Let all that you do be done in love.

      I remember taking the test on a whim, just to rule out another reason my body was acting weird.  Despite the fact that we'd been trying to get pregnant, I had confidence that it would surely be negative.  But then two, thin lines appeared on the test strip, and I slammed open the bathroom door to my husband, and screamed in excitement for him to look too.  Two lines indeed, and in an instant, I was lifted into his arms, and we were in newlywed,  parents-to-be bliss, as we spun 'round and 'round in the kitchen of our first home.  Just like it should be.
      "Where did that man go?", I wonder, only five years later.  That man, who breathed through contractions with me, and proudly helped me through years of breastfeeding and advocated to his work buddies how awesome cloth diapering was. Did I have him wrong all along, or can a person change so much, so fast?  This man loves his children, no doubt,  but he is not the man I envisioned as a father to my children.   That man would never childishly mock me in front of, or even to, my children.  That man would have always given his last penny to make sure all of their needs - not just wants - were met.  This man I know now refuses to pay child support, instead dropping cash on yet another toy, or Happy Meal,  or trip out of town.  He is the good guy, the fun daddy, and I get to be the mom who constantly must say no to another doll or dress,  or to eating fast food, or to buying expensive snacks at the grocery store.  I get to regularly hear,  "But Daddy ::insert whatever wonderful, expensive thing Daddy does here::". 
      My ex husband tells me I should be paying him child support, in spite of the fact that my kids spend at least 4 (and usually more like 5 or 6) nights at my house per week...  Or the fact that my income is a considerable amount less than his... Yes, in spite of these things, he feels I should be paying him child support.
      Generally speaking, I don't take time with my kids off for any reason, except work. On the rare occasion, like when I took a night off because I was in a wedding, I am always sure to pick up any extra time I can to make up for lost time. I do not give up nights with my kids weekly for date nights, or trips out of town, as has happened on the other side.  No, my date nights consist of a couple of drinks shared on the patio with my boyfriend, after wrangling the kids into bed, and soon after, crashing into bed to start all over again the next morning.  That is my life as a mommy, and I accepted that when I chose to bring little lives into this world.  When things come up, and my ex cannot, or will not, watch the kids during times when he is supposed to, it is my family to which this burden falls.  Time and again, my family takes on the extra time, despite what they may have going on in their own lives. I am so grateful for this, and yet, bear so much guilt for all of the help they provide.
      It is hard to co-parent because of the times when I must completely let go and trust that he will provide the attention and love that I know that I provide. When my daughter tells my boyfriend, "did you know my daddy doesn't love you or [your son]?", I cringe and wonder what else her innocent, little ears are hearing.  I find comfort in her following up with, "but that's okay, because I love you and [your son]", and I silently pray that she will always have the confidence and fortitude to have her own opinions.
      I know that, from experience, kids are very much aware of the negative things that one parent says about the other, and I know that all I can do is continue to express my frustrations into an outlet that my kids do not have to witness.  My hope is that one day, this will all become easier, for my kids, for me, for everyone involved.

