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“Yours Mine And Ours”

Date: March 17, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I don’t answer the phone.  I get the feeling whenever I do that there will be someone on the other end.” (Fred Couples)

The phone call came at the end of the work day Monday afternoon. It was from the ice arena. Our sons, the boys we’d disagreed about and had broken our engagement off over just the night before, had gotten into a public brawl on the ice. Supposedly, his son bumped my son while they were skating and hitting pucks (that’s hockey.) But my son didn’t like that and hit his son. His son hit mine back for hitting him. And then my son took his hockey stick to his son, swung it like a baseball bat and hit his son across the back!

My oldest son witnessed it, ejected my middle son from the ice, and the offender was MAD. He called me, wanted me to pick him up from the ice rink so he wouldn’t have to wait there and watch the other boys having fun. Unfortunately, I work in another city so that wasn’t possible. (I also thought it wouldn’t hurt him to cool off, to sit and watch the other boys having fun on the ice, so I told him we’d talk about it when we got home.)

I hung up the phone and shook my head. WhoEVER would have thought I’d be the mother of a son who got in a brawl, in public? Certainly not me! (Yet here I am, delighting in all kinds of unexpected experiences I’m continually blessed with.)

Then I called #5 and left him a message. ”I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but there was a physical altercation on the ice today. I’m calm, I’m not upset; I hope you are too. While I don’t know if you have other plans for this evening, I don’t think we can let this go any longer. We need to sit down and talk to the boys, together, tonight.”

It’s funny how life prepares you for…life. How certain things (people, places, events, experiences) can prepare you for other things–even when you don’t realize you’re going to need them. Like how we’d had our disagreement about our boys just the night before. At the time, I’d thought it was a terrible thing–to fight and then break up–yet in reality, it allowed us to work through our issue, separate the issue from us, get it together and present a united front to our children.

When #5 walked into my home that night, he looked at me with a smile and joked, “What would Mike and Carol Brady do?”

There was only one answer to that. I’d learned it from my wise Colorado friend when I mistakenly expected to make my remarriage/blended family situation like The Brady Bunch and it wasn’t working, and I’d thought I was disappointed–until she straightened me out. I shared it with #5.  I said, “PLEASE! It doesn’t matter what Mike and Carol would do. We aren’t the Brady Bunch, never will be, and I’m ok with that.” I added, “Mike was gay; Carol was depressed; Greg kissed his step-sister Marcia; Alice couldn’t get her love, Sam-the-meat-man to commit…I don’t want or need to be The Brady Bunch!”

And in that moment I realized, again, I really feel that way. What #5 and I have, with our children, is right for us. It’s actually very, very good. We need to help a couple of our children learn to appreciate each other a little more–however biological siblings sometimes need to work on that, too.

But it was a good opportunity to tell #5 what I DID want: ”If we’re going to be like anyone, I want to be ‘Yours Mine & Ours!’” I exclaimed.

He looked at me strangely, couldn’t figure that one out, I guess, because he asked, “‘Yours Mine & Ours?’ Why that? They had way more kids than we do and besides, I’m not in the armed forces.”

“Yes, I know!” I explained. “But Rene Russo is WAY hotter. If I’m going to be like anyone, let alone any stepmother, let it be her!”

We laughed, went in together and had a great talk with our sons. I have to say, I think that challenge made us better; stronger than ever. The challenges of life, the unexpected life itself, have a way of doing that, you know.

“Troubles are often the tools by which God fashions us for better things.” (Henry Ward Beecher)

Who’s Afraid of The Big, Bad…

Date: December 1, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“The ads all call me fearless, but that’s just publicity. Anyone who thinks I’m not scared out of my mind whenever I do one of my stunts is crazier than I am.” (Jackie Chan)

I was always afraid of the dark. Even as a little girl, I made the frightful journey to my parents’ bedroom in the wee hours, every night, for protection. I hadn’t overcome that fear by the time I became a mother, so when my former husband traveled for business (ok, now I know that wasn’t the truth, but that is what I thought was taking place back then!) each night I invited my children to sleep in my room under the guise of a “slumber party.” After they fell asleep, I’d shut and lock my master bedroom door and move a piece of furniture in front of it for protection before I crawled into my bed, to lie there with my heart pounding most of the night, unable to sleep.

