Living Happily Ever After
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Hard Work

Date: May 8, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

Three years ago I lost my entire life and was, literally, forced to live a new one.

Some might think the crime associated with my old life was the most traumatic aspect of the change. (And it WAS traumatic.) Others might think the financial loss I experienced was the most traumatic aspect of the change. (And it WAS devastating.) Still others might view my divorce, or the loss of my home, or my move to another state as the most traumatic aspects of the hardship we experienced. (And they were ALL very difficult!) However for some reason, for me, one of the biggest and most traumatic changes of all of the changes from my old life to my new and unexpected one was…losing my opportunity to focus solely on my children as a stay-at-home mom when I had to return to the work force full-time so we could survive.

I’m sure it seems silly to most people—especially in today’s world of powerful, independent women who juggle work, family, children, home, continuing education, community service, church activity and service, exercise, shopping, fashion, and a loving marriage all the while achieving astounding success in the world of business—but I guess I’m still in awe of the women who do that. Women have worked outside the home for decades and there are certainly worse things in the world than working full-time (after all, it’s a blessing and a privilege to be able to provide food and shelter for my four children) but as a stay-at-home mom watching my full-time working mother friends do everything they did, I never felt I was “organized” enough to do it all and keep it all, especially myself, together; I counted my blessings I didn’t have to prove that! And now, as a full-time working mother I prove myself right, not to mention disorganized, every single day.

There is always something I fall short in.

That my housekeeping standards have slid is a total given. Not enough time to serve extensively in schools and the community like I once did is another sad fact. Forgetting important things, like a soccer game (when I’m the assistant coach AND in charge of the team snack) has become part of my history as well, as has a little impatience, on occasion, with my children or others, in addition to a lot of miracles—like the fact I drive thousands of miles every year for long commutes on highways at high speeds, during major highway construction in the state of Utah, and I haven’t been killed much less injured in any of the frequent collisions I pass. (One of my co-workers had his car totaled when he collided with a semi on the same commute, so I feel quite fortunate.)

Following are a few of the experiences, lessons and realizations that have come my way as result of my return to the work force full time. Indeed, “Life grants nothing to us mortals without hard work.” (Horace)

And by the way, “The phrase ‘working mother’ is redundant.” (Jane Sellman)

A Move, A Proof

Date: April 5, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

Two words describe the most recent developments at our house: Moving. Again. (Or should I more accurately describe it as U-Haul? Or you, haul? Sometimes I think I ought to go into business for myself.) Here’s the update.

We gave it a good run (two months.) However, in that time my husband’s daughter made some good choices (again)  and some seriously poor choices (again)…so she moved in with her mother. I’d assumed  we’d let her experience the consequences of her choices and try it again, but before I even knew there was a plan, the new plan was implemented and she’d made arrangements to live somewhere else. Had I had any say in the matter, had it been up to me, I would have insisted my husband’s daughter stay with us; I would have allowed her to experience the consequences of her choices and we would have given things another shot. But, I’m not in charge; I’m just my husband’s wife.

From my perspective, that’s one thing that makes divorce and the stepparent role so difficult: watching kids you like and care about make choice after choice that complicate their lives and put their futures at risk; you’re ready and willing as their friend to assist their parent in helping them learn self-control, honesty, personal responsibility, fiscal responsibility, family values and other important lessons you know they’re going to need to be successful adults—and not only are they not interested in those things, they have another option, another parent, another “culture,” an entirely different and opposite set of values and lifestyle they can turn to. On top of that, the additional challenge (and biggest concern from my perspective) is the effect the poor choices and lives the children of one family choose to lead can have on the children of the other family.

Honestly, sometimes that aspect of remarriage is almost overwhelming. But one unexpected part the situation has reminded me of again, however, is that everything has an upside. You just have to look for it and find it.

Here’s one. When I divorced and my children’s father went to prison to serve his 12 year sentence, I thought that was a hard and terrible thing for my children to experience. And it has been, to some degree, at least it started out that way, but it has also been a blessing too. For instance, my children don’t have to deal with two parents leading two different lives, fear of showing “loyalty” to one versus the other, the disruption in routine of moving between different parents and different rules, etc…It has also turned out to be good for me in an unexpected way—in my ability to parent my children as I see fit. While I believe my ex-husband would support my role, my philosophy and my efforts in raising our children were he near us, the “upside” or bright side to their father’s incarceration is that his absence guarantees it.

