MFW

I've met someone, though not exactly recently.  It's been roughly a year since I met The Boy I Like That's Married To A Lesbian.  We met online, and while that was not in anyway his username on the website, it was in fact how I referred to him in conversations with my girlfriends.  As we continued to get to know one another and dated, it changed from TBILTMTAL to Mr. Freaking Wonderful That's Married To A Lesbian.  My niece asked once, "Why are we using the F word in his name?" and was told by her mother while laughing at my expense, "Because your aunt Angie is annoyed with how wonderful he is."  (She's the 19 year old niece.  We do censor fairly well with minor children.)

It was true.  A new relationship is scary.  No matter how great, there is fear of change and the unknown.  There is probably even more fear of the known.  Memories of love and loss are huge and overwhelming.  It seemed it would have been easier to have a little fun, say 'Later Gator!' and move on to some fun with someone new, rather than another attempt at happily ever after and risk the tough stuff.  So I really was freaking annoyed with his freaking wonderfulness.   

His name has continued to change over the months.  From MFWTMTAL to Mr. Freaking Wonderful That's STILL Married To A Damn Lesbian to MFWThat's FINALLY Divorced From the Lesbian.  Yes, I began dating him prior to the finalization of his divorce (sinner, sinner, chicken dinner-I know) and the finalization of that took a little longer than expected.  Questionable choice?  Yes.  Regrettable choice?  Not really.  I got to know him in the midst of one of life's great crap storms.  I was able to see his patience in affliction.  He was always open and honest; sarcastic and funny; and still a bright, shiny optimist.  I need a shiny optimist.  I lost the sunshiny outlook and pom-poms years ago, but I'm learning to see things through his view.  Getting to know someone through a crap storm of life has its advantages.  Is he someone I want with me when the next one hits?  Yes.  Yes, he is.  The F word went from emphasizing the annoyance to emphasizing the amazement I had in his wonderfulness.  He's not perfect, but I do believe he might just be perfect for me.

At a date yet to be decided, he'll become Mr. Freaking Wonderful That's Married To ME.  At this point he's simply MFW (that stands for My Friend Wade if minor children ask) and will continue to be, although he typically just answers to the first name his mama actually gave him.  Life with him and his four kids is a new adventure, for sure.

Yes, you read that right...four kids.  4 + thing 1 + thing 2 = 6.  SIX!!   Yes...just like the Brady Bunch.  Yes...it's a lot of damn kids.  

It's usually amusing, chaotic, and rather overwhelming when all together.  It's a lot of change, and a lot of new challenges.  It's a lot of damn kids.  It leaves this mom feeling, well, a bit harried at times.  God's promise of a future and the presence of MFW by my side keeps me hopeful, though.  It's a heck of a next chapter and I think it's worthy of a new blog.

I'm grateful for those who have laughed, cried and prayed with us through our 1inamillion journey.  Will you tag along with us for the joy and chaos in our next chapter, HarriednHopeful?  As I've told Things 1 & 2, "If we believe Jesus' promise of heaven for Daddy and God's promise of a hope & a future for us, this has gotta be good, right?"

Oh, yeah.  In addition to four kids, MFW has goats, chickens, a horse and two dogs that have yet to meet our pack.  Seriously...this has gotta be good right?  www.harriednhopeful.com

awareness in pictures

I haven't used my real camera since 2012.  The last time I went to use it, I started by looking at the album of photographs previously taken.  I was jolted by a few taken at my niece's graduation in May, 2012.  I quickly shut the thing off and stuffed that camera in a storage bin in the minivan and never returned to it.  I know I've missed out on capturing better snapshots of the kids by relying solely on my phone, but some memories are best stuffed away in a minivan's cubby for awhile.

There's a new ridiculousness floating through the internet in the name of cancer awareness: a no make-up selfies campaign.  Perfectly healthy, happy women snap a photo of themselves sans their Cover Girl, upload it to social media and we all gain awareness of the effects of terminal illness.  It's freaking ridiculous.  Probably more ridiculous than sparkly pink reindeer in the name of awareness.

The no make-up selfies campaign did make me think about my camera that's been in hiding for years, though.  Photo comparisons of myself or other healthy women with and without make-up will not do a damn thing to make anyone more aware of the hell of cancer; so I thought I'd retrieve those memories from the minivan and share a few photos that might.

Here is my absolute favorite family photo ever taken.  This is about one year after Mr. 1inamillion's first chemo regimen.  Yes, I earned my degree with those two little ones and that sarcoma patient.  How victorious are we in this picture?!  







Here is the picture that sent my camera to its two year time-out.  This is Mr. 1inamillion four years and countless chemo treatments later with our beautiful niece Lizzi at her high school graduation.  He passed to Glory one month later. 
A thousand words and a thousand tears could never do this one justice.

Our family photo, six months later.  I'm wearing make-up, but I think you get the picture.

My Straight Marriage

I was only 21 years old when I married Mr. 1inamillion on June 21st, 1997.  He was thirteen years my senior, and we had met just eleven months prior.  We moved to Indiana just two weeks after our wedding, far from my family and even further from his.  Four months after the big move, a big tumor appeared on an MRI....soccer ball big.

