Post op and Father's Day weekend

I survived surgery to have a presumed benign tumor removed from my thigh yesterday.  As I was being checked in, the registrar said, "Well, hopefully, everything will go okay for you today."  I thought to myself, "Isn't there a better word than 'hopefully' to use at a time like this."  Talk about a non-committal, less than enthusiastic statement!

Not that I was overly worried that I would have complications, but any time you are asked for your living will to give directions for what to do if you end up in some kind of vegetative state, well, you can't help but think about the "what ifs."

The tumor was sent to the pathologist and we will hear confirmation that it is benign.  It was probably the anesthesia talking when I told the nurse through a few escaping tears that my sister had died from a benign tumor that chose the wrong location - her brain-stem - to grow where they couldn't get at it.  I can't help but wonder - having had 3 cysts and now a tumor removed in the past 6 years, if this is just the beginning.  I was told these things weren't hereditary after my sister died... but I'm beginning to wonder. 

Add to this, Lexi coming to me last night crying saying she was afraid I was going to die.  I calmed and reassured her that I was taking care of things so they wouldn't grow or spread and I would be just fine - and I know I will be one way or the other... but it breaks my heart to have my 9 year old wondering.

Anyway, on to the more entertaining events of the past weekend --

Pre-Fathers Day weekend Friday, I begin the morning in the kitchen loading the dishes that my kids didn't quite get to the dishwasher when I hear "drip, drip, drip" at a pretty good rate.  I look under the sink and can see where someone has put a towel, that is wet, a candy bowl is almost full of water and water is missing both the rag and dish and dripping on the base of the cabinet.  I clear out the items under the sink and find a flashlight to see where it is coming from - looks like the actual faucet itself vs. the hoses.  I call Trent and ask if he knows anything about the kitchen sink leaking and he says no.  I ask the kids the same question - after all, someone put a rag and dish there.  No one knows anything.  I propped Big Gulp cup in place.  Trent eventually decides to look at it before we decide to call a plumber and says he has to get back to work so we can leave on our trip. 

Next, I go put up the tent trailer so I can get it cleaned and loaded.  I noticed the previous week when I put it's registration sticker on that we hadn't registered or used it since before it expired in 2011.  Even though it was folded up for all that time, it still had a pretty good coating of dust.  After using 409 on everything, sans cleaning gloves (big mistake) I hooked up the electricity to make sure the fridge was still working, and then the water.  I turned it on, and went back in the trailer.  Water was running on the floor from underneath.  I ran outside to turn off the water at the faucet and it was running along the hoses underneath it.  When we bought it used, we were told it was a 2001.  Trent discovered a year or so ago, when looking for parts, that it was actually made in the 90's.  Looks pretty good for being that old-- the point is, it wasn't fresh out of the factory, hadn't been winterized in all the time we had it - other than maybe the first year, and when I hooked it up to the hose, I wasn't thinking that our water pressure had been increased since we last tested it.  So - it could be one of several or a combination as to why it sprung a leak.  End result - we packed out own water in and did the dishes at the spigot at the Green River KOA.

Our weekend get away was meant to be a try out for the trailer before we take it for 8 days to Yellowstone this coming weekend.  Steven can't go with us, so he will be holding down the fort here at home.

We pulled out of town 6 hours later than planned with the trailer lights not working.  After a stop at autozone and cleaning off the plug, the lights worked fine and we made it to our destination just after 9pm.  My brother's advice worked... he says he always spits on the plug before putting it together.  That worked for us on the way home so maybe there is something to a little saliva!

We saw Goblin Valley and went to Arches with our 3 little girls and Trent in an early Fathers Day gift - a shirt that said:  "DADD - Dad's against Daughters Dating."  He got lots of smiles, compliments and men wanting to join the club.

We had a great time once we got there - even made it to the KOA pool. 

Made it back in time for a Father's Day BBQ at my sister and the father of their baby, Mikul.  He did 3 selections of barbecued meat.  This was really nice - we've gotten into bring your own meat and a pot-luck dish because for awhile there, we were doing most of the hosting.  Only hard thing after my dad arrived, was Pam saying that since our family and my mom like to pray for our meals and they don't, that she was wondering how to handle it.  I had just said my own private prayer to bless the food and express my sadness over the prayer issues before she came over.  I asked if she wanted us to go to a corner of the yard and have a private prayer.  She said no, that we could say it.  I said we didn't want to offend anyone by praying if they didn't want to.  Just about that time, Mikul's female cousin stood up, said they were ready to get started and she would pray.  I thanked her after and told her how much I appreciated it.  Maybe we weren't as alone as I thought!

