Living Happily Ever After
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Such a Sappy Mom

Date: September 24, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I’m a sappy mom now. I didn’t think I would be. I thought I’d be a cool mom who keeps everything in perspective.” (Katherine Heigl)

Not me! I’m such a sappy mom I had to step away from this blog for almost 3 months to get some perspective! And even when I did return, I couldn’t blog about the reason for my absence the first few posts. What  in the world happened? My oldest left home.

For real.

Yah, sure, he went “away” to college last year (as in lived in the dorms of Brigham Young University so he could have the complete college experience) but I live 20 minutes away and could drive by his dorm and look at the window of the room he lived in whenever I wanted, talk to him on the phone, text, help with his laundry, see and feed him once each week at Sunday dinner and ask him for help when I needed him. All of which I did.

But no more. And now that the Band-Aid of his departure has been ripped off what seemed like emotional millimeter after emotional millimeter, and my heart has had 3 months to heal, I’m ready to talk about it. Or at least explain why I haven’t been around: my son, Elder Merriman, is serving a two-year Christian mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And although his missionary service is something I believe in and raised him to do, it didn’t make it any easier for this sappy mother to let him go.

I cried every time I even thought about him leaving. Even the day before he left when we were packing up his bedroom and had one of our infamous and impromptu dance parties, I broke with tradition and bawled while busting my finest moves, the memory of which had to last two years. My missionary son said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Don’t EVEN tell  me you’re crying again!” But I was.

Thankfully, I’ve got the sap under control these days. Now I live for Wednesdays, the one day each week when Elder Merriman is able to take time out of his busy missionary labors to contact home and let us know what he’s been up to during his current assignment in the Canary Islands. Every week’s report is filled with a new adventure, fun fact of information I didn’t know before, or a growing experience; I’m so grateful he is where he is, doing what he is doing. (I just don’t think about the fact that last time I saw him in person was June 20, 2012 and the next time I’ll see him, in person, will be some time in June 2014! I don’t need THAT MUCH reality or perspective! Lol.)

What a privilege has been mine to to be a mother. What a joy that son, now Elder Merriman, has been every day of his life. (Despite a few moments isolated moments in 7th grade during his long hair and “skater” phase where his, or my, behavior may have given the illusion of something to the contrary! Lol.)

Love your kids.

And if you have a child, and if you have the good fortune to see them in person or to be with them today, give them a hug. From you, their mother…and from me.

“Son, you outgrew my lap, but never my heart.” (Unknown)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Better Than Spock

Date: November 25, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“My first crush was Spock. I thought it didn’t get any better than Spock.” (Selma Blair)

Selma’s wrong. It does get better. Donny TOTALLY beats Spock! No contest.

I know, because I met him. (It was work related, I’m in PR and he’s the spokesperson for my company’s product.)

I’m too old and sensible to have been starstruck when I first met Donny Osmond (or maybe it’s that I was too frazzled  to stop and think about the fact I was meeting a celebrity because I was late—just the kind of thing you want to be when you’re meeting a legendary entertainer, beloved by generations, for the very first time.) But I confess I found Donny absolutely professional, energetic, friendly, looking and acting much younger than his chronological age. However, despite his accomplishments and talents, I came away from meeting him for the first time convinced that his greatest talent may be his people skills—remembering names, calling people by their names, making everyone feel at ease around him, his friendly manner, etc…It was very impressive.

Not only that, Donny is wise: ”If you’re climbing the ladder of life, you go rung by rung, one step at a time. Don’t look too far up, set your goals high but take one step at a time. Sometimes you don’t think you’re progressing until you step back and see how high you’ve really gone.” So true.

Donny has values: “My father instilled in me the attitude of prevailing. If there’s a challenge, go for it. If there’s a wall to break down, break it down.” Go, Donny.

And he’s genuine: “I never smile unless I mean it.” :)

Although I interact with Donny in a professional capacity, I remain a fan. In fact, I’m an even bigger fan having met him and because I work with him. I also admire his humility. When he emails it’s “Hi Andrea, Donny Osmond here…” (as if I might not know who he is if he didn’t tell me!)