This night so still / For dawn does come swiftly

      When I used to be a stay at home mom, I didn't appreciate the gift I had. I heard all the time how fortunate I was to "have the luxury" to be a SAHM, and I knew from a financial standpoint, that I really was.  But I don't know that I ever really realized the incredible gift of time with my kids that I had. I spent a lot of my days tired and maybe a little grumpy. I felt like I was meant for so much more than "just" changing diapers and washing dishes. I was jealous of my then husband, who got to escape from the household and parenting duties to go play Army on the daily.  He got to engage in conversations with real, in the flesh, adults, and my social life ceased to exist outside of my laptop's keys.  The monotony of staying home with two small children in a place where I knew next to no one weighed heavy on me for sure, and I thought often of when I'd find myself back in a classroom or on somebody's payroll. I had no idea the incredible blessing that I was wishing away every single day.
      When my ex and I separated, I saw it as a blessing in disguise that I would have to find work immediately. I snagged a job very quickly that had me working 40+ hours a week, and I was grateful for the distraction from my crumbling marriage, and the cross country move I'd just made.  I made friends for the first time in my adult life where our only common ground wasn't just that we were married to the military.  Although in retrospect, these friendships were short lived, they were exactly what I needed at the time, and I keep them in a happy spot in the back of my head, grateful for the personal growth these friends unknowingly sparked in me.
      When I first because a single mom, I had the first opportunity to go out with friends, child free. It was new, different, and fun, and I was appreciative of the break it gave me from just being a mom 24/7.
      Time passed though, and the more "freedom" I got from "just being a mom", the more I yearned for the time when my only duty was showing my children my unending love.  Sure, I'd had household chores, and had handled the finances as a SAHM.  But what I'd never had to do was work multiple jobs, hardly see my children, and despite my best efforts, still have to figure out which bill was just not going to get paid this month.
      It is now, when the luxury of being a stay at home mom is so completely unattainable, that I yearn for it. I don't want to share my kids, and I don't like having to stuff their backpacks with the dolls and pajamas that they just don't want to go without while they're with Daddy or Grandma, or Aunt Heather.  I know it is silly to feel this way when I see my kids way more now than I did for ten very long months last year, but I still feel like I don't get nearly the time that I desire with them.  They are little for such a short time, and I feel it is slipping by in the hours while I work,  and it scares me. I know that one day, I will wake up, and it will be the morning of my daughter's graduation, and I will cry and wonder how in the world this day has already come. My son will announce an engagement to a future spouse, and I will think back to when his biggest worry was what spoon he was going to pick to eat his oatmeal.
      I wish I could quit my two jobs, or even just one, but I can't and will probably never be able to realistically do that.  I think back to when I longed to work outside the home, and I wish I could tell my former self how absolutely blessed I was. When I felt like I couldn't take one more temper tantrum or wet diaper, or one more episode of Elmo's World, I would tell 21-year-old me to cuddle closer, to sing those Laurie Berkner songs another time, and to push the double stroller around the block for just a few more loops.
      It is now when I would give up anything I could to just have my littles stay home with me all day long.

The bright moon is like our heart, undivided and true

With the six year anniversary of the first time I went to South Korea coming up in just 4 days, I've been thinking about my time there a lot in the last couple of weeks, and wishing my memories of it weren't fading as the years pass.

In the two years that I spent living in Korea, I complained a lot, and never, in a million years, would have convinced my 19-20 year old self that I would one day miss nearly everything about it.  My complaints weren't out of left field - there truly was a lot to complain about.

If you've never been to South Korea, then I could probably ramble for twenty minutes about the smell of the country, and still - you would be unable to truly grasp the pungent odor that radiates throughout the country.  Rice paddies are prevalent throughout the countryside in Korea, and farmers use manure - horse, cow, and yes, even human - to fertilize their crops.  Combine that with kimchi season, and you have a potent mixture that is truly unforgettable (and most certainly not in a good way).

I lived in the Nam-Gu district of Daegu, which is in the Gyeongsangbuk-do province.  It's pretty centrally located on the eastern side of the peninsula, not too far of a drive from the coast.  Of course, in South Korea, there's pretty much nothing that's too far of a drive.  Even North Korea's border was only about a six hour drive from our front door, which was as terrifying as it was fascinating.  Do you remember in 2009 when North Korea conducted a nuclear test?   I bet you don't, but I do.  It defined my life for several months, keeping me on my toes, and wondering constantly if I was going to be uprooted from my home and sent back to the states.  I was almost 6 months pregnant at the time, and I was ordered to pack my bags immediately, and to ensure that I packed enough food and water to last me for at least 72 hours.  A map from the military post nearby to the front door of my villa was turned into my ex husband's chain of command in case shit went down, so to speak, and they had to come find me to send me back overseas, out of danger.  It was unnerving to think about the very real possibilities that came with living in South Korea as a non-combatant and an American citizen.   And then there was the time in 2010 when a South Korean navy ship was sunk near the border between the North and the South.  There were the constant protests just outside of my house.  We were warned of them by the garrison commander almost daily, and told where they would be taking place.  Our orders were always to avoid the areas at all costs.  They protested tons of things from South Korean law to the president to things that hit very close to home, like the Anti-US protesters, who spewed their bitter anger at the Americans for bringing their bases to South Korea and invading their cities.  I'll probably never forget the time when my friend, Terri, and I were out shopping downtown one day either.  That day, we were followed and watched by two men in turbans and robes.  They were the men we all had been warned about when we first got to Korea.  These men were associated with Al-Qaeda, and their purpose was not to harm us or even speak to us, only to intimidate us, to silently let us know that they were around, and that their presence was alive and well.  Living overseas kept me on my toes, absolutely.

