Starting Over

So far this year I have watched a season and a half of Friends, played I don't know how many games of Candy Crush and thought about starting up this blog each day and done nothing about it. So, instead of packing up the Christmas decorations, cleaning the dishes or taking a nap to get rid of this low grade headache that's plagued me all morning I am going to write.

I started this blog years ago - before I met Tre, got married, had a baby etc... I began writing blog posts when I still had a myspace account. Actually, I still may have a myspace account... We all probably still do. I've been a stay at home mom for two and half years now. I quit the job that let me travel around the world to be the world for my children.

I am expecting a second daughter this May, which will make our girls three years apart. I really thought we were having a boy this time so I've had to reconcile with the fact that I will be spending the rest of my life trying to help these two girls have the relationship I never had with my sister. I have a great relationship with my brother, granted I was fourteen before he treated me like anything but a pain in his side. Age, life and shared experiences have grown us together and made the five and half year age difference a division of the past. My sister and I are only two years apart, but age, life and a lack of shared experiences have grown us apart. We grew up riding bikes and sharing barbies; she was my built-in friend. I defended her on the playground when kids were mean to her -often standing up to bullies in my class to do so.

I guess I've always felt protective of her. Or rather, that's what everyone in my family did --they protected Katie. When she was fifteen months old; Katie had grand mal seizures. These seizures were unprecedented in my family and left my medically minded parents at odds with each other, her diagnosis and treatment plans. My sister was diagnosed with ADHD (before it was a household name) and was given medicine to treat her hyperactivity and inability to focus or sit still for longer than two minutes at a time. However, the medicine they gave her to keep the seizures from reoccurring sped her up. So, for years it was uppers and downers combined with speech therapy. As we grew up Katie's difference became more pronounced. More often than not I would try to kindly describe Katie as someone with ADHD and some social issues. This was before Autism was a household name and sometimes I wonder if there wasn't more to her "social issues."

I began to feel the separation when she turned fifteen and our two year difference began feeling like four. I stayed hopeful the gap would close once she got her drivers license, a job, started college or moved out. But, she never moved forward with her life and I did. She got her drivers license and had a job for a while, but then she went through a suicidal depression that left her jobless seven years ago and she hasn't attempted to move forward with her life ever since. My brother and I have both offered her a place to live while she figures out how to do life. We've offered to help her move forward, but she hasn't taken us up on it. So, we've grown apart. I have learned that my words of advice have fallen on deaf ears. My attempts to encourage to just give it a try: fill out that Target application, I'll help you write a resume, I'll give you interview tips, I'll find you a job from a friend I know... are ignored. Then I wonder can I just accept my sister as she is? Is this who she truly is? I just feel like she hasn't tried yet.

Anyways, I digress. My relationship with her makes me sad. I want it to be more. I want her to have an amazing life, but she's too afraid to go outside the four walls she's grown comfortable in. She doesn't realize it's a prison and that she's missing out on so many great adventures.

So, back to sisters. My relationship with my sister weighs heavy on my heart; it's always been unbalanced. Much of that has to do with parenting. My mother took care of the wounded bird. I didn't demand her attention so I only received it in dire circumstances. She always tried to make my sister feel bigger so she made me feel smaller. She tried to be "fair" when being fair actually denied me certain milestones. For example, it's a running joke in our family how many cats we went through. I got my first cat in the third grade. It's quite a sweet story involving my Sunday school teacher, my Dad and a very loved cat named Smokey. My mom decided after I'd had the cat two weeks to get one for my sister. My sister is to animals what water is to oil. The cats would hear the pitter patter of her little feet and run the other direction. That didn't stop my mom from replacing the cats once they disappeared. I didn't even know cats lived longer than two years until I got my own; he's been with me for eleven years now.

There are more examples, but I need to go make dinner and put away those Christmas decorations. I just always wished for more from my sister. At this point, I don't know if we'll ever have a true friendship, but that's what I want for my daughters. I want to be fair. I want to help them reach their personal milestones. I want to give them attention, compassion and love equally. I want to take care of the wounded bird and also the bird that's ready to fly. Maybe this awareness is just what I need to be a better mom, maybe it will just make me a more anxious one. Maybe my girls will love each other; maybe they'll be competitive from the start. I just hope they each feel special in their own way. If I do have a wounded bird - I want them to fly, not use their woundedness as an excuse to never leave the nest. I wish that for my sister. I wish, I pray that with all my heart for her.