Trent had a wonderful Fathers' Day other than not hearing from one child.  She was taking care of her bio dad who had surgery to have his gall bladder removed and said she honestly didn't think about it.  I feel for my sweety.  He opened his heart to her the moment they met and she asked him if he would be her daddy.  He has never treated our two oldest any different than the 3 we had together.  Never complained about the thousands of dollars in extracurricular activities they participated in.  We're not perfect parents, but we have always tried to be there for our children and do what's best for them with lots of thought and prayer in our decisions.  My personal experience has been that you don't really get it until you've had kids of your own.

I used to resent my dad for not taking the family on vacations other than 2 weekend family reunions with his brothers each year.  It wasn't until I had my own baby, that I was able to focus on the fact that he never took a vacation or sick day from work, because he was worried about not having enough money to support us if he was unemployed from his construction job in the winter.  Now his body is worn out with arthritis after years of hard manual labor.  He may not be the most genteel, proper, compassionate man  there is, but he was faithful to my mom, and wanted us to be responsible adults.  I think I have been just that.

Anyway, to all our wonderful dads!  To my quick recovery from my surgery - as well as a speedy recovery to my ex-husband.  Thanks to my beautiful children who have been there for me to help me with foot rubs, food and help with swim - oh and the hugs and kisses too!  Thank you to my neighbors who brought dinner last night - sorry about the kitchen covered in dishes, items from under the faucetless kitchen sink!!!

And life goes on!

Cranky Cuss Cuz?

Looking back on the past week, it really has been an amazing one.  I finished my last full day of the school year 4 school days before my kiddos.  Friday was the end of year party at my school.  After bbq hamburgers at 2:00 in the afternoon it was announced that the Sunshine Committee wanted to play a game.  Amazing how fast a bunch of teachers can flee.  At first, I wasn't too keen on the idea myself.  I helped clean up a little and then decided to take a peek in the gym to see who was in on the big event.

Not a whole lot of takers other than the principal, secretaries, those with the game idea, and a handful of others.  My desire to support those with the idea was greater than that to preserve my comfort level, so I decided to join in.  I really had a great time getting to know the group a lot better.  The Special Education teachers were among those who fled the scene the moment the word "game" was mentioned.

We played "Werewolves of Miller Hollow."  I was the hunter, which meant that if the powers that be decided to take me out, I could take someone out with me.  It wasn't until the end that I became the target and either despite my protestations and efforts to move suspicions from me or because of it - I was targeted with 2 werewolves and 1 villager left in the game.  I took out the one werewolf that wasn't linked by Cupid to the remaining villager.  That is, if I had chosen either of the other two people, I would have unwittingly killed both the werewolf and the villager and the only remaining werewolf would have won the game.  As it was, we had a tie between a werewolf and villager.  If all this sounds like nonsense to you - let's chalk  it up to ignorance of the game and not my writing! ;D

I had to order the game from Amazon for nine dollars and some odd cents for Kenzi to play at her 6th grade graduation party next Saturday.  We decided to make it a day of parties with Kylee's birthday party followed by Lexi's birthday party and then Kenzi's graduation party.  And, no, we don't really have 3 kids with birthdays in June.  Steven's really turning 22 on June 10th, but Lexi and Kylee have August birthdays.  Problem is, with the move to my school, all their friends will probably long have forgotten them by August since they don't live by us, and getting invitations to them when they aren't in school becomes a bigger expense and challenge