But it wasn't all scary either.  It was about a twelve minute walk from my front door to the metal gates that separated the little America that was Camp Walker from the rest of Daegu.  Almost daily, when I made those walks, I always happened to pass the boys and girls in their school uniforms, knapsacks cinched up high on their backs.  And always, always, they would run to my daughter in her stroller, gooing and gaaing at her, completely enamored with the "small white baby".  Then, they'd look at me and say "Hello, hello, how are you?" and whenever I'd answer back "fine" or "doing good, how are you?", they would dissolve in a fit of giggles and run away, totally amused that they were able to practice their broken English on an American woman.

I remember waking up just about every morning at dawn to the sound of loudspeaker fruit trucks.  Imagine it - a farmer's market on wheels with a megaphone for the driver to declare, very loudly, the day's specials.  I hardly knew the exact things they were saying since I was far from fluent in Korean, but being woken at the crack of dawn from the sounds of a loudspeaker is annoying, regardless of if you have any idea what is going on.  I remember my first experience with the loudspeaker trucks scared the hell out of me - as I was sure that they were announcing the fall of the president or the invasion of North Koreans.  I soon realized their apples and watermelons and potatoes and smelly, freshly caught fish were hardly something to be unnerved by.

The cicadas.  Oh good god, the cicadas.  The chirping, and the clicking.  This is something else that I will never forget about South Korea.  They are large bugs that live in the trees, and are actually pretty hard to see.  Their chirps, though, are about 75 decibels of loudness, and when you compare that to a cell phone ringer being somewhere around 70 decibels, you can probably imagine why hundreds of them are hard to forget.  Maybe you've heard them here in America, but believe me, I just don't think its possible to understand their true range of annoyance until you've stepped foot in Korea.

Sunsets in this country are another thing that I hope I can always remember.  They will knock your breath away with their beauty.  My favorite part of my home was the unbelievable view that it gave me to watch the sun go down every night.  The pastels of purples and oranges and reds blended together like they were painted perfectly above the mountain ranges.  Their allure was something I loved most, and miss truly, about Korea.

I find it truly awesome that my daughter will forever bear South Korea as her birth country, and where she spent the first eleven and a half months of her life.   It is here where I became a mother, and where she and I learned to face the world, mostly on our own.  You see, it seemed like my ex husband was hardly home.  His job kept him away until all hours of the night, and then there were the times when he was gone for weeks, playing army (or as they called it, "training" :-P) further up north.  I felt secluded from real life sometimes, as I sort of lived like a hermit when he was away.  We were always warned not to go out alone, so I was afraid to, afraid that I would somehow find myself in danger.  Aside from the warnings though, I was crippled by how young I was, and how little confidence I had in myself. I grew up in Korea, and I learned a lot.  One day, I hope that I can take my children back there, to show my daughter the hospital where she was born, and the 11th floor apartment where she took her first steps.  I want to show her the park she first rode on the swings at and the river that runs through the center of the city, the one that we used to walk past in her stroller.  I want her to experience the sights and the smells and the people, and to appreciate that at one time, this was home. 