It gives my children no other option. I’m it. If they don’t like my rules, parenting philosophies or what I’m raising them to be, if they make a wrong choice, they still have to stay with me, experience the consequences of their choices and learn from their mistakes. There’s nowhere else for them to go. There’s no one they can run to, no one who will pity them or enable them to continue their wrong choices and inappropriate behaviors. And given the many divorce situations I’ve been exposed to since the demise of my original family, I now see that prison has actually been a blessing for my children and their growth and learning.

Who EVER would have thought? Certainly not me! When I think back to that dark day in 2009 when my world crumbled in one moment, one conversation, and I thought prison was the most incomprehensible thing in my world, I never saw it coming, I didn’t see an upside, if you will. But it is what it is: ”What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.” (Oscar Wilde)

It reminds me again that if you’ve got a challenge, even a very bitter one; if you’re enduring your worst nightmare, even something so terrible you never could have imagined it would ever be your nightmare; hang in there! And I know that in time (if you can’t already) you’ll see a bright side. You’ll be able to recognize something good that came out of it, even if it’s a very minuscule good thing.  Eventually you’ll see a blessing in even the worst situations. That’s the unexpected life. And I’ll say it again: I’m living proof.

“A proof is a proof. What kind of a proof? It’s a proof. A proof is a proof. And when you have a good proof, it’s because it’s proven.” (Jean Chretien)

Stressed Out

Date: March 27, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

In the midst of all the adventures—moves, work and everything else life brings—we had a very special one. My oldest son began the process of belong called to serve as a full-time missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It was something I’d anticipated his entire life. You see, the majority of young men in the L.D.S. faith serve missions from the age of 19-21 years old. (You’ve probably seen them—clean cut young men, wearing white shirts and black name tags, walking or riding their bikes to meet with investigators, volunteering in the community and talking to people about faith, Jesus Christ and the gospel He taught.) When young men are of that age (or shortly before they turn 19) they submit their paperwork to serve a mission and then are called to serve where they are needed.

They don’t get to choose where they serve. Missionaries leave behind family, friends, work, sports, schooling and any other interests and dedicate their lives to their missionary service for two years. You don’t get to see them other than in the pictures they might send home. (They send letters and emails, they can call home twice each year, but other than that, they are focused on their mission and you don’t see them in person until they return home when their mission is completed.) And they pay all expenses associated with their missionary service.

I’d always hoped this son would choose to serve a mission. I’d planned he would serve a mission. I’d raised him to serve a mission. (I’m anticipating it for all of my sons.) But somehow, all too soon, the time is almost here.

He filled out his paperwork, met with the appropriate church leaders, and his papers were submitted to Salt Lake City for assignment. All that was left to do was wait for his mission call to arrive in the mail. (I think our official wait was actually less than 2 weeks by the time everything was submitted. But somehow it seemed longer than that. A lot was unknown, so it made the time seem to pass slowly.) In the meantime, I had no idea how stressed out I would become!

Lets just say this motherhood thing is a whole LOT more than I anticipated when I first became a mother. Those days, I remember sitting on the couch much of the day, holding and enjoying my newborn baby boy all day long, sometimes watching a video while he slept in my arms (I never wanted to put him down I was so thrilled to be a mom!) thinking, “I don’t know what all these mothers have been thinking and saying, insisting motherhood is such hard work! I don’t know what they think they are talking about!” I seriously thought they had to have exaggerated a little bit! (Ah…youth. And inexperience, huh?)

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for that envelope to arrive.

And I, who rarely remembers that mail is delivered daily much less to pick up said mail from my mailbox, suddenly started checking the mail every day.

“I believe in opening mail once a month, whether it needs it or not.” (Bob Considine)

Waiting.

One Ambition

Date: April 16, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Me only have one ambition, y’know. I only have one thing I really like to see happen. I like to see mankind live together – black, white, Chinese, everyone – that’s all.” (Bob Marley)

We survived the engagement portion of our relationship and married. But before I move on, I have to compliment #5 and his heroic attempts to keep us (and everything else) together during that time. Because at least for me, for us, being engaged in our 40s was very different than the last time. We came to the relationship with families, children, jobs, homes, church assignments, interests, hobbies and were both living very full lives before we even met, fell in love, and decided to be married. Our engagement wasn’t like the last time where we could drop just about everything to be with our intended. We had commitments and obligations; time with each other was limited.