Crazy behavior, but true. Just ask my friend and former neighbor, Geoff, who got a frantic call from me at 2 a.m. one night in 2001. I will love him forever for not only coming to my home in the middle of a freezing winter night to ensure every room and closet on every floor of my home was intruder free, but for humoring my fear by bringing a baseball bat with him as he searched, as well as for having the good grace to EVER speak to me again after that!

Then my unexpected life began. I was thrust into terrifying darkness that extended beyond the night.  I was scared out of my mind. I didn’t just fear the future or the nighttime (by then, sleep was impossible), I even began to fear the doorbell. Because that meant I’d have to open my front door.

I know fear isn’t always rational, and mine was no exception. I began to fear not just who would ring my doorbell—we had lived through more than our fair share of hostile and angry clients/victims who had appeared at our front door to vent their hostility and rage about what my former husband had done toward me and my children—but what would happen should I dare answer the door? Would someone yell at me, would someone serve me with papers for a frivilous, groundless lawsuit simply because I had unknowingly been married to a criminal or even worse, would someone “snap” emotionally because of their loss…and shoot me? Like I said, my fear was not rational.  However, I had been thrust into a life that had been inconceivable to me, so at that point, I felt anything, including anything scary, was possible. (Violence and threat of violence was also something government officials and attorneys had warned me about. In fact, they checked with me periodically to make sure I hadn’t been threatened and that I felt “safe.” And now this blog proves I wasn’t completely truthful. Oops! No one threatened me, but obviously, I didn’t feel safe! I was just too embarrassed to say it. I felt there had been enough drama.)

One day, the doorbell rang. As I approached, through the frosted glass I could see the blurry figure of a large man wearing a dark jacket and sunglasses. I could see some type of metal, electronic device, possibly a gun, in his hand. I suddenly got VERY afraid. I can’t describe the terror I felt. In seconds I waged an epic battle within myself: answer or not answer the door.

“And so it begins,” I thought. My fears had become my reality.

I realized I couldn’t not answer the door the rest of my life.  And I certainly couldn’t live in fear the rest of my life. So I decided to open the door and face whatever consequence that decision brought me. Even if it meant death.

I grasped the knob and slowly opened the door. I cautiously peered out, prepared to meet my fate, and faced the man. He was tall, muscular, dressed in a nondescript navy jacket (just like I imagine assassins wear), and who knew what manner of evil design was hidden behind his reflective eye wear? I can’t imagine the expression on my face, or what the man saw when I opened the door, because he immediately jumped back, put his hands in the air, and said, “Ma’am! It’s ok! I’m not here to hurt you! I’m just the Schwann man! I’m here to sell you some ice cream!”

I’m sure he had no idea whose bell he had rung, what infamous front porch he was standing on. Although my home had been splashed across televisions nationwide, I guess he was too busy selling Schwann products to have seen it.

Sometimes you just have to shake your head and laugh. At yourself. And the crazy things you fear. Like the ice cream man. Really.

In the unexpected life we face scary things every day. Yet confronting the hard stuff, for me, was the secret to rising above it. In fact, it’s the only way to overcome it: open the door (it can be quite a stunt), look your fear in the eye and if you’re lucky, like me, you’ll find ice cream!

“He who is not everyday conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Just ask the Schwann man.

If Only…I’d Stayed Out Of The Batting Cage!

Date: April 27, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Yesterday’s post was titled, “Good News.” A friend of mine, and a reader of this blog, made some hilarious comments about baseball bats and having batting practice in my old neighborhood. (She is a character–as anyone who knows her knows! Thanks for the support and the laugh!)

Anyway, it reminded me of my most memorable experience with a baseball bat.

The day I broke my nose.

You see, He had just purchased a batting cage and pitching machine and my spouse installed it in our back yard. (I know, I know. Based on what I now know, it was most likely “purchased” with stolen money. And yes, I know, owning the same pitching machine used by the Colorado Rockies professional baseball team is a bit over the top for the average suburban family–which I thought we were–yet now I see NEVER were! What can I say? My former spouse never did things quite the same as everyone else. He was creative, enthusiastic and “over the top.” Thus, the pitching machine and batting cage in the back yard.)