"Welcome to Colorful Daegu"







남산 위에 저 소나무 철갑을 두른 듯
바람서리 불변함은 우리 기상일세
가을 하늘 공활한데 높고 구름 없이
밝은 달은 우리 가슴 일편단심일세

"As the pine atop Namsan Peak stands firm, unchanged through wind and frost,
as if wrapped in armour, so shall our resilient spirit.
The Autumn skies are void and vast, high and cloudless;
the bright moon is like our heart, undivided and true."

Everyone falls and spins.

I've been thinking a lot about where I've been the last couple of years lately, and it felt like something I needed to get out.  A lot of my regular blog readers know most of my story, but as I know several of you reading this don't know me from Adam, I'll recount in a little more depth.

Around the time I got married in April of 2008, I weighed about 175 pounds, give or take a few.  My daughter, Cori was born in September of 2009, and I weighed 211 pounds the day she made her arrival.  Over the next 12 months, I managed to get down to 154 pounds, which is when my second child was conceived.  The day that my son, Avery, was born in June 2011, I weighed in at 224 lbs, which was certainly the most I'd ever weighed.  By September of 2012, I had lost 85 pounds through TurboFire and running (okay, and breastfeeding), and was 4 pounds shy of my ultimate goal of 135 pounds. During this month, my brother came home from Afghanistan, and oddly enough, my husband and I separated the same weekend. I was forced to move across the country with my 1 and 2 year old children, and start a new life sans husband/daddy. I had to go back to work since being a stay at home mom didn't pay the bills, and sadly, my son weaned as a result. 

Shortly after, I began a cycle of bad eating, binge drinking, failure to exercise, and a string of other bad habits. I found safety at the bottom of fruity, high calorie drinks that took the edge off of my marital worries, and when I found out about my husband's infidelity that he had covered up time and again, it was clear that our separation would soon become a divorce.  My picture perfect family was over.  My self esteem was at an all time low.  It was then that I tried to find beauty in myself, by finding myself in the beds of men I knew would never respect me.  I convinced myself that what I was doing was normal, not unhealthy at all, and that I was finding myself.  As it turned out, I did find myself, but not before plummeting to a complete depression at the person I had become and the dangerous lifestyle I had fallen into.  Over the previous 5 months, I had gained a total of 54 pounds, and had lost all self respect, with good reason.  Suffice it to say I was absolutely disgusted with myself.

In June 2013, I began training with two ROTC instructors from Furman University, working once again towards my goal of joining the US Army.  I worked with them for several months, and though I lost weight very slowly, and sometimes not at all, I found an unbelievable strength (and not just physical) through the weights I lifted.  I ended up losing about 12 or 13 pounds, and lingered just above 180 pounds.  I struggled hard to hit 165 pounds, the weight required for me to join the military, but I kept at it, and my recruiters and I made plans for me to hopefully leave for basic training over the next several months, so that I would be enrolled in the ROTC program at Furman by the next academic year.  When I blew my knee out in August of 2013, I knew my dreams of being a soldier were undoubtedly gone, but I focused on the injury and another distraction in my life, and didn't put too much thought into the sadness behind it all. 

Just a few short weeks before sustaining my injury, I met Spencer, and had no idea he was going to change my life in huge, huge ways.  We clicked immediately, and our undeniable chemistry had me constantly wanting more.  We took our friendship to the next level, and began dating by the end of August.  My surgery for my knee was in September of 2013, and thus began many grueling months of recovery, and tears, and pain.  In mid-January 2014, I ran for the first time, much to my physical therapist's dismay and something my surgeon had said I may not do again.  It felt incredible, and I knew I wasn't stopping.  I was careful not to re-injure myself, but was absolutely ready to continue my fitness journey, since I'd been sitting at 181 pounds pretty constantly for the last 7 or 8 months.  I was fortunate not to gain a single pound while I was laid up after my surgery. 

