Living Happily Ever After
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Sounding Like Antonio Banderas

Date: March 29, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I like going everywhere. And I love starting new things.” (Antonio Banderas)

I arrived home, fighting traffic all the way, having left work later than usual and during the drive discovering not only was a crowd arriving at my house in less than 2 hours (and it was a mess) but that my husband had invited all of his children for dinner to celebrate—I hadn’t even planned on cooking or eating dinner that night due to the new developments taking place in just over one hour. Lets just say I was suddenly a LITTLE stressed out!

Thankfully, my husband took care of dinner. I straightened the house, casting a few anxious stares in the direction of THE envelope on my bed (placed there for safekeeping, we have a busy kindergartener who gets into all kinds of things unexpectedly.) I couldn’t quit sneaking glances at the envelope that contained my son’s mission call. I wasn’t in the mood for anything but opening that envelope. But mostly I tried to figure out where the past almost 19 years have gone. It seems like I alternated between laying on my bed and crying in my bathroom. I NEVER expected to be doing that relative to a mission call!

But all I could see or think about was the moment my son had been born, the moment the doctor had placed him on my chest, the moment that he had looked into my eyes and stopped fussing as I caressed his fuzzy, blonde head, and smiled at him for the first time. I felt like all of my dreams had come true in that 1993 moment. I have absolutely loved being his mother. He is a great kid and I get such a kick out of him and enjoy him, a part of me (unexpectedly) suddenly didn’t want him to go on a mission! (Well, I wanted him to go, I guess. I just didn’t know how I’d bear his absence for two long years!) I just kept thinking, “Where did the years go? How did this moment arrive so fast?”

I heard activity downstairs. My son had arrived, the house was filled with company, the only person missing from the activity was the mother. My husband came up and announced, “You’ve got to at least come down and PRETEND to be a hostess, act happy and talk to a few people.” (I hadn’t even told him anything about how I was feeling and what I was thinking and feeling, but maybe he knew. Like I said, he “gets” me.) My only problem? I felt like someone was ripping that little 6 pound 3 ounce baby out of my arms 18 years too soon! But I went downstairs and attempted what my husband suggested.

And then my son picked up the envelope and opened it.

I remember thinking as he tore through the paper that within seconds, I’d know everything: I’d know where he was assigned, when he would be departing to fulfill that assignment and where he would be living, experiencing life (including rejection) and growing for the next two years. (By the way, I had NO idea what to expect. My son had been told to expect a United States assignment, so I was thinking New Jersey or somewhere on the east coast.) And then he read the words aloud that he had been called to serve in…the Spain Madrid mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!

I certainly never expected his mission call to be to Spain! And despite my worries, the stress I’d felt and everything else, all I remember thinking as I heard those words was, “That is the perfect assignment for him!” I was filled with joy and such a sense of how right Spain was for my son; I was excited for him. And thankfully, I was instantly calm and back to my normal self again.

I hugged my son in celebration. But as soon as I grabbed him, I was suddenly overwhelmed by all that led to that moment—including all of the hard stuff he endured, all that he has risen above, everything our family as been through, how different our life is now compared to what Id always expected our family would be when my son received his mission call, and unexpectedly…the tears began to flow. I hugged him, I cried, and with a house full of people I didn’t dare let go because everyone would know what I was doing and what a crazy mother my son has!

My poor son.

My good son.

I’m sure our hug lasted much longer than he probably wanted it to but he was gracious enough to allow me time to attempt to pull myself together and relish the moment with my almost-grown son…before peeling me off him. Then we had ice cream with the crowd. My son returned to his BYU dorm. And we’re all about Madrid, Spain and the Canary Islands now. Even my kindergartener requests, “Lets watch the movie about Spain again, Mom!”

Just think. In two years, my son is going to return home a man, not to mention sounding like…Antonio Banderas!

Chevere!

A Fine Mess

Date: March 19, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“It’s just smooth sailing, nothing but calm seas and blue horizons, as far as the eye can see. Do you understand what I’m saying?” (Carrie, Sex and the City)

I’d like to report it was smooth sailing after the agreement between the adults was signed, but alas, there was a bump in the road.

A big one.

My husband had driven to Arizona to pick up his daughter and bring her “home.” He called me to let me know he had arrived safely. His voice was excited and animated, he was literally bubbling was joy as he shared the details of his drive, everything he had done since arriving including the fact that he was at the small town’s high school basketball game and how much fun he was having…and then he blew it.

“You would be so proud of me!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been negotiating like crazy down here since I arrived!”

