Saturday Morning

I have spent a lot of time over the past couple of days thinking about my ex and the genesis of the problems between us, ultimately ending with our divorce when Captain Knuckle was only five months old. It’s been an interesting experience to say the least.

This morning, I lay in bed next to my husband, listening to him breathe as I stared at the ceiling.  I inhaled deeply and then let out a long, drawn out sigh as I asked him, “Would you have married me if I had kept Ms. Feverfew?”

“Woman, you ask the silliest questions.” Then he paused for a long time.

My heart caught in my throat, even though I *knew* what he would say next. Yes – he would have because we were meant to be together. I know it is a silly question because it is one I have asked of him before and I know his answer by heart. I just needed to hear him say it again. When he paused, I wondered if this was the time he would say, “No.”

As if. After nearly a decade of asking him, his response has never changed.

“Of course I would have married you because we were meant to be together.”

And I know he truly feels that way. I have put this man through hell as I have struggled to overcome the abuse and lies from my childhood. He has held me for countless hours as I have cried myself to sleep because of you. I have tested him time and time and time again, daring him to prove himself capable of withstanding my anger, my awful and terrible fury as I rage against the injustices in my life.

He has come through for me every time. His love for me is as old as the eternities and is solid as anything known to mankind and his courage is boundless. I know I can ask him that question a thousand more times and he will answer me the same – yes, I would have married you because we were meant to be together. I would have raised her and loved her as my own.

I know he speaks the truth because that is what he has done – is doing – with Captain Knuckle. He loves my son because my son is part of my heart. He loves you the same because you are part of my heart.

I never dared ask my ex that question because I feared what his answer would be. I think I knew in my gut he would have said: No, I would not have married you if you had kept your daughter.  

In a nutshell, that was the trouble between us. I was tainted goods and by marrying me, he was marrying far beneath what he “deserved” (yes, his lovely mother said that to me). Our marriage was doomed before we even knelt across the altar from each other and made those sacred vows. It died and withered on the vine before it even had a chance to take root because he didn’t love all of me. He loved the idea of me and the parts that showed on the surface – the tall, exotic beauty with the tiny waist and smooth latte skin. He didn’t love the inward broken parts of my heart and he certainly didn’t love my will to overcome the challenges in my life.

All the rest of it is details. Who did what and who said what to whom. None of it really mattered. Our marriage was slated to end before it even began because he simply wasn’t man enough to deal with all of me.

Even with that realization,  I still think he had pretty craptastic timing in telling me he wanted a divorce. Did he really have to do it days after listening to me testify in court about the abuse from my biological father? It would have been nice to have been afforded a week or two of recovery from that harrowing ordeal before being told my marriage was over, too.

Much love,



National Adoption Awareness Month ~ Day 27: Me & the Professor…er, the Professor and I?

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

If I had my druthers, I would put my Christmas tree up in mid-October. As it is, I have to restrain myself in order to accommodate Mr. Bah-Hum-Bug-the-tree-should-not-be-put-up-until-December 1st,  AKA Mr. Amazing Man. (He really isn’t a grinch, we just differ on when to put up the tree and when it is appropriate to start playing Christmas music. He seems to think that July is not appropriate.)

My older son is of the same mindset. He will sit there on the couch with Mr. Amazing Man and roll his eyes (ever so lovingly) at me when I bust out the stockings and “Cookies for Santa” plate.  In past years, I have indulged their ill-humor and waited until the 1st of December but this year….

This year my tree was up by November 20. Ha! Victory.

And this year, I have had a partner in my Christmas criminality – the Professor. Turns out he adores Christmas as much as I do. The music, the lights, the decorations on the tree, the yummy baked goods, the Santa letters, the 30 nights of Christmas movies: we delight in these things equally.  He simply cannot understand why other people in the neighborhood don’t already have all their decorations up. (Me either son, me either!)

And so I wonder…are you more like Captain Knuckle who likes Christmas but approaches it with a more restrained pleasure, or are you like the Professor and myself, reveling in the season’s delights?

Much love,


National Adoption Awareness Month ~ Day 3, Part B: “You are not allowed to come to church anymore because you are an idiot”

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

I know, I know, I know. Once you get me talking I just can’t seem to shut my mouth!  This will be a short Part B though, I promise.