If I like to write why do I find it so hard to sit down and do it? Why does my grammar disappear and creativity float out the window? I begin to doubt myself, my voice, my importance... I doubt my purpose. I've lived through so much and I have thoughts and ideas to share, but I feel so small and insignificant. I just struggle with knowing where to start, so I haven't started. Then I feel guilty about not starting so I continue to NOT start. It's a bad cycle. A rut. I just took a grammar exam. I only got 70% so the company didn't want me to write for them. How to I get better if I never start? How will anyone hear me if I never speak out. I suppose the biggest share I have is my relationship with the Lord. It's been a real tug'o war lately. I feel like I keep putting words in His mouth. I am so Christianized. I've gone to church most of my life (usually Baptist or non denominational that's like Baptist) and then I went to a Christian University after that. I feel like all that Christian noise drowns out what God is trying to tell me. I want to write what I know. I know Christian faith, divorce, depression, motherhood, childbirth, cancer... But then, my life doesn't revolve around these topics. Lately, I've been in a season of loss. We moved to Yakima, Washington and I left so many relationships behind. Some relationships were good and some were easier to let go. I've let go of my relationship with my mom. I let go of the life we were living in Portland. It just felt overwhelming. My husband was making barely enough working two jobs and then he was fired/let go from his church job without any notice. I scrambled. We decided to make the plunge to move to Yakima - we have friends and family here, it seemed possible/plausible to move. But, I lack a sense of purpose here. Our days are backwards with Tre working in the evenings. The house we bought needs so much work. I'm just lost right now. I'm afraid my Christianize has drowned out God's voice. Maybe he was telling us not to go and we just barreled right past him. I've learned that I like happy endings. I feel like I leapt past a whole lot of steps to get here. I fought tragedy with triumph, but I don't feel triumphant. I feel wounded from our church. I feel like I should be making money and contributing more to our household. I feel like we're still under financially when we should be fine. We had so many connections in Portland that we don't have here. I don't know if moving here was as advantageous as I first hoped. But, there was really no way to know before leaping. Usually I leap and land just fine. I'm not usually thrown like this. I know this is a better community for Vivianne. I know Tre had a better and less stressful job. I have a house with a beautiful view and hopefully some sweat equity in our home already. I am so grateful for all that we have... so why do I miss our 1000 square foot home with the crazy neighbors in Rockwood so badly?

My Sweet Child

My sweet child just ran into my bedroom. Her episode of My Little Ponies came to an end and she came in to let me know she wanted to watch another show and to put her hand on my face and ask if I was happy. My two-year-old has intuition up the wazzu. She'd seen me crying earlier this afternoon (okay - if I'm honest -snotty, blubbery, cough/hack crying) so she wanted to check on me. I love her little heart. I told her that you can be sad and happy at the same time. My heart feels heavy, but she brings me joy. I smiled. Then, that was enough for her. I'm crying because I feel lost. I reached out to someone I hoped (desperately hoped) would mentor me and was told it wasn't possible for them. I wasn't surprised at their response, but I was surprised at mine. Tears? Anguish? When what I knew was a long-shot didn't work out? I think there is something deeper going on here. I've taken a time out recently. A time-out from a severely draining, manipulative and abusive relationship. I restricted my mother's access to my Facebook and I changed my phone number. When I was in contact (almost daily) with my mom - I could sort of pretend things were normal. Before I had my daughter I even prided myself with how safe I could keep our conversations. We had topics that were not up for discussion: my Dad and Katie primarily. I felt confident that if we stayed between those parameters we could have the mother/daughter relationship I longed for. Then my Grandma fell and my mother unraveled at the seems. Then Tre lost his job and my world shifted on its access. My mom became paranoid about every Facebook interaction I had with her sister (who she'd gotten into a blazing fight with). Eventually I had to either be on her "side" or I was siding with her sister (no Switzerland in my mother's viewpoint). I didn't believe either side to be fully in the right and I wasn't going to compromise that belief. But it wasn't until my mother called me a vindictive bitch after I restricted her access to my Facebook account that I decided I needed a real time-out. Five months later and I don't miss the conversation that tiptoed around land mines. I don't miss having what I share with her thrown back in my face the moment she loses her temper. I don't miss the game of pretend that I was taking part in. I do miss having a mother. This longing goes so much deeper than the past five months. I've never had a mother. I do not consider (any longer) the fact that I shared a house (and a womb) with that woman "mothering." I don't want to come across as cold-hearted, but that is the risk I take in saying that. My heart aches with a longing unfulfilled. I wept this afternoon because my request for a mentor was really a "will you be my mother?" attempt. I need an adoptive mother. A spiritual mother. Someone who will help me be the mother, writer, friend and spouse I long to be. Where are the good, strong Christian women, Lord? I am sick with longing.