So then, why am I so cranky, you ask?   Fear of the unknown is plaguing me.  A few months ago I found a lump in my thigh.  I had a cyst removed by my general practitioner about a year before between my neck and shoulder and it has grown back now.  I didn't know who to see for a lump and after talking to my doctor's assistant and having them offer to cut it out for me, I wasn't sure what to do.  Sure, it would save us money to have him do it, but I almost passed out from the cyst and this is quite a bit bigger.  So, I did nothing.  The lump has now gone from something I could feel, to something that is clearly visible and looks to be about the size of an egg.  Last Sunday after Trent getting mad at me and saying he didn't want to lose me and that I needed to get this taken care of (I had also considered the possibility that it could lead to something serious (probably not, but...) so to have him thinking the same thing didn't  help.  Or maybe it did.  I contacted IMC Cancer Center and they emailed me back with an orthopedic surgeon who specializes in sarcomas.  Got my appointment for Thursday.  That's all been moving around in my brain just below the surface at all times.  And sadly, it's effecting my reliability.  I completely forgot that I had offered to usher at  Pioneer Theatre Company for Memorial Weekend with my mom.  She completely forgot too.  Maybe she has to chalk her faux pas to age.

I find myself impatient and short-tempered with Trent when he doesn't remember what I said to him 2 seconds before or isn't listening to me, but deciding how to handle  my problems without my input. 

We went to the temple yesterday.  I had male names that needed initiatory and just female names needing endowment before we have the group ready for sealings.  When given the choice, Trent said he wanted to do initiatory and that he would pick me up in front of the temple when I was finished.  I just missed the session so I was 20 minutes later than he expected me.  When I finally got to the car waiting for  me, not only did he not seem put out, he had gone to Great Harvest and gotten my favorite "orange craisin scones." 

Then, after a graduation party, a trip to Jordan Landing for the girls and arriving back home, we again remembered our desperate need for 9 volt batteries.  He didn't want to go alone, but I still had a newsletter to finish.  I should also mention that I had gone to Sam's earlier in the day and forgot to get them myself earlier.  We had gotten to the point yesterday that 10+ smoke detectors that have begun beeping at us all at once.  To be fair about 4 were going off throughout the house the past couple months, but this weekend, it seemed like they all joined in until I finally couldn't stand the idea of us all dying in our sleep as the house burned down around us.  Unfortunately, out of hearing range, out of mind, because instead of the batteries, I ended up with a whole slough of yard and swim items and no batteries.  So,  even though Trent wasn't thrilled to do it, he showed up with a drink for me when he arrived home.  And then proceeded to replace the batteries.  The house hasn't been this beep-free for months!

That's not to mention the dozen roses he brought me to work last Tuesday saying he knew I needed a pick-me-up,   I am so proud of him when  I see him teach swim lessons and have fun with the kids. 

He has been such a support to me.  I can't imagine what my life would be without him.  Everyone deserves to have that special someone to make them feel cherished and loved.  To all those who have experienced the opposite, I say be patient and don't settle for less!

Memorial Weekend Reflections

Saturday of Memorial weekend, Trent and I were running errands as we drove past the cemetery where my sister and grandparents have been laid to rest.   Can I just say I hate the cemetery.  I hate that 29 years after my sister passed, I still can't help but cry when I think of all that we missed.  I know I will see her again.  I know that she is free of the pain and difficulty that would have been hers had she lived.  This mortal life is not an easy thing to experience.  To me she was perfect and consequently, what 9 year old wouldn't receive all that heaven has to offer.

I have concluded over the years, that it is me I feel sorry for.  I can't seem to forgive myself for not holding her hand the last day she was alive.  I didn't know how close she was to dying.  She spent the day moaning as she lay in the rented hospital bed that had been in our living room for months.

I hated the continual reminder of what was to come.  I just wanted to remember her as she was, a beautiful girl with her long, strawberry blond hair and blue eyes that sparkled.  Not the girl who was now blind, deaf and unable to talk due to paralysis. 

Early on, when we first learned her prognosis was terminal, she had told me she was afraid to die.  I still cling to my faith that what I told her at the young age of 15 is as true today as it was then.  That she would be free of the pain and that grandpa would be there to meet her, to welcome her home.  That she would not be afraid, but happy and at peace.

Maybe that was one of my better moments.  The one that haunts me still is that her last day, I focused more on myself and trying to avoid the pain, than embrace it and her head-on.   I talked to my mom about the moaning and crying.  My mom said, "She just wants to be close to you."  Rather than hold her hand and spend time with her, I stayed in my room with my adolescent interests, trying to drowned out what I referred to at the time, as the constant noise.  By the end of what seemed a day that would never end, I begged my mom to take her to the hospital where she could get something for the pain.  My parents, I think, had wanted to have her pass at home, but decided to take her.