Just four months after 'for better or worse' and 'in sickness and health', shit hit worse and we found ourselves knee deep in sickness.  To say it was overwhelming is certainly understating it.  I remember the first general surgeon we saw in Fort Wayne, IN rambled off a list of what might need removed that may have included every internal organ in my vocabulary.  Pancreas?  He said pancreas.  Can you live without a pancreas? That doctor did have the wisdom to know it was over his head and immediately sent us to IU Med Center in Indianapolis.

Awe, wisdom to foresee  over your head before reaching knee deep without the option of turning back.  We didn't have it.  Our eyes were only on a wedding.  We were legal adults (me just barely) and anatomically different, so both the law and the church said go for it.  I remember seeing doctor after doctor, filling out form after form with him and the needle biopsy on that first visit to IU.  It was November and he had a roommate in his recovery room.  An older gentleman who was accompanied by his wife, daughter, and grandchildren, and oh what was this little set back going to do to their Thanksgiving traditions?  I remember thinking how cruel and unfair that was; how I couldn't do this, this is over my head, and shouldn't I be able to at least plan a first fucking Thanksgiving?  Screw their YEARS of traditions.  Not fair.  They had grandchildren.  I would be changing bed pans years before baby diapers.

The first surgery to remove that soccer ball from Mr. 1inamillion's belly was December 2nd.  My parents traveled from Kansas, his family joined us from Texas.  We were the first to arrive in that waiting room and among the last to leave that day.  I remember the OR nurse coming out with updates, and Dr. W...my all time favorite.  He was a teacher, always followed by a group of interns or students and I suspect that's why he was so good with me.  Our first professor.  I remember sitting between our parents, feeling too young and unprepared for the worse and the sickness so soon, but all of the information was being directed to me, as though I was very much in charge.  I had no idea what he would want if anything went wrong, but it was all on me if anything did.

We made some of the best friends in Fort Wayne.  Among them, a gay couple who had been together over a decade.  I remember noting the contrast then.  I was so ill prepared to be Mr. 1inamillion's advocate.  Months with eyes on only a party and romance, I had no idea the decisions he'd make or what he'd want me to do for him.  Sure, we were old enough and our parts were different, but we were SO. NOT. qualified for the vows we made.  Yet we made them and were given the rights and responsibilities for one another, while others more deserving are denied.

Nearly fifteen years after our wedding, things did go wrong and it was all on me.  Cancer had spread to Mr. 1inamillion's brain and I was his advocate.  At this point, I was ready.  Although not a requirement, we finally had what Steve & CJ had.  Years of partnership.  Conversations, companionship, love and care for one another that enabled me to know what he needed and wanted and qualified me, empowered me, to be his voice.  Mr. 1inamillion and I spent years in worse and sickness and made it all the way until death did we part.  We hit all of the hard parts of our marital vows, and not a one of them required us to be of different genders.

Blessings on Ice

We spent this afternoon at our second home, the ice center.  We've been there at least twice a week since last summer.  Thing 1 developed a fixation on hockey well over a year ago that has grown significantly.  I don't mind it one tiny bit.  They both began ice skating lessons last summer and it is the only activity on which Things 1 and 2 agree.  Hockey lessons followed skating lessons for Thing 1, which have been followed by some one on one sessions with a favorite mentor, clinics and now a much anticipated mid-season start with the ice center's house league.  His first game is tomorrow night.


We are there a lot.  A lot.  It's where we celebrated last Easter and where we went on Christmas Eve when the grown up bonus kid was here to visit.   Sunday afternoon holds a drop in 'stick & puck' for the hockey player in one rink and an open public skate in the second for the diva, which is an ideal scenario.  Thing 2 has mastered the claw machine in the arcade and I imagine if Thing 1 didn't show up one weekend they will call from the pro shop to see what's happened to him.  We are there a lot I say, and I really do not mind it. 


As often as we are there, the blessing in it is not yet lost on me.  I don't think there's been a trip in which I don't remember where we were two years ago.  Thing 1 wasn't consumed with hockey facts but worry and fear.  I wasn't shuttling kids to and from an ice rink.  I was rushing their sick father to and from doctors appointments, chemo treatments, scans, tests and hospital stays while the kids bounced between home and Grandpa's.  They weren't mastering new skills, making new friends or sliding freely across ice with expressions of pure joy on their faces and I wasn't present with them to enjoy it.  Yes, there are days that school, work and skating is a challenge to squeeze in or there's a load of chores waiting at home on the weekend, but I am so grateful for it.


I was a little dumbfounded recently to hear a parent say no to basketball because they didn't want to sacrifice their weekends.  I do think I just say yes and try to make things work without much second thought to it.  But if I do give it thought, I want to spend my weekends at the ice center.  I want to watch Things 1 and 2 learn new tricks and slide across the ice with expressions of joy.  My perspective is that I should want to sacrifice my time, as well as limbs and a lung if necessary to see my kids learn new things and enjoy life.  That might seem a bit much, but I spent five years of my life hanging out with people who actually did.  I hope I don't lose sight of that and the blessing is never lost on me.