I picked up TurboFire off and on, always careful to keep everything low impact, but that didn't keep the workouts quite as fun, and it was harder for me to find motivation to do them.  Still, I kept at them, and also mixed in some of Jillian's 30 Day Shred.  Spencer and I started running together too, something I have loved from the first time we did it.  He motivates me to push harder, and take that extra stride when I'm out of breath and dying to quit.  We don't get to do it much, since we have three little kids between us, but when we do, I really cherish it.

Now that it is April 2014, I am at 165 pounds, and happier than I have ever actually been.  I still have a lot of very real struggles that come with single parenthood, but I am happy with where my life is at, and where I see that it is going.  I have slowly rebuilt my self esteem and when my boyfriend tells me that I'm beautiful (something I haven't heard nor believed in many, many years) or what an incredible mother I am (something I'd never heard), I actually believe him.  I have much respect for the journey my life has taken me on over the years, including the struggles and the triumphs.  I get to wake up to a house full of love, my beautiful children, and my incredible man.  Through the struggle, I never saw myself here, but here I am.  I don't necessarily strive to be 135 pounds again because I've learned through my fitness adventure how little the number on the scale really means, but I do look forward to getting in better and better shape every day, to defining my muscles, and getting stronger, physically and mentally. 

The struggle makes the success even sweeter, my friends.  The struggle makes the success so sweet.

Little Razorblade

I knew this girl once, like a sister.  She knew exactly how to get under my skin, to make me feel inferior, disguised with a friendly, helpful mask.  She was the person I had when I had no one else.  At the pit of my divorce, when friends were scarce and family was far, I turned to she-who-had-ultimately-betrayed-me because no one else was around.  I looked past the whining and the irritation and, time after time, I looked past her multiple betrayals because I just needed someone.  When I gained the confidence to stand up for myself, I set myself apart from the friendship, if that's what you could call it.  I told her it was time for us to part ways, and despite her begging, I told her the relationship was hurting me too much for it to continue.  Once I separated myself from her, I felt like I was finally able to breathe.  My esteem soared and I realized that all that time, she had dragged me through the mud to make herself feel only better.  Months have passed since we last spoke, and all in all, I am a much happier, more positive person.  So why do I still miss her?

Scars are not injuries. A scar is what makes you whole.

If you go back through my blogs to not-so-long-ago, there's a post that was written by a sad, lost, and utterly heartbroken me.  It detailed the feelings surrounding what I went through when I found out that my husband cheated on me, that things were really over between us, and I couldn't, for even a moment, bring myself to believe there was life on the other side.  I can't believe how much I've grown since that post was written just last April, but I am so, so proud of myself.

I was still reeling from the terrible feelings of my ex husband's infidelity until pretty recently, until I really stopped to think about why it still bothered me so much.  As I've said many times in my blog, and as I can only imagine I will say many, many more times, everything happens for a reason, and I stand by it.  Divorce is a nasty animal, and I wouldn't ever try to pretend that I didn't take part in the bitter, ugly slur fest that went on in my own divorce.  When you're in the depths of love, you don't picture yourself calling your husband horrible, nasty names or wishing things upon him that no one should have to hear.  And I don't think it's ever one sided - it happened to me, just like I did it back to him.  Everyone tells themselves and those around them that they'll be the ones who never face divorce, that they'll beat all odds.  And then when they are staring it in the face, their tune changes in that they'll never be the people that have a angry, difficult divorce.  It happens, and I've come to believe that it's all a part of the process of getting through it.

I forgive him for everything that happened.  I didn't think I'd ever live to see the day when I really meant that, but I do.  It doesn't matter what happened or why, just that it did, and we both survived.  Sure, we didn't survive together, but we weren't meant to, and that's okay.