Anyway, as soon as it was installed, He took me into it to show me how it worked. He told me where to stand, turned the machine on, and stood in there with me as pitches came and I hit baseballs. The speed was set at 30 mph. I turned out to be quite a slugger.

Within the week, a friend came over. He said he heard we had a pitching machine and he asked me to show him how it worked. I went out there with him, got in the cage with him, showed him where to stand, turned the machine on, and stood there as he hit balls. (I didn’t know a lot about baseball, or pitching machines, if you can’t tell. I was just doing what had been done when I was given a demonstration of the machine.)

My back was to him for awhile as I looked through the netting at the beautiful summer evening, flowers blooming, puffy clouds, hummingbirds flying. I must have turned around to watch him again right as he tipped a ball…straight into my nose.

The crack sounded like he had hit the ball out of the park!

Nope. Just into my nose. (I found out later my former spouse had gone in the batting cage and cranked up the pitching speed to 90 mph. He forgot to tell me.)

It actually didn’t hurt much at all (must have been the shock.) But I felt something begin to run, and worried about looking disgusting with blood running down my face not to mention not wanting to get blood on anyone, I put my hands to my nose to catch it.

My friend could have died. Can you imagine the poor guy? Totally not his fault, but there I stand, my hands filling with blood, and I was probably in a little bit of shock!

“Let it go, Andrea,” he said. I was doubled over trying to hide the mess I was sure was coming, but I managed a, “No! It’s going to be a mess.”

He said again, “Let it go, Andrea,” grabbed my hands, and I let it all go. (Another friend who was watching almost got sick. I could see it in his eyes, too. Poor guy!)

My friend walked me up to my house, and by the time we got there, both of us were a bloody mess. I went to the ER, I was told my options (fix it or not fix it) and sent home with an ice pack.

I’m totally a wimp when it comes to medical procedures, so I kept looking at my nose and trying to convince myself it wasn’t that bad, wasn’t that crooked, that only I could see the deviation because I’m such a perfectionist about some things. Like many infamous politicians, I “flip-flopped” back and forth. One moment I was going to have my nose straightened, the next moment I was not going to have my nose straightened. (Lets just say, if you saw the medical instruments they use to straighten a nose, you’d probably be tempted to leave yours crooked too.)

My college friend called when she found out, and she gave me great counsel about my life decision at that time. She said, “Andrea, we’re getting older. Changes are coming. There is not a lot we’ll be able to control or do about a lot of those things. Wrinkles are going to come and there is nothing you can do about them. But you CAN do something about your nose. You can choose to be old and wrinkled with a perfect nose, or you can choose to old and wrinkled with a crooked nose. Fix what you can fix so you don’t have any regrets when you’re old.”

She was so right.

I got my nose straightened. It actually took two tries because during the first attempt in the doctor’s office, I passed out (the doctor had a medical term for it and it scared him enough he didn’t dare attempt my procedure in his office, we had to reschedule in the operating room at a hospital!) And I counted my blessing that the ball had hit my nose and not my teeth! (I’d had braces twice already. What a tragedy, lol, if I lost my teeth after all of that hard work!)

Many things are handed to us in life that we have no control over and can’t really do anything about. Those things we let go–we gracefully endure and continue living in spite of their addition to our life. (And we try to find something good about our life, something we can be grateful for, even if it’s just the fact that we still have our teeth!:)

But SOME things we CAN “fix.” (Or at least give it our best shot at attempting to fix or make right.) And THEN we let go–we gracefully endure and continue living with or without them, depending on our success at fixing them. (And we try to find something good about our life, something we can be grateful for, even if it’s just the fact that we once had teeth!:)

And then we don’t look back. We press forward and carry on and look for the new day.

I heard a very wise man, Thomas S. Monson, once say something like, “The two most worthless words in the English language [or perhaps in any language] are ‘if only.’” He encouraged people to not look back or wistfully sigh about “if only,” but to look forward with hope, and make each day the best we can with what we are given.

Good advice for the outcomes in batting cages…and life!

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