) he's checked his email in the mornings (a no-no since his prime porn time is in the morning while checking email). AND the other night he got onto the DEX website to request that they not send us telephone books anymore.  He was trying to do so via live chat and ended up talking to this girl about random crap which ended up with her wanting his FACEBOOK ID SO THEY CAN BE FRIENDS (which he denied, thank GOD). I WASN'T home at the time so we, YET AGAIN, broke the "no internet alone time" rule. He cares NILCH about my feelings. The next time he tries to hand me a line of crap like "Every day is special" and "I want you to feel loved" I swear I'm going to throw something. I'm not an effing IDIOT.

Amos cares about what makes AMOS happy. Screw Esther. Maybe we'll get lucky and Esther won't find out.

I'm going to go cry now.

What to say?

I am at a loss. I don't know what to say. We are dancing a dangerous dance, Amos and I. Nerves are raw and wounds are fresh. I am suspecious. I believe he is lieing to me.

Last night I awoke to the movement of the bed shaking in a rythmic motion. I felt his arm moving. I could hear his breathing. He was masturbating. I said his name sharply and he stopped, but said nothing.

"Amos, what are you doing?"
"I don't know. I was asleep."
"You were asleep?"
"Yes."

I watched him get up and out of bed and I could see that I was right. He was definatly "ready."  Please don't think I'm being crude. It's not my intent. I only wish to convey the situation as I expirienced it. He came back to bed and put his arms around me. This morning he sticks to his guns. He says he must have been having an exciting dream but he doesn't remember the dream and he doesn't remember masturbating. I don't believe him. I think he masturbates and lies to be about it, but short of following him around and smacking him when he reaches for his zipper there's nothing I can do about it.

 I caught him in the act once. About six months ago.  Have I told you? It went something like this.

We lay in bed and I was drifting off to sleep and I felt the bed move. Just as I did last night. I lay still for a few seconds thinking that there's no way he would have the gall to do it right next to me. No way. Eventually he became still. I rolled over to reach for him and he jerked away from me. When I asked where he was going he mumbled something about being tired. I asked him then "Amos, are you sure you havent mastubated at all? You havent lied to me?" He assured me that he hadn't lied. Then I asked him again "Are you sure you werent masturbating just a second ago?" Then he confessed but only after he was sure he couldn't weasel his way out of  it. The actions of a coward.  With this little jewel fresh in my mind it's no wonder that I don't believe that he was sleep-masturbating last night. Would you?

There's a constant doubt lingering in my head. A fog that I can't escape. It taints everything and makes me bitter and raw. I see devious motives and plans where there certainly aren't any. I have trouble discerning the difference between what really is a lie and what is probably not a lie. Am I a fool?

Men need sex. Or so I'm told. I'm told that it is a physical need for them, just as water is a need. In that spirit I told Amos that we would make an effort to have sex more often.  That on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays we would make a concious effort to come together at night. My hope in this is that perhaps this would also inspire romance. It hasn't. He did leave me a note yesterday saying "Thanks for making the pie. I love you!" While it's nice to be thanked and the note is a sweet gesture, it's not romantic. I'm starved. How long must I give before I get? Is it selfish to want it? To cry over it? To dream of it?

What to say?