Sometimes the only time each day we saw each other was 5 minutes in the workday morning, when #5 went out of his way to stop by my house on his way to work and before I left for mine, to say hello to me and to see the children before they left for school; or late at night, when #5 went out of his way to stop by for a few minutes after a show he was performing in, to say hello before he went home. Not a lot of time together. It was common for other couples marrying that I knew, as well. They both had homes, lives, and sometimes they even lived in separate cities–and continued to–even after they were married.

When we married, it came together so fast I didn’t think beyond the wedding day, honeymoon, the welfare of my children while I was out of town and my return to work afterward. So driving home from the honeymoon, as we entered Utah county, I realized real life was about to set in and I was struck with a thought I’d never had before: what is the plan? As in, where was #5 planning to live (and sleep) now that we were married? I knew it was the evening, we had to work the next day, and #5 didn’t have any personal belongings at my house. I suddenly realized I didn’t know what to expect!

I asked, “Where are you staying tonight?”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized my idiocy and saw the answer in his eyes. He looked at me like I was clueless (which I am and demonstrate on far too many occasions, exemplified, for example, by the events of 2009), shook his head like I was crazy (no comment!) and replied, “Of course your house–OUR house–we’re married!”

I said, “We both have homes, you don’t have anything at mine, we have to go to work tomorrow and I’d never thought that far ahead, so I wasn’t sure.”

He laughed and said, “Yes, it’s going to be a busy night. We’ll stop and see the kids and then we’ve got to run to my house and get some of my stuff and move it to the house so I can go to work tomorrow!”And that’s exactly what we did, although #5 was very patient to basically live out of a suitcase the first week or two of our marriage as he transitioned from living in his house, to mine.

That was the first “second marriage moment” for me. Only in a second marriage would you even wonder where your husband will live–your house, or his!

“What a happy and holy fashion it is that those who love one another should rest on the same pillow.” (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

The Move

Date: May 16, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

You know how you have a life plan…and then sometimes things happen to upset that plan and you’re shocked? I’ve seen that happen over and over in my life and in the lives of others. And that continued to be my life in 2009.

I obviously had been dealt a very unexpected life. But I continued to be human–make a plan to work with what I had, and then something would happen to ruin that plan and I’d have to go back, rethink, replan, and try it again. That happened over and over and over again last year. It happened so much it was overwhelming. Sometimes it was hard not to give up in the face of so many obstacles, every day, all at the same time!

It seemed like every day I was faced with a huge new problem, challenge or obstacle related to the situation that had been forced upon me by the choices of another. I’d work to handle it, would try to make the best of it, thought I had it taken care of, and within that same day or the next, new aspects would surface that ruined my plan and I’d have to start all over again! For several months in a row, it seemed like every single time I made any progress toward clawing myself out of the black abyss I’d been thrown into, some thing or some one would kick me back down the hole!

Some days the challenge simply of that was indescribable. But for some reason I didn’t quit.

In spite of the mess my life had become, I continued to try to salvage what I could out of the shards of life I was left with. I made a plan to settle in Utah and have my children settled in the new place we were going to live before I left them full-time and returned to work. But a few weeks before the scheduled move, that plan, too, fell apart.

I ended up moving to Utah before two of my children did. I ended up moving to Utah before my possessions did. And I ended up moving to Utah before I could move into a place of my own. None of that was my original plan, but that is how everything worked out. I know these situations are not the end of the world. People who move a lot probably deal with much bigger moving issues every time they move. However, I really hadn’t moved in 20 years. I’d never moved alone. And I was completely worried about moving my kids to a place none of us knew, and leaving them alone all day in a strange, new place. But you make the best of what you have.

To His credit, my former spouse helped me. We weren’t married any more, but He did as much as He could to assist me in making my new transition. He loaded the moving trucks for me after I had gone, drove a moving truck and arranged to have friends help him haul my things to Utah while I was already living and working there.

And He did it all as quietly as He could. My children and I were trying to make a fresh start in a new place and leave everything of the old life behind, so I instructed Him to head to the basement or anywhere away from new acquaintances should they drop by when He was hauling boxes. And He honored that request. I had many friends and relatives helping me. I don’t think anyone caught on that He was my ex-husband.