The next morning, we went to school as usual.  When I came home, I noticed my dad's work truck in the garage.  My dad never took a sick or vacation day from work--ever.  I immediately knew that something was up.  I called my aunt who was watching my baby brother to see what she knew.  Rather than answer my question, she told me to hold on.  My mom came to the phone.  I tried to wrap my brain around my mom being at my aunt's and not at the hospital with Becky.  That is when my mom told me that Becky had died in the hospital earlier that day.  While I was home in bed that night, my parents tried to load her in the car.  When she stopped breathing, they had called an ambulance.  She had stopped breathing 3 times on the way to the hospital, but started on her own each time, finally taking her last breath later that morning with my mom at her side.

Even though I knew she was terminal, because of the location of a benign tumor growing in her brain-stem, I still didn't recognize the end.  I didn't take the opportunity to hold her hand or say good bye.  I would like to think that I have learned something from this.  That perhaps this experience has helped me appreciate the fragility of life and increased the number of times I have said something I otherwise would have left unsaid.  Still, I take things and people for granted at times and there is definitely more room for improvement.

Here's to my dear, sweet baby sister, Rebecca  Helen Mills.  I named my baby after you.  You are always in my thoughts.  If you had lived, I know we would have been there for each other.  Mom always said you and I were most alike spiritually.  I like to think we would have been there for each other through thick and thin and would have understood each other, shared the same values and goals and been best friends.  You are one of the biggest reasons I try to be the best person I can be.  I want to be worthy to be with you some day.  To me you are perfect and each day I strive to be worthy to dwell with you in God's presence.

I do not like to think of your body in a grave, but I will put aside those feelings, to take my children there each Memorial Day, so they can feel the sacredness and solemnity and know that I have not nor ever will, forget you.

Colds and Callouses

I am spending my day in bed, nursing a cold.  Trent told me I should read and relax and "stay off the computer", he said.  "Why?"  I had to ask.  "It stresses you out to be on the computer.  Don't do it.  No Computer."  "Nonsense."  I said (well, maybe not those exact words) - and here I am, hours later, typing away.

I began writing my 3rd chapter of  my book - Day 3 of my count down before I moved out in the dead of night to hide out until after my now ex was served with the protective order I had taken out on him.  That got me questioning the order of things and so I pulled out  my journals and began reading...  that, of course, brings back all sorts of memories.  The problem is, I poured out my heart in my journals during the worst of times.  I know there were good times.  I alluded to them and even mentioned that my entries made everything sound so bad with my marriage - but there were good times too.  Unfortunately, they only lasted for a few hours or days.  I mentioned how my first husband would blame me for our problems, and tell me I was weird, that all his previous girlfriends had liked doing this perverse act or that.  Wish I'd known about those girlfriends before I married him.

In just the year of time I covered in my reading, he had locked me out of the house twice, kicked a hole in the wall, thrown a sack of flour at me while I sat at our new computer,  torn the latch off the wall,because I locked the screen door so I could leave the main door open for the breeze and didn't get to the door to let him in in time.  He didn't feel that he should have to ring the door bell or knock to be let in his own house.  He didn't like it when I retorted that he had locked me out two days earlier and I lived here too.  There was a reference to his girlfriend, Samantha,, that at the time he had denied having an affair with (only to admit to it 6 years later after I left him), and threats to go meet up with his other girlfriends if I didn't get my act together (he said it in not so nice words though).  That's not the worst of it, but I'll spare you the details.

When I re-read my journal entries, it is hard not to want to beat myself up emotionally for staying through  such emotional abuse.  I am so grateful for my sweet husband who builds me up continually.  This morning, as I looked in the mirror, first thing out of bed, I commented on the leftover mascara under my eyes, and my funky hair in the words, "Man, I look hashed this morning."  Trent  told me not to say that about myself.  That I was so incredibly beautiful and I should never forget it. 

What a stark contrast from the name calling I received daily with my first husband.

My ex does deserve some points.  He did say, repeatedly in a letter I saved, that it was probably his fault that things were bad between us and that he wasn't blaming me.  He said that some day I would realize it and leave him.  I was a glutton for punishment I guess, because it took me 7 years to do it.

