Sunday, February 17, 2013

Fresh loaves of bread and cinnamon rolls

Lazy Gudri. She's just going to copy and paste what she wrote in her Philosophy Journal today. Because she's been making out with Hume, and now she's experiencing sore throat, chills, sinus pressure and burning eyes. Touchy-feely guys are always spreading their virus around. And since she's not sure everyone feels it the way she does, she thinks Hume would do well with a little more reason...

Tomorrow is two weeks since I was discharged from the Psych Ward, and only then because I was able to give proof to my psychiatrist that I wouldn't be returning to my husband. The only option available that guaranteed I would be able to be with my children was to move into the south wing of the house being leased by my first ex-husband. Yeah, awkward. More awkward still was the phone call to my bishop letting him know what was what with my future living arrangement unless he wanted me to remain locked away. He said he understood, but I haven't spoken to him since. He's washed his hands of us, passed us on to the new ward and new bishop with good riddance. (I don't really want to believe this, but the continued silence is indicative of his opinion.)  

The arrangement was simple. My ex stays in the north wing with the boys; I stay in the south with the girls. We share the kitchen and computer areas. I purchase food with child support, cook and care for the children as I usually do; he would continue paying for the lease and utilities, as well as keep up the cleaning in the kitchen after meals. And when and if the time comes that we met people we want to date, we agreed not to bring them home. Two weeks in, it's a fabulous set up. Where we weren't compatible as married partners, my ex and I make the best of co-parents. It's laid back. The kids are happier than I've seen them in months. I believe the scenario is working.

Today was our second week at the new ward. I've taken my children on my own since they were born. Religion was never something that appealed to my ex, being both skeptic and extremely private. The kids and I introduced ourselves, and like most LDS wards we are fallen upon by the curious and the talkative. I haven't been comfortable giving full details, especially since each time I fill anyone in on the current living arrangement eyebrows immediately raise. But you know people. And if you know Mormon women like I know Mormon women, they have a way of snooping out the goods until they're satisfied. Tonight it was fresh baked goods.

This really is about Hume. You see, sentiment-wise, I'm walking the moral tightrope with these people. They really have no business getting the nitty-gritt of the two years of abuse I've lived through with a man that they all remember as a High Councilman. I don't feel I need to justify myself through proliferation of salacious details. I'm not about tell-all, even here, whether you believe that or not. Some of the intimacy, some of the personal nature of this story is still fresh enough, painful enough that I'm not sure I could write it, let alone spread it through my new Relief Society.

All I know is, I've done nothing wrong in moving into this home. My family is healing. My children are letting peace sink in to skins that have toughened and become impervious to the gentle strains of affection that before my last marriage were commonplace within my home. All I know is for two weeks I have discovered peace and I do not fear for the next cutting remark, or for being pushed away and locked out when I attempt to show love.

Should my ex and I continue in this living situation I suspect we will encounter more than raised eyebrows. Because that's how sentiments are. 

I'm good for my faith. Over the last ten years my membership in the LDS Church has taken a shaking, and though I've wondered from time to time (especially lately) where my God is, I'm not about to turn my back on the promises I have made to Him. I suspect my promises mean more to me than they might to the meddling ears and lips that tsk-tsk when they hear I'm in the south wing of my ex's home. In the age of "I'm a Mormon" and "I'm an Ex-Mormon" I stand out. I'm an Ex-ex-Mormon, a double dunker, a two-time winner in Christ's game of Hide-and-Seek. Praise the mount, I'm fixed upon it. And whether anyone gets the weighty moral implications in that or not, I feel pretty good about it.

Hume and his morality cronies can suck their thumbs in the corner.

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