He arrived back in Colorado after helping me move to find our neighbors swarming the house and our property like a hive of angry bees. (I don’t think the neighbors, who lined the fence and stared at my teenagers as they packed their car to move to Utah after I’d already gone, realized that anyone was coming back.)

Our departure must have made them feel as if it was their right to open the mail in our mailbox, wander all over our house, the shop behind our house, our property and driveways. My former spouse arrived back in Colorado after moving me to Utah to find quite a crowd gathered there. Their children were riding their bikes around the deck of the pool, people were everywhere on the property, they had even driven their cars down the driveway!

Trespassing.

Unfortunately, the property didn’t belong to our neighbors or my spouse’s victims. It was the bank’s.

In the face of the swarm, He did as the government had previously instructed Him: He phoned 911. The police arrived and caught all of the neighbors in the act of trespassing. Boy, were the neighbors mad! (At least one had a relatively high profile job in the Denver area and was completely embarrassed to be caught in the act of trespassing. It couldn’t have been good for his career if that had gotten out.) Another neighbor chased Him down the driveway screaming at him. Another came running to join the first, yelling, “I’ve called The Feds! I’ve called The Feds! The Feds are on their way!” (If she really had called them, “The Feds” never came.) It was total craziness.

The neighbors told the authorities they had been nice up to that point because my children and I had been there. All I could think of when I heard that was that I’d hate to have experienced “not nice” if the way they’d acted and treated me was “nice!”

He lived in the house that week by himself and I struggled in Utah. I worked all day, cried all the way home, put on a happy face when I arrived and tended my children, ate dinner as our new family, and then I’d unpack and work on getting settled in our home until about 1 a.m. and then get up the next morning at 6 a.m. and do it all again. I guess it was good I hadn’t been able to sleep much in 2009 because my schedule didn’t lend itself to having much time for it anyway!

Utah was hot! At first, things were miserable. The air conditioning didn’t work. Our sprinkler system had broken. The television wasn’t hooked up right. The computer didn’t work. There was so much I needed help with and I didn’t have a clue how to do any of it! (Those who know me can vouch for my infamous lack of technological skills!) To be honest, I felt like I needed a man to do so many things and unfortunately, I didn’t have one. (It had been 20 years since I had been completely alone and I had learned to depend on a man to do things around the house, etc… An excuse, I know, but it was how I’d operated.)

Everyone was very nice to me in Utah. Everyone helped me a little bit and I was grateful for that. But I wasn’t anyone’s priority, their own families were. I understood that. It just didn’t help me. And I hated having to bother people for help with so many little things. So when He offered to come back and help me for another weekend, I let him. I needed help and was desperately grateful for it. He got a lot done and it seemed to be good for everyone in my family to have Him there.

And then in the midst of the struggle to settle in a new place and create a new life, I started to second-guess my decisions those first several weeks. I wondered if moving was a mistake? I wondered, maybe, if it would have been better to stay in Colorado? Those completely useless words “if only.” We should never let ourselves indulge in them or use them! But sometimes I forget my own wise counsel and do it anyway.

Financially, staying in Colorado hadn’t been an option. My job was in Utah, the cost of living was lower, for me, in Utah. And try as hard as I had to stay in Colorado, everything had worked out for me to move to Utah. I’d also had a very strong feeling I needed to be in Utah so I couldn’t let myself indulge in thoughts of my move as a mistake. Every time I started to think that way, I’d have to stop myself.

There we were. We had a new life. And we needed to make the most of it. We needed to make it our life.

We had to let go of Colorado and hope we’d be happy in Utah. As I looked around me, everyone in Utah seemed to love it. Sometimes I wondered, “Why couldn’t we? Why couldn’t I?”

Each day, I just tried to get through one more day and help my children get through it too. I tried to live with my eyes open to the good things we experienced and the tender mercies, the miracles, we were blessed with. And there were many. It seemed like every day at least one little good thing came our way: a treat from a friendly new neighbor, a kind word from a new acquaintance, a compliment from a stranger, a fun evening in the canyon (less than 10 minutes from our house, instead of the hour away the Colorado mountains had been!) or some other simple pleasure in life.