I  marvel how things change given the amount of experience one has.  My realm of experience was so limited then, I couldn't imagine life without Horace (I do believe that is how I've referred to him in the past).  I loved him so much it hurt to think of life without him, even minus his drinking and smoking, swearing, and cheating, and damage to our belongings, including me.  Now, I find it hard to remember why I stayed.  If I hadn't stayed as long as I did, I wouldn't be with my sweety pie now.  I wouldn't have had my two oldest kids.  I wouldn't appreciate what I now have in my current marriage, and I wouldn't be the strong, independent, successful, self-assured woman I am today - even if I do think I look a bit hashed in the mornings!  So - maybe my heart is a bit calloused because of my first relationship and I'm having a hard time getting to the sweet, juicy tidbits of reasons for loving my first husband, but I'm better for it.

PS - That doesn't mean I would wish my experiences on anyone else to teach them what I learned the hard way.  Learn from my mistakes!  Don't repeat them!

Surviving Boot Camp, unwelcome zits and More

Boot Camp:

I attended my first Boot Camp at the 2013 Storymakers Conference in Provo, Utah this past Thursday.  It was a bit intimidating to meet with Abel Keogh and 3 other writers.  We each had about an hour to read our 15 selected pages and then get feedback from the others.  I sat to Abel's right.  He began with the woman to his left.  They knew each other, having both served in the same mission at the same time; Romania, I believe.  Her story was amazing.  She was helping her mother write her memoir about escaping from the oppression beginning just prior to Stalin's death.  It was very well written and gripping.  Abel began with his critique and then we went around the table from his left.  That meant that I got the last turn every time.  The first time around, we had only 3 minutes for me to get my 2 cents in.  Not that I minded.  It's just that everything I had to say had already been said and I didn't feel I had much to add.  Not sure that I added much to our group.  I certainly gained a lot for myself.

The 2nd story was a fantasy taking place in the Garden of Eden with an Arch Angel that gave up immortality to save the day.  We started on chapters 3 and 4.  It was an original idea that I wouldn't have thought of and well written.  I wished I had read the first two chapters because I felt myself lost and trying to make sense of who was who.  I shared these comments in a positive way.

I went 3rd because the man who would have gone third had not copied his pages yet and needed to do this during the break.

I became emotional a few times as I read through the 15 pages.  I got it back together each time, but how embarrassing!  Then I had to wait until after the 30 minute break to hear what people had to say for the most part.  That was difficult.  I started second guessing myself.  I was most shocked to hear the men say they would definitely read it.  I figured women might find it interesting or gripping.  Everyone was hooked and wanted more.  I have a few things I want to change to clarify some questions, but I'm thinking posting the first chapter and asking for feedback would be helpful. 

It was suggested that I swap the sub title and title of my book to:  "Recognizing the Signs of an Abusive Relationship:  Lessons learned in love and loss."

What do you think?

The final critique was of the first two chapters of a murder mystery.  I'm a bit squeamish when it comes to swearing and talk of female gender body parts and pubic hair, so that took me by surprise.  He said he was most interested in hearing my perspective having been in an abusive marriage.  That surprised me.  I do wish that the book could be written without the swearing because after growing up in a home with plenty of it and then my first husband using a swear word or two every sentence, I prefer to avoid profanity.

I love working at an elementary school where I don't hear foul language and to be married to a man, who with his Methodist background and upbringing refrains from swearing.  For me, staying away from profanity is what I need to do to feel the influence of the spirit in my life.  I never want to be without that guidance in my life again.

Conference Highlights:

I have to say that my favorite instructor was John D. Brown.  I found his information applicable and something I could use immediately to help in my writing.  Hannah Bowman, an agent from back east, also gave great information which enabled me to get my whole book mapped out in 15 minutes.

I can now say I have definitely  met my 100 licensure points for my teaching license.  I am now ready to upgrade to a level 2/3 license thanks to my first two years out of college working for Jordan School District.  That means I am completing my 3rd year of working as a teacher.  Yippee!

The other items that stand out to me had nothing to do with the conference, however.  My face breaking out was a huge inconvenience for  me.  I'm 45 years old.  Shouldn't my face start to cooperate by now.  I don't know if it was due to the stress of Boot Camp and needing to be observed a couple more times by my principle last week, or what, but I have to say I'm dreading being seen by anyone today - and I'm usually not that vain!