Yep, the unexpected life takes us down some very unusual paths. When my old life fell apart in 2009 and I thought my world had ended, or in those early days following my return to the workforce when I fled to the women’s restroom several times each day and cried over having to leave my children all day and work full-time for the rest of my life, I confess I never saw Donny Osmond in my future.

“All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Still experimenting…in the unexpected life.

Late Nights

Date: February 25, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I’m a late-night guy.” (Dane Cook)

One thing (of many) that separated #5 from the rest of the bachelor’s was his schedule. He always had me home at a decent hour, even early. In fact, (dare I confess this?) back in the dating stage where I thought he wasn’t interested in me and only asked me out to give a newly divorced single mother social experiences because he felt bad for me, he took me home pretty early one night–and I went out with some single girlfriends after that! When we got engaged, that didn’t change; he always had me home early (by my standards.) It took some getting used to, on my part. He’s not a late-night guy.

In fact, he once commented to me that the people at my house sure stay up late. I was surprised. I seriously hadn’t noticed. But ever since he pointed that out, I can’t help but notice as I occasionally drive toward my home late at night that my house, and just two others on my street, have their lights on past a certain hour. I must be a late-night gal, raising late-night children. And I guess I hadn’t noticed because by the time I get home from work, and my little family spends a decent amount of time together, it’s late at night!

So my late night experiences during the course of my 9-month engagement have been with my children. Here’s a memorable one. From last night.

It was 12:06 a.m. and my oldest and I were up chatting, he was doing homework and I was working on a gift for #5, when my son got an email to his phone. He read it, got a big grin on his face and then read it aloud to me, something like, “Congratulations! You have been accept to Brigham Young University for Fall 2011.”

IT CAME.

We were so excited, we were talking, laughing, joking and celebrating in the kitchen. His life sort of passed before my eyes as my mind was drawn back to the late nights of 1993-94, when I was up in the middle of the night with him every night. The dark nights were so still and quiet I remember feeling like he and I were the only people in the world, and I didn’t mind at all–I treasured every moment I had to enjoy him. It seemed very fitting that BYU contacted him late at night…and totally normal for he and I to be up late at night together!

In the midst of our celebration, we remembered #5 and wanted to share the good news. We knew he was asleep, so we sent him a text. We also know that since he sleeps near his phone in case his children ever need to reach him, it was probably going to wake him up. Late at night. But we did it anyway–we thought it was worth waking up for!

“If people were meant to pop out of bed, we’d all sleep in toasters.” (Author Unknown, attributed to Jim Davis)

Not only had that late night moment been years in the making, we’d had some challenges along the way: his world collapsing temporarily due to the revelations of his father, a divorce, a move to a new state and school, yet he kept his straight A’s even through the midst of all that; his mother returning to the work force full-time so he became the oldest male in our home and “at home” parent before and after school, even had to stay home with sick siblings on occasion–not the typical existence of a high schooler; in addition to school, he also works at Cold Stone; and then a few recent challenges during the application process that made it even more meaningful.

For one, my son had applied to only one college. BYU. He didn’t have a backup plan. That decision was motivated by money–we didn’t want to waste money paying to apply to any other college my son didn’t want to attend, but as time went on, I realized how unintelligent a decision that was and started to worry a little bit. (Especially after we were notified by his high school that they were sorry but they had sent an incorrect transcript and G.P.A. of just one senior to every college he had expressed interest in or that had expressed interest in him, and my son was that lucky student. I told you we have amazing odds at our house! And because the school didn’t correct their mistake for two months we began to worry a little bit about how it would all work out.)

However, last night’s late night memory made it all worthwhile. And #5 shared it with us via text. It was one of those moments we’ll never forget.

“A moment lasts all of a second, but the memory lives on forever.”

Phone Calls and Boys, I Mean, Men

Date: January 20, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“America’s best buy is a telephone call to the right man.” (Ilka Chase)

The right man calling me on the phone has been sort of a struggle for me.

I was about 12 when the phone became a nuisance in my life. A boy I didn’t “like” called me several times each week after school. Each time he’d call, I’d tell my mom to tell him I wasn’t home. She’d look at me, say, “I’m not going to lie—YOU tell him!” and hand me the phone. Then the awkward conversation would begin until I’d make up an excuse and hurriedly hang up.