I was perusing good LDS bee-mommie blogs and came across a real gem of a statement on one of them. I guess that LDSFS holds “Husbands of Birth Mothers” information nights where boyfriends/fiance’s of those good bee-mommies get to go and ask questions of what it is like to be married to one of those kinds of women.

I guess one of the things they talk about at these discussion panels is the now-husband’s response to finding out his supposedly virginal and untainted love of his life had *gasp* “been sexual and gotten pregnant with another man’s baby” and how he had worked through forgiving her for what she had done.


I rubbed my eyes hard. I took a deep breath. Uh…ummm…he has to forgive her for what???? Isn’t this whole forgiveness issue for something that happened before they met between her and her maker? He then went on to say that “I chose to forgive her but I did tell her that eventually her past will come back to haunt us.”

Haunt? Her past (which is a human being, BTW Mr. Husband of a Birth Mother, not a ghost or a figment of your tainted rose’s imagination) is going to come back and haunt them?????? Gosh, that kind of attitude has gotta make every adoptee’s heart sing.

I jumped up from my computer, made a beeline for my husband and said, “Mr. Amazing Man, you won’t believe what I just read!!!!” I then told him and he was just as agahst as I was.

Then he said one of the most fantabulous lines ever uttered by a righteous, loving, (and dead sexy) husband: “There are sometimes I wish I could just tell people, ‘You are not allowed to come to church anymore because you are an idiot.’ And that guy is an idiot.”

I sure hope you find a man like Mr. Amazing Man some day.  He’s…well, he’s amazing.

Much love,


So do I, Ms. Feverfew. So do I.

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

I can’t tell how incredibly tempting it is to “friend” you on facebook…it seems like such a nice easy way to ease back into us, don’t you agree? But I am waaaaaay to chicken to ever do anything that…brave, crazy, audacious. I can only imagine the tizzy it would put your adoptive parents into and I don’t want to do anything to upset them.

But some days, I sit there with the mouse pointer hovering over the button while my sane, logical side is screaming at me to DO NOT CLICK SEND while my mushy, lovey, mommy side is longing to do it just this once.

I also think it is really cool that people can find you on google – it is how I found you, after all. The first time was purely an accident. Sort of. After years of googling your name to just “see what I could find”, I stumbled across a local [to your neck of the woods] band’s myspace page & found a post by [insert your first name here] from [insert your hometown here]. On a hunch, I followed that link back several generations and the rest, as they say, is history.

To be frankly honest, when I first saw the pictures you had posted, I had a complete and utter come apart. Coincide Jeff called me about 10 minutes later and all I could do was sob uncontrollably, with complete abandon and very little time for inhaling. He thought something horrible had happened – my mom had died, his sister had taken a turn for the worse with her cancer treatments, one of the boys was in the hospital. He kept asking, guessing all kinds of horrible things because I could not talk.

I am still not sure how he deciphered my incoherent, guttural sobs from the far side of the globe on a thin, scratchy satellite phone connection with a 2 second delay. Once he was assured that everyone was OK and no one was dead or in the hospital, he told me how “cool” he thought it was and that I should be happy I had found you again.

That night…oh dear, it was like loosing you all over again. So he was also right when he thought something horrible had happened. Just many, many, many years before that night.

I called my mom at 10:30 p.m. after I got off the phone with Jeff and somehow managed to let her know I absolutely needed her to come to my house right then. I think I said something to the lines of “Boo-Bear” (my nickname for you) and “pictures” and “need you now.” Not sure how she deciphered that either. To her everlasting credit, she came to my house even though it was the dead of winter in Cache Valley. I know that was hard for her to do but I am so grateful she did. At Jeff’s urging, I also called my Bishop (L. Shirk – gotta get his name in here so I never forget it!) and asked if he could come over to give me a blessing. I could hardly talk on the phone and when he got there, my mom had to tell him what was wrong because I simply could not find the words. Bless him for putting on a shirt and tie and going out on such a bitter night there in Logan.

I don’t think I ever fully regained my voice that night – my mom finally went home around 2:00 a.m and I collapsed into bed shortly there after. I didn’t go to school for a day or two – it was just too much for me. Eventually, I was able to find some equilibrium again but ever since that night, it has never been the same between you and I.


Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

Somehow, I survived this week. Certainly a lot of the credit must be given to Mr. Amazing Man. He has never failed to carry me through difficult days. He is a truly a blessing in my life, a helpmeet and a friend. I hope you are someday able to find a man like him: a man with no artifice or guile, a man who loves you beyond all reason, a man who loves God and has faith enough for you to borrow when yours is worn thin.