Cue the sound of a needle being moved across a record on a turntable and the immediate silence that follows it. I don’t think it had ever been more deafening.

“What do you mean,’ negotiating’? And with who?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine who he’d need to be negotiating with or what possibly could need to be negotiated. Turns out, he had been ‘negotiating’ with the daughter who was coming to live with us.

I was appalled. First of all, and from my perspective, his daughter had no negotiating power—she had nothing to offer, not a thing to bring to the table. She was troubled, she had a history of poor choices (she’d blown her previous two living arrangements through her failure to abide by certain rules), her mother said she couldn’t take her, there was nowhere else for her to go but our home. (She is a cute, nice girl, by the way. Some teens just struggle to find their way.) Second, the deal hadn’t even begun and already the details of the agreement the adults had signed just the night before was being modified!

That is SO not the way I raise children.

I’m no expert but I was raised in a good home by good parents who modeled really good parenting practices—my mom even had a master’s degree in family relations and had written a book about children—she knew, and practiced, her expertise for which I am the grateful beneficiary. My parents’ parents, my grandparents, were also really good parents and raised great kids, not to mention I’ve studied and read a lot about parenting in the attempt to be an effective parent myself and maybe I come from whacky parenting traditions or I may be way off base (tell me if I’m wrong and I just can’t see it!) but I’ve always believed you wait to re-evaluate a situation until after you’ve at least tried living with it (for at least one week!) and THEN, based on need, behavior,  performance or whatever criteria you establish (and only after children prove themselves and demonstrate they can be trusted with additional freedom, privileges, or whatever the need may be) you make adjustments.

I expressed my disbelief (and disagreement) of what was taking place. I suggested he return to the basketball game and we talk later. And I hung up the phone, shaking my head but NOT with the usual laughter!

WHAT had I just gotten myself into?

“Another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.” (Stan Laurel)

That’s exactly how I felt.

Speaking of Battles

Date: June 11, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Americans love to fight. All real Americans love the sting of battle.” (George S. Patton)

Ok. So it’s time for a little too much information. About #5. And the way he “fights.” Get this:

1. He doesn’t yell. He discusses issues, calmly and patiently, in a rational manner. I appreciate that. (It’s how I’m inclined to resolve things, as well.)

2.  He is loving and affectionate, even in the face of a disagreement. For example, when we’re discussing an “issue,” he is touching my shoulder, holding my hand or has an arm around my waist. (I have to say, I love this one. I’ve never seen anyone “fight” like this, but I appreciate it!)

3. The one or two discussions we’ve had since the infamous conversation pre-marriage when he “dumped” me and that I would consider a “fight,” #5 either doesn’t remember them or he doesn’t consider them “fights.” I think three times now he has told me,” “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever been mad at you before!” (I appreciate his short term memory in this regard!)

4. He’s got the “kiss and make up” part at the end together! (SORRY! Just had to throw that in there– I’ve already shared TMI in this post, what’s a little more?) I guess you could say he has learned what Bob Marley has: “The harder the battle the sweet of jah victory.” Whatever that means.

However, if, “The ultimate test of a relationship is to disagree…but hold hands,” (Unknown) then #5 and I have passed the test. Each and every time.

Wounds And Healing

Date: October 4, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“It’s like trying to describe what you feel when you’re standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon or remembering your first love or the birth of your child. You have to be there to really know what it’s like.” (Jack Schmitt)

I don’t think you can describe the moments that come after a MOMENT like that, so I won’t even try–anyone who has ever experienced “a moment,” will understand why. But you get the picture.

Bachelor #5 proposed. I said “yes.” And we continued our walk on the paths at Sundance Resort, eventually stopping and sitting on a bench, talking, gazing up the mountain at the beautiful scene before us. I don’t know about Agent M, but I felt very at peace with the world. With everything. It was the greatest sense of peace, such a feeling of calm, a sense of complete and total healing like I hadn’t experienced since…prior to March 18, 2009.

Eventually, the sun began to set. He stood up, reached for my hand and suggested we head home. We had children to share our news with. I gave him my hand, and took one last look at Sundance, the mountain, the flowers, the evening light. I took a deep breath and inhaled the fragrance of the mountain air. I tried to memorize everything about that evening and its many moments, how I felt at that day’s end.

Whole.

Healed.

“When I stand before thee at the day’s end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing.” (Rabindranath Tagore)

I had my wounds. I had healed. And I had a fiance.

The Unexpected Life.

Destiny, Serendipity…or Chance?

Date: September 13, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I finally had the age issue under control but had yet to utter the two words that would change everything and take my unexpected life in a completely different and unexpected direction. Verbalizing those two words made me nervous. I continued to hold out.