It was that same pattern for years: Joe, Joestes, Espada, Rick, Wes, a young man in college who called before I was even old enough to date…I can’t remember the names of all the “wrong” boys who called me during my youth. It seemed like the right one never would. But then, when I was 15 years old and the boy I “liked” actually liked me at the same time, the phone began to mean something new! The history of my relationship with phones was pretty good from that time on through college, especially when the young man I  loved moved to Bolivia for two years when I was 20 and 21 years old and I lived for his twice-yearly telephone calls! In 1989, I married (someone else), and for 20 years, took calls from a husband. I’ll probably never get phone calls like his again in my life–from his “office” where he was “working;” and from unique destinations via satellite phone connections all around the world as he traveled “for business”–England, Tanzania, Etheopia, South Africa, Zambia, Cameroon, Zimbabwe, Austria, Russia, Armenia, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium and more. And then I got divorced.

After that much time had passed, though, dating, romance, phones, EVERYTHING about being single, had changed! Communication was an entirely different scene. There was even a phenomenon known as “Love Language” that had been invented. Most men didn’t call me on the phone, they emailed, instant messaged and texted me. All of the time. Morning, noon and night. I woke up to “Good Morning” texts, I went to sleep to “Goodnight” texts and everything in between. I got some interesting and unsolicited photo texts. I got some stalker texts. I even got one marriage proposal text. (Really. I promise, I don’t make this stuff up—it is 100% my unexpected life!)

Apparently, “Texting is a way to remind your partner that you’re thinking about him or her throughout the day…Send them whenever you please!” (Cellphones, “Good To Know”)

I didn’t have a lot of time to talk on the phone anyway. I worked all day, so in the evenings I needed to be free to talk to my children. I didn’t have time to talk to men on the phone for hours. I realized that early into my return to the singles scene, when a man called me a lot and wanted to talk on the phone…every night…for hours…and I just couldn’t take it. I suggested he email or text instead as I didn’t have time for telephone chit chat because I needed to spend time with my children, and that was pretty much the last I heard from him!

Now you have the 411 on phones and the singles scene today.

Eventually I narrowed the texts down to one man, Bachelor #5 (sometimes known as Agent M.)

Although, “Easy is to occupy a place in a telephone book. Difficult is to occupy someone’s heart; know that you’re really loved,” (Carlos Drummond de Andrade) let’s just say #5 doesn’t only occupy a spot in my contact lists, he occupies my heart! But even he doesn’t call that much–he texts, emails and talks to me in person—the perfect man for a woman who doesn’t like to waste time talking to men on the phone when she’d rather be with them in person!

We’ve been engaged for 8 1/2 months now and I have to say things were pretty quiet on the phone/texting front the first four months of my engagement. And then unexpectedly one night, I heard from the Stalker. Again. Out of the blue he contacted me, I told him I was engaged, and things were silent. From that moment on. Until the other night.

I love phones! (Not.) Their connections are so unexpected.

I received a mystery text, “Are you married yet?” Followed one hour later by, “Hi,” questions about where I was (home), was I going to bed (nope, too much housework), and an invitation to meet for a drink! I thanked him for asking, but told him I was still engaged. He said, “Oh, I did not know you were engaged,” (guess he forgot about the previous 9 months), then “When are you getting married?”

Isn’t THAT the million dollar question? And it came to me, courtesy of a phone. And my Stalker!

“I’m not just any stalker, I’m YOUR stalker.” (Unknown)

Every four months. Like clockwork. In my unexpected life.

What wasn’t unexpected, however, was #5′s response to the following question: “So, when you’re engaged, does that mean it’s inappropriate to meet a stalker for a drink?” He shook his head and smiled at me, made a joke about my “friendly” dating past, and we both laughed as he said, “Andrea, you’re NOT going!”

I sort of expected that.

Then It Was Gone

Date: August 25, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Women have a wonderful instinct about things. They can discover everything except the obvious.” (Oscar Wilde)

I heard from Bachelor #5 again.