When I fell in love at 15, and got married at 18, and even when I had my first child at 19, I thought I was the luckiest person in the whole world.  I was in love and our love had no boundaries.  We were perfect.  Perfect for that stage of my life.  I shrugged off the opinions of people who told me that I'd change a whole lot in my 20s and that things I desired when I was 17 (and newly engaged) wouldn't at all be things I'd want for myself when I was in my mid-20s.  If I could go back in time, I know I still wouldn't believe those people, and I'm okay with that.  I could never regret falling in love at 15, or getting married, or having two kids at such a young age, and I especially couldn't regret going through a separation at 22 and subsequent divorce at 23.  Nobody wants those things for their life, and certainly no one plans on those things happening.  But, me?  I can't imagine my life without that love, or those kids, or the traveling I did in southeast Asia because of my marriage, or the heartache I went through for so long after my marriage crumbled.  It all shaped me, made me who I am.  I'm far from perfect, and still changing as I grow, but that's who I am, and I'm pretty happy with who I see looking back at me in the mirror. 

If I had to tell my ex husband just one thing, it would be, without a doubt, 'thank you'.  Thank you for growing up with me, for taking my hand and being by my side as we guided each other through life during those eight years.  We grew apart and fell out of love, but what we did have was exactly what it was meant to be.I only hope that one day, you find love again.  I hope that you find the kind of love that shakes you from your very core, wraps you in its arms, and makes it so that everything else in your life that isn't that love, looks just a little bit blurrier.  Everyone should get to feel that kind of love in their life time.

I was nearly a child when I experienced falling in love for the first time.  I had no realistic idea of what adulthood would bring, but my first love changed me undeniably, and I learned a lot about life from it.  Now that I've fallen in love for only the second time in my life, it's unreal that it is so very different.  It makes me feel completely unlike my first love, very different, neither good nor bad, almost incomparable in fact.
 
At 24 years old, I look into a pair of eyes and see absolute warmth that I can't believe I ever lived without.  I can't, nor do I want to imagine my life any different from exactly how it is at this very moment.  I have two unbelievably smart, kind, beautiful children. They have not just one incredible male role model, their father, but two, to include the man I love, who has nearly submerged himself in the 'stepparent' role.  My children get to look up to two successful, respectable, kind, and loving men, and I think they're pretty lucky for that.  I hope that one day, they'll see their daddy fall in love like they've seen their mommy, and life for them will just be normal having two sets of parents. 

All you need is a little conviction.

If you've never gone through a divorce, there really isn't any way you could ever understand the emotional toll it takes, the way you feel battered and beaten to the core.  If you've never been cheated on, someone's explanation of such a thing doesn't carry the nausea, the confusion, the broken heart the moment you find out, and the lingering questions of how and why.  It takes time to move on, but it's possible.  Feelings are long gone, but the pain stings for awhile more, the fear and the 'what ifs' of future fuck ups.  I told myself the past can't control the present, but I'll be damned if that's not the hardest thing I face.  I've been through enough, the product of a cheating marriage and subsequent divorce, but my consternation holds me back from living forward.  I said I'd prove them all wrong, have the happy marriage from the example that was never set.  All wrong though, I was just like the others, incapable of sustaining a family.  I tried, and failed, and still, it stings.  If I'd been told years ago it'd all fall apart, I wouldn't have believed them, would have laughed in their faces.  Fear controls me now, and it's all but fair.  My past shouldn't have the power, but I'm having to learn, trial and error, how to allow a new love to blossom. 

In spite of it all, in spite of all the hurt I've faced, I am lucky.  I am loved, and I am lucky.  He is my hope, my breath of fresh air after such a long suffocation.  Through him, with him, I see love, and smiles, and laughs.  Just let it be, Hilary, just let it be.  Don't stifle happiness and that which is meant to be, with your unnerving fear of failure.  You know that feeling you get around him?  When you look in his eyes, and your heart starts pounding; all of the sudden, you feel like you're free falling, and your insides are stirring, wanting more.  Allow yourself to feel that, fears aside.  Believe in love.  Picture your life as you want it, and make your dreams come true.  Trust undeniably that good things can happen.  Love exists, but, Hilary, you've got to have a little faith.