UK Music Video Sign Language- click this for link to video

It was late on Saturday night.  My co-worker, Jennifer and I shared a room and when neither of us could sleep we decided to see what was on at 1:30 in the morning.

We found a gem.  After 1am the Music Video Channels start showing music videos with signers.  I was sure it was made more funny by our jet-lag, sleep deprivation and anxiety for the trade-show the next morning.  But, not - I recently looked this up on You Tube.


Just as funny.  It's really kind of unbelievable. 

We've moved!

We searched high and low, throughout Portland, Gresham and even some houses in Vancouver that were in our price range. November 30th we found it. Two long months of offers, counter offers, inspections and appraisals followed. We knew this house was different than the others. We knew it was the one -- partly because it was the first house that I was truly able to hold with open hands. My hope was pinned on the Lord and not the house. So my hope didn't waver as the house made it's circutous path to our waiting hands. I think the Lord was waiting for me to get to that place so that he could bless us beyond what we could imagine.

We signed on February 2nd -- actually Tre signed for both of us. I was walking through the streets of Rome as he signed both our names: Kelly E. Wilbanks by James Tre Wilbanks Attorney in Fact on every single line. I think that it was the Lords gift to me. I'd been pushing this home purchase so hard. I'm the one borrowing, getting all the necessary documents to our Loan Officer, handeling all the corresondence between us and our realitor -- trying to plan a budget around a new mortgage and additional utility bills --the weight was very heavy. I even took a weakened away at one point in the process to just reconnect with the Lord about the whole thing. Being away for the final steps of closing left room for (an entirely capable) Tre to step up to the table and take care of business.

The Lord has truly blessed us with this home. Before we could get financed for the house the bank had to put on a new roof, decomission the oil tank, put in a new gas furnace, put in a new gas water heater, build a firewall in the garage, fix the dryrot in the laundry room and the bathroom and put in a new tub and surround. The house also appraised for $10,000 less than what we offered so we're monthly payments are only $160 more than what we were paying in rent in South East Portland. We'd looked for rentals in the Gresham area before and hadn't found anything (that let us keep our dog and cat) for the price we're paying for our mortgage.

We are also closer to our church and our home fellowship. People have stopped by to see our place and help us unpack. It's so nice to be in a location that people can casually visit. We felt so alone out in Johnson Creek. We loved our little home, but this one gives us room to stretch and grow. We just feel so blessed.

Here are some pictures of our new little nest.

This the really gay color I painted our front door. (Don't worry I repainted it the nice red color in the first picture).

Our house is number 100. I think it probably was the 100th house we looked at. We are so grateful and can't wait to get it up to snuff so we can have people over for dinner. Mamma Lane even suggested a camp-out in our back yard. It's definately big enough. :) First things first though -- we are going to have a big celebration when Tre graduates. It will be a Birthday/Graduation/House-warming Party -- I'm thinking May 15th, but I've got to double check with him. He graduates May 14th!

Keep you posted!

Dreaming

I had a dream earlier this week about Nick. In my dream, I was trying to steal Amber's journal (Amber is the woman he cheated on me with). I snuck into their apartment and calmed down a big German shepherd who was guarding their place. I opened her dresser drawer and found dozens and dozens of journals. I was elated and a bit overwhelmed by my find. I tried to locate the journal she kept during 2003-2004 when the affair happened. I was skimming through her journals when I started panicking. The journals started fumbling out of my hands onto the floor. I grabbed one at random, stuffed the rest back into the drawer and left immediately.

I was just down the hallway of their apartment building when I heard them coming up the stairs. I hid behind a bend in the hall and watched them go into their apartment. I opened the journal to see what she'd written. To try and understand what was going on in her head when she pursued Nick and/or responded to his advances in those months preceding my discovery of their affair. I opened the journal and must of opened my eyes too. I was suddenly in my bed, awake, with a yearning to go back to sleep and discover the juicy