He emailed me, thanked me for going to dinner, told me I was a trooper for living through what I’d gone through and remaining positive and seeking to create a happy life… and then he continued with his busy life, the holidays, and travel.

He was organized, planned his life and was sort of on a “schedule.” He kept in touch via email about once a week. He texted me about once a week. He asked me out once a week, depending on his travel and schedule, and as busy as we both were, I’m amazed I was usually available the nights he asked me out. He took me to dinners, a dance class, musicals, plays–always fun and unique things, especially compared to most of the men I dated.

I met his friends and some of his children. He always had a story to tell about something, and was always very nice. He was also my divorce expert: he had been divorced three years longer than me and had lived through everything I was facing. He was very thoughtful to check in with me after my “firsts” (first Christmas, etc…) to see how things went.

But that’s as far as my analysis of Bachelor #5 went. I had pre-determined he was too old for me; I certainly didn’t think he “liked” me! He was just a nice, older bearded man that I assumed felt bad for me, a newly single mom.

Then one night he picked me up for a date. I looked over at him as he was backing out of the driveway talking to me and I was struck by how different he looked. I felt like I was looking at a stranger! I couldn’t figure out what was causing my confusion. I thought I knew him, but all of a sudden I felt like I didn’t.

And then it hit me. He had shaved, the beard was gone.

I was stunned by how young he looked and how nice looking I thought he was. It was like I had never seen him before. (And I probably hadn’t. With the gray beard, I had never really looked–had never let myself look.)

“And when I heard this thing, I rent my garment and my mantle, and plucked off the hair of my head and of my beard, and sat down astonied.” (The Bible)

Bachelor #5

Date: August 22, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I met him online.

He contacted me, told me a little about himself in his email, asked me questions about myself and I replied with the answers. This went on for several weeks, VERY different from my other online experiences. Some men contacted me for the first time and asked me out for that very night. Not Bachelor #5.

He was a nice man. A good person. My same faith. A father of four. A college graduate. A responsible citizen. Employed. A home owner. Smart. Talented. Musical. Had been married 20 years. A man with interests and hobbies. Accomplished. A man with a life. (He was busy!) He even had ties to Hawaii.

After many emails, I made a joke about us meeting in person. But he didn’t joke back. He told me he found it best to get to know each other really well before meeting.

I couldn’t believe how much we had in common. He’d share something about himself and most times, I would have had a similar experience. Poor man. He probably wondered if I was competing with his accomplishments! But when he told me he’d been on the BYU Folk Dance Team, I had to shake my head and laugh. I’d even done that too!

In the meantime, while he emailed me a couple times each week, he kept busy with his work, with his passion for theater (not just attending shows, singing and performing in them!), spending time with his children, taking care of his youngest child who lived with him, living his very full life–even traveling to Hawaii.

I kept myself occupied too: full-time job, four children, my life, and working my way through the list of bachelors, some of whom I’ve written about.

Searching high and low for “Mr. Awesome.”

Searching for that happy ending I thought I’d had but refused to give up on in spite of a Ponzi scheme, betrayal, divorce and total life change.

And then unexpectedly, one day I got another email from Bachelor #5.

Inviting me to dinner.

An Impulse

Date: August 5, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

In December of 2009, I was checking my email before heading to the office when I had an unexpected thought.

“You should find out your medical history. As the sole parent and support of your four children, you need to know all you can to make sure you’re here for your children as long as you can be. How irresponsible of you if there is something you should know that might help you (or save your life) and you don’t bother to at least TRY to discover it!”

I had a brief debate with myself.

I had been adopted as an infant; blessed with wonderful parents and an amazing family. My childhood was fairy tale-esque…until my dad died unexpectedly in a plane crash when I was a teenager, and the family I grew up in entered its unexpected life. It was another riches to rags story, in a way, but it prepared me better than I could have imagined for real life, especially for the the huge, terrible situation I would face as an adult.

My debate: was it right to disrupt someone else’s life just for a chance at obtaining a medical history for me?

But because if anything happens to me my four children will be orphaned until their other parent is released from his incarceration, I pushed the question of right or wrong out of my mind. I owed it to my children to at least try to find something out.

But how?