It showed me again that life can be good, life is good, regardless of your situation. You just have to let it be. You just have to look for it. Our greatest happiness doesn’t have to depend on the conditions of the life we find ourselves blessed to live, happiness is a conscious choice we make.

“Life is a grindstone. Whether it grinds us down or polishes us up depends on us!” (Thomas L. Holdcroft)

We have to choose to shine.

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Eggs, Anyone?

Date: May 10, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Things continued to escalate as we prepared to move from Colorado to Utah. The stress and strain was absolutely palpable. Even my children felt it.

My youngest was emotional and clingy. My middle son was emotionally devastated yet frustrated–he was the one that wanted to use his finger to communicate that hard day I already blogged about. My two oldest held up well, but finally got closer to snapping. They told me they were going to egg the neighbors on their way out of town!

I laughed–thinking it was one of our usual “coping jokes” that we made up to help ourselves deal with the trauma of our new life. We laughed, to try to keep the tears at bay, I think. But then I realized they might be serious.

I absolutely forbade that behavior from them and we had quite an animated discussion about it as they had very different opinions than I did on that one!

I told them when we stoop to the level of hatred, frustration, and anger displayed by those around us, and when we choose to lash out the way those around us had, then we become like them. And I didn’t want any member of my family to behave like those around us had! I told them we knew better. And regardless of what anyone done to us, regardless of their opinion of us, we would continue to hold our heads high and live good lives. Even if no one around us believed that is what we were doing.

And I think for the first time in my life I uttered the dreaded phrase, “Over my dead body will any one of my children…”

You become a cliche at the most unexpected times in life, don’t you?

Sometimes it felt like everywhere I turned, I was faced with another nightmare not of my choosing. It seemed like in so many ways, my children and I didn’t have any choices. But we had a choice in how we responded in our challenge. And as for me and my house, I was determined we’d keep our eggs in the kitchen and eat them for breakfast! It was the right thing to do. And food was in short supply anyway!:)

To my children’s credit, they did not give in to the impulse to vent their feelings as they left what had once been their very good life in Colorado to begin a new one in Utah. I was grateful…and proud.

Eggs, anyone?

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Volumes of “Lies”

Date: April 22, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I got a fun comment and suggestion from a former Colorado neighbor (that identity alone should explain what is coming) and client of my former spouse the other day. He, along with many others, has discovered this blog and is apparently QUITE a fan! He not only takes the time to read it, he even spends time commenting.

He kindly pointed out I’ve mistakenly titled my blog. He suggested the title of this blog should be “lies, lies and more lies.” In his honor, and to give credit where credit is due, I feel compelled to blog about that.

The first thing I did when I saw it was LAUGH. I got a kick out of his suggestion not just because it is totally ridiculous (and inaccurate) but because, in a way, I could relate.

You see, I have been a pretty good journal writer most of my life. I got my first journal about age 12 and have been quite consistent over the years in recording the events of my life. In 2009, after my former spouse revealed that He had been running a ponzi scheme most of our marriage, that He was heading to prison, that everything I thought we had was gone, and that I would be left alone to raise and provide for our four children, I had to prepare to move from our home and begin a new life. Having lived in the same home for 16 years, there was a lot of work to be done. Lots of packing. And one day I got to packing the room my old journals were stored in.

As I looked at the approximately 30 volumes I’d written over the previous years of my life, I didn’t know what to do with them.  I treasured the books I’d written as a youth and college student–everything prior to my marriage to Him.  But what to do with the journals recording the life I’d led married to a criminal? As I handled each one, I wasn’t sure what to think of them anymore.

Although what I had written and recorded was life as I had known it (because I had no idea what was going on in the double life my spouse had been leading for 15 years or even that he was living a double life), in that moment, none of the history I’d recorded seemed true or real. At that time, everything was so tainted by the dishonesty and criminal behavior of one man, I felt like I was in possession of Volume 1 of Lies, Volume 2 of Lies, and so on.

What DO you do with volumes of words that don’t seem to be real anymore?

I still haven’t decided.

But I’m afraid I’m going to need a storage unit for the memories! lol. A place to hold the volumes of personal history, the wedding photos from 1989, and everything else that is not mine anymore…that I still am not sure what to do with.  The only thing I’m sure of is time.

I have time to decide.

Because,”Time heals what reason cannot.” (Seneca, Roman philosopher in the mid-1st century A.D.)