Finally, spending time with my best friend of over 30 years, Kelli, was amazing.  We giggled hysterically as usual.  We stayed up until the wee hours talking about things I don't think I ever knew about her growing up.  I realize that I may have lost the sister that was most like me to a brain tumor, but Heavenly Father gave me Kelli to be able to be close to.

Mothers' Day:

Mothers' Day has been amazing so far.  It began with breakfast in bed - scrambled eggs, Greek strawberry yogurt and enormous strawberries and watermelon. 

Chalyse had dropped a present by a couple hours before I returned home from the conference.  I waited to open it up this morning.  "Beautiful Day" body spray, lotion and shower gel.  She knows what I like.

Then I had two treasure hunts to find my other gifts.  First - my favorite candybars:  Twix and Snickers and second:  Each clue led to a piece of a charm bracelet - with each charm representing a member of my family with their birth stone.  There was also a picture on the computer - my last stop - of the concrete rounded benches I want for our gazebo where climbing roses wend their way through the metal framework to the top.  Some day, I hope to have electricity to the fountain that sits in the center of the gazebo.  I think it will be a beautiful place to sit and ponder in the summer evenings when things have slowed down and cooled off.

A week of injuries

At this very moment, I am listening to Trent groan as he tries to get dressed to head to Sunday morning meetings.  Yesterday afternoon, as I was working on our new Little Flippers website (I do hope I can get it finished) Steven came running upstairs.  "Mom, dad has hurt himself.  You need to take him to the doctor.  He spurted blood all over me."  My initial reaction wasn't one of shock and dismay, but rather, "Here we go again."  You see, if Trent is working on the yard or a home repair project, you can pretty much guarantee that he will injure himself.  Not all of the injuries have required Instacare or ER visits, but a good portion have.

As I drove him to Instacare yesterday, we laughed about his previous antics.  The highlights include him putting a nail through his hand while building our chicken coop; taking part of his ear off while putting together some shelves for our storage room (13 stitches and me going in to shock as he was stitched up to put him back together that time).  Then there was the tumbling head over heels over the wheelbarrow as he ran pushing a "lazy man's load" at break neck speed where he hit a bump that sent him flying and did literally almost break his neck.

Not to mention the injuries from rugby.  I never did tell him to stop playing.  I just insisted early on playing a sport where he was frequently kicked in the head that we get disability insurance on him.  He quit a few years after that.

At a certain point in life, you begin to question whether you are too old for certain things.  For example, I asked myself that exact question this past Monday.   About the time I was heaving  my body over a blow up obstacle at Classic Skating and came down just as my 6 year olds foot was coming up and booting me in the eye, I was thinking, "I'm too old for this."  After spending the past week using purple and blue eye shadow to try and cover my first ever black eye, I'm thinking I may have experienced my last rodeo.  Who knows, my desire to prove to myself that I'm not that may still win out.

We spent a couple hours getting him stitched up.  He did go down to the bone and had to have internal stitches plus another 8 to close him up on the outside. 

Personal Betrayal, Panic Triggers and Signs of an Abuser

How's that for a title?  Heavy stuff!

So here I am in sunny, warm Austin Texas... well at the moment, it's overcast, but the past 3 days have been so much warmer than where I came from.

Amid the resort pools, spa, abundant food supply, Texas Longhorns and yes, a few bugs, I have been spending my time thinking on "personal betrayal, panic triggers and signs of an abuser."  As I said, "heavy stuff!"

Last Monday, my honey and I went to a counseling appointment with Scott Anderson.  We were troubled about one of our adult children who regularly storms out on us when we say something she doesn't want to hear for various reasons.  We don't realize something we say will offend her until she is offended.  That is, to us, they aren't obvious. Maybe we are clueless.  It isn't that we aren't intelligent folk.  Despite my hubby's Oklahoman drawal, he did graduate Valedictorian from a 5A school and is a Mechanical Engineer.  I, in turn, may not be a wiz at math, but I did gradute with honors with a  Master's Degree in Speech/Language Pathology and have studied human behavior, behavior management and the like.  It seems we can say the same thing someone else says, but when we say it we're awful people. 