I think this is my greatest hope for you – that you marry a man just like Mr. Amazing Man. Good, decent, loving, and slightly dangerous in all the right ways.

Much love –


Trusting Mr. Amazing Man

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

On Saturday after I posted early in the morning, I decided what I needed most was a good day’s worth of work to take my mind off of “things.” I set to work, cleaning, sorting, and organizing. There were a few things that needed to be put in the attic and so I was up there making room, when I came across The Bin of your blankets, toys, and clothes that I have kept all these years.

In The Bin is your blessing gown from your first blessing, made by my wonderful neighbor, Sherri Johnson. A hand-crocheted blanket made by another dear friend. Cards & bits of wrapping paper from your baby shower. Your first pair of Sunday shoes. A blanket I had made for you. A few frilly, lacy, floral dresses that seems so foreign to me now, seeing as how I have only boys around the house. A knit receiving blanket with little pink bows printed on it that I instinctively knew to swaddle you up, snug like a little burrito. I didn’t need Dr. Harvey Karp or Dr. William Sears to tell me that swaddling you and keeping you close to me was the best thing for you. Seeing all of that just made me…well, I just fell apart. I just sat there and silently sobbed for quite some time.

Eventually, Mr. Amazing Man came looking for me.

Mr. Amazing Man (calling up the attic stairs): Gorgeous, you up there?
Me: Silence.
Mr. Amazing Man: M., are you there????
Me: Silence (secretly hoping he would shut the door and lock me up there until next week).
Mr. Amazing Man (to Captain Knuckle): Where is your mom?
Captain Knuckle: I don’t know.
Mr. Amazing Man: Well, why is the door to the attic still open?
Captain Knuckle: I don’t know, I think she took the dog for a walk.
Mr. Amazing Man: Gorgeous? Are you up there?
Me: More silence.

I could hear him pause, evaluate the situation and finally make the decision to climb up the stairs where he found me in a puddle. Being the gentleman he is, he offered me his clean handkerchief, sat next to me with his arms around me, and let me sob and whine and cry for another good half hour. Somehow, he eventually managed to calm me down and get me back downstairs without breaking any bones.

Today, he taught my Primary class for me because I simply could not face going to church. I know that the gospel is true, I really do. I love the beautiful things that have been taught to me in the temple. It’s just that some days…some days, the ache in my heart for you is bigger than all of that and I just can’t face the culture that convinced me I wasn’t enough and that you deserved better than me. Because damn it all – I was good enough for you. And today…today I just can’t face the culture that told me I wasn’t.

I am still trying to find where God was during those dark hours of my life when my sister died, the abuse came out (finally), and I ended up pregnant. I simply haven’t found an answer yet. I think God knows I have spent a lot of time looking for His fingerprints in my life at that point. Mr. Amazing Man tells me that He was there with me and I just have to trust him right now. I have to cling to his faith because I still don’t see God in the details, even all these years later.


Mother’s Day Post-mortem

Dear Ms. Feverfew –

Yesterday was Mother’ Day and as usual, any joy was tempered by the two edged sword of…us.

I have given up pretending like Mother’s Day is a good day for me. I mean, I loved on my boys and pressed the delicate blue flower the good Professor gave me between the hand drawn card that Captain Knuckle made for me, talked with Mr. Amazing Man when he was able to call me from the far side of the world, and generally was pleasant to be around. But I had no expectations that this was the year that it wouldn’t hurt as much. I have resigned myself that I will always ache for what could have been, what should have been, more so on this ridiculous holiday than others. Instead of trying to hide from that reality, I am getting better about embracing it and accepting it for what it is.

Instead of doing anything remotely religious (church just seems to rub the wound even more raw), I went to IKEA with The-World’s-Best-Sister-in-Law. We left the kids with The Samoan and had a gloriously fabulous day wandering around the store, doing nothing but nothing. We bought some of these decadent marshmallow chocolate coconut things and then drove to an anonymous neighborhood and ate them all. We talked and laughed and cried – we talked about you, we talked about being a mother, we talked about what the future holds for all of us.

Then we went home and collapsed on the sofas in her living room in a marshmallow-induced coma. All in all, not a bad way to spend a day that usually leaves me in tears.