Although I was adopted in the 1960s, and adoptions were very private and secretive back then, I had an unusual situtation. Mine was private. And thanks to my mom, I had more information than most adopted children at the time.

My parents had been married nearly five years and were unable to have children. They had checked into adoption and even had the chance to adopt a baby boy prior to my birth, but when they went to see the baby my mom didn’t have a good feeling about it. She felt that baby wasn’t her baby. So she walked away from the opportunity to get the baby she had dreamed of.

In the meantime, my dad graduated from dental school at Marquette University in Wisconsin, moved to Phoenix, AZ, and opened a dental practice–in the course of three weeks. And then, unexpectedly, they got a phone call about me. Some friends of theirs from dental school had graduated ahead of them and moved to Southern California to practice dentistry. They became acquainted with an obstetrician, and at a dinner party, the doctor told them of a good, talented, beautiful woman who was placing a baby for adoption–and of his quest to find a good family for the baby. The doctor said he and his wife thought so highly of the woman that they’d considered taking the baby themselves, but in the end, decided they were too close to the situation.

My parents’ friends said, “We know someone to adopt that baby!” and put my parents in touch with the doctor. And within that same three week time period of major life changes, unexpectedly my parents were in the car driving to California to pick me up from the hospital. My mom said she walked into the hospital, heard a baby cry, and knew instantly it was her baby. She asked a nurse if it was her baby crying, and the nurse confirmed it. (I had just been given my PKU test.)

While waiting for my discharge, my mom asked the nurses everything she could about my birth mother. They told her the woman’s name, where she attended college, a general description of her appearance, and what they knew of her talents (that she was smart, athletic, and a dancer.) My mom committed it all to memory and I grew up knowing all of the information my mom had been able to uncover.

My parents took me home from the hospital when I was two days old–with a day at Disneyland before driving back to Arizona!

I grew up feeling very special because I had been adopted. In fact, I felt bad for children who hadn’t had that opportunity and privilege. I was happy, whole and complete. I had amazing parents and four siblings (all adopted after me). So although my mom always offered to help me find my birth mother if I had the need, I didn’t really feel the need for that. I had everything, and more, that I needed. I was happy. And grateful every day for adoption and the family I was blessed with.

As the only tall, blonde member of my family however, (everyone else, including my parents, is short and dark haired) if I had any unfulfilled desire relating to my adoption it was simply a curiosity about who, if anyone, I looked like. But seeing if I resembled another person on the planet wasn’t worth the risk of rejection OR disrupting someone else’s life to satisfy a question like that. So that’s as far as I ever went in the quest for a birth mother.

I looked so different from the rest of my immediate family, though, that in college when they came to visit me, a boy friend met them and said, “I bet you forgot to tell Andrea she’s adopted, didn’t you?” My mom replied, “No, I’m pretty sure I told her!” and he blushed like college men usually don’t–never dreaming I actually had been adopted. We all had a good laugh over that one!

Thanks to my mom’s detective skills at the hospital prior to taking me home, we had quite a bit of information about my birth mother. My mom discovered she and my parents had attended the same university in Utah, so one year, while visiting my dad’s younger sister in Salt Lake City, we took a peek at my aunt’s college yearbooks and found my birth mother. I then knew what she looked like.

Later, when I was married, I met a friend who was very curious about the whole process of adoption. She asked me about my story and, small world, found out her parents had gone to college with my birth mother! Her parents cut up their yearbooks and sent me every picture they had of my birth mother so not only had I seen what she looked like, I had pictures too.

The university produced an alumni directory listing names, addresses and brief bios of its graduates. Thanks to that, my mom and I knew my birth mother’s address too! NOT very typical of a private adoption situation that took place in the 1960s, for sure.

And then “suddenly” I felt the need to obtain my medical history for the sake of my children.

I decided that if I’d given a child up for adoption and if I wanted to be found (or was open to being found) I would put my name out there everywhere I could think of. Impulsively, I typed the name of my birth mother into Facebook. It was the only directory I knew of to begin the search. Up she popped. Full name, picture and everything. There was no mistaking it was her.

I wasn’t expecting it to be that easy or to happen that fast.

Now what?

What would you do?