There are several things that we learned from Scott Anderson regarding human behavior:
http://www.healthgrades.com/provider/scott-anderson-2lvyp/address#OfficesAndHospitalsPracticesAndOffices_anchor

Personal Betrayal:  This is the term used to describe what we each do the very moment we decide not to take responsibility for our role in something.  After all, it takes two to fight.  At the moment we decide not to take responsibility, we immediately turn to blaming someone else. 

Since we began counseling, Trent and I are both better at taking responsibility for our part in things.  That has helped immensely.  In fact, we have spent 4 days at a resort in Austin and haven't fought once, even with him driving too close to the bumper ahead of us going 80 on the freeway (the speed limit on the toll road we were on) or looking at his cell phone while driving which quite upsets me. 

As I was telling myself that he just didn't care about me after the  upteenth time of asking him to stop doing stuff with his cell phone, or pointing out that if the car ahead slammed on the breaks we would be dead, dead, I changed tactics.  I told myself that if he truly understood what this was doing to me, he wouldn't behave the way he was.  So I shared with him the thoughts that I had been experiencing durirng our 5 of 6 hours of driving from Austin to Dallas and back to visit his sister who had been practically living in ICU for a month and a day.  That's a whole other story...

Once Trent heard that I had planned my funeral, assured myself that the kids would be well cared for by my best friend of 30+ years, that our financial planner had copies of our wills and that my mom would know where to get them and the insurance policies, not to mention having wondered if we actually survived a crash, if we'd end up in the same hospital we were headed to so that Trent's mom, sister and other relatives might visit us and get the word to our family back home, that my stomach was tied up in knots and that I was thoroughly not enjoying myself, Trent actually handed me his cell  phone and allowed me to do as directed as he tried to conduct business most of the way. 

What a difference it has made to take responsibility for things we can control and not blame.  It sure helps with those warm fuzzies!

Panic Triggers:  This is the most valuable thing we learned about through counseling.
Those moments when you go from feeling fine, even happy, to ready to strangle your spouse are the product of what are referred to as "panic triggers."  It's when the fight or flight impulse kicks in.  We were told that the emotion of "anger" actually  masks some other emotion such as fear, sorrow, etc.  Trent and I were able to look at those moments and identify what the trigger was for us and why it is such a trigger.  Now that we each know our own and each other's triggers, it is easier to take responsibility for our own actions and have empathy towards the other person.

For example, Trent often used command forms when talking to me.  Now, I don't know too  many spouses that appreciate being told what they should, need, or ought to be doing by their sweetie pie, but for  me, it wasn't just that I didn't like it, I would go from being happy to ready to fight.  I'm not at all surprised that this is a panic trigger for me after being married to someone who controlled everything from the number of times we could pray a day to the type of music we could listen to, to what I was allowed to do in order to avoid him getting angry with me and making me pay.

Now that we both know this is what is happening, instead of him thinking I'm over-exaggerating or me thinking he's a control-freak like my ex, we are able to talk through the situation.  He apologizes quickly if he triggers panic and I recognize why I'm panicked and can get it back together. 

Trent has his own panic trigger that goes back to an traumatic incident when he was a child.  Learning about these situations has created more empathy and caring for each other and made for a much more emotionally rewarding marriage!

The book Scott Anderson directed us to read that explains panic triggers is "Hold Me Tight:  Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love" by Sue Johnson.  http://www.holdmetight.net/

Signs of an Abuser:  Lastly, as I have been preparing my 15 pages for my Boot Camp experience 2 weekends from now, I was doing a bit of research.  The whole premise of my book is to help others avoid what I did, by being aware of the signs of an abuser before getting attached.  I'm hoping by vicariously experiencing the result of not recognizing the signs and pointing them out, others won't have to go through what I did - or if they are in a relationship like mine, they will know how to get out.  Reading the following helped me understand why it is so hard to see the signs before getting attached: 

"Emotional abuse, verbal abuse, and domestic violence are on the rise, especially among young people. The risk of falling into an abusive relationship is greater than ever.

There are obvious red flags to avoid in a prospective lover, such as angry, controlling, possessive, jealous, or violent behavior. Unfortunately, most abusers are able to mask these tendencies in dating. By the time many people notice the obvious red flags, they're already attached to an abuser, which makes it much harder for them to leave the relationship."  http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/anger-in-the-age-entitlement/200812/are-you-dating-abuser

It's a great article.  Wish it had been around back in the late 80s when I was dating!

Enjoy!