One night I asked Bachelor #5 how he was so calm about everything.” Nothing seemed to phase him–not my former spouse residing in jail, not four additional children (including a four-year-old), not my devastated financial situation, not the potential challenge of blending two families. He was always patient, calm and optimistic around me and THAT gave me confidence, courage and hope. Although I try to be optimistic, there is a part of me that worries. I needed to know why Bachelor #5 didn’t seem to be worried. He shared his reason with me.

He told me he didn’t know how he met me! (Duh. Even I knew the answer to that one: online.) He clarified, “No. You were NOTHING I was looking for. I don’t know how I found you.” And THAT is why he wasn’t worried? That screams romance like nothing else. You can imagine how well that went over with me so he hurriedly explained the dating philosophy he had lived by since his divorce.

Because the trend was that men date down a decade, and he’d never been a fan or follower of fads, he intentionally looked for women 48 years and older; women his age. (He had also been married to someone older than him the first time.) Because his children were mostly raised, he looked for women whose children were grown. He also looked for a singer or an actress, someone who would understand his passion to participate in theater and possibly join him there. (In case anyone is keeping track, I am none of those things!)

When I asked him if I had met ANY of his criteria, he said yes, “You lived in Utah County. I would not have dated you if you hadn’t lived in Utah County.”

Of all criteria a man could judge by, I’d never anticipated that one. Not ever. (Of course, I’m not from Utah. And over the past year, I have seen the passion many residents feel for their great state–some of which even extends to Utah County residents who love it so much they wouldn’t consider living anywhere else.) After everything I’d ever imagined being judged for, height, weight, outer beauty, inner beauty, education, career, intelligence, etc…I had simply been the right location! I finally get why real estate agents think location is everything. Lol. I guess sometimes it is, even in dating!

Ironically, I had tried so hard to live elsewhere. When thrust into my unexpected life I had tried my utmost to stay in Colorado but even a woman as dense as I can be finally had to admit that for some reason, I was supposed to live in Utah. EVERY thing had worked out for me to live in Utah. But when I had given in to the idea of living in Utah, my plan had been to live in Salt Lake City. And when I couldn’t get that to work out, I had planned to live in several other Salt Lake-area locations, but nothing had worked out for me anywhere but in Utah County. So I ended up in Utah County, commuting to work, but I knew I was where I was supposed to be–for whatever reason. I had assumed it must have been for my children, and maybe it was. But I’d never stopped to think it might also be the best place for me.

So when Bachelor #5 told me the one criteria I fit, I had to laugh. Only I knew that I had tried so hard to work out so many living situations OTHER than Utah County!

Bachelor #5 said he logged on to the singles site one night, input his criteria, and although I shouldn’t have been a match, there I was on his computer. My profile should never have been there, there wasn’t much about my profile that fit the criteria he was looking for: I wasn’t the right age, I had children at home (and one of them was young!), I wasn’t a singer or a performer, but he read my bio anyway and said when he had finished reading, none of his criteria mattered any more. He contacted me, got to know me, eventually asked me out, met my children, and the rest of the story…is still unfolding!

He told me, “All I can tell you is that I feel so good about everything, so at peace with everything, I’m excited to be a part of it all. And I feel very strongly we didn’t find each other on our own. There is no logical way to explain how we found each other; we never should have found each other; we couldn’t have found each other without ‘help’.”

Maybe he was right. I was attending singles activities sometimes (Sunday night meetings and dances, on occasion) but Bachelor #5 NEVER participated in them, so I never would have met him without some help from somewhere. He was online, but I was nothing he was searching for; he shouldn’t have found me based on his search criteria. Add to that, he and I were each online just one month and our one month participation on the same site, out of all the sites there were to choose from, just happened to overlap. Maybe we had been “helped” in finding each other.

Or maybe it was destiny. “Destiny itself is like a wonderful wide tapestry in which every thread is guided by an unspeakably tender hand, placed beside another thread and held and carried by a hundred others.” (Rainer Maria Rilke)

Or serendipity. “Serendipity. Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you’ve found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for.” (Lawrence Block)

Or chance. “Chance is perhaps the pseudonym of God when he does not wish to sign his work.” (Anatole France)

Call it whatever you want–serendipity, destiny, chance, a miracle, a “tender mercy.”

But I began to believe I was on the right path to reach my fairy tale after all. It’s got all the makings of one, even from the very beginning. The only thing missing was “It’s Time.”

The two words Bachelor #5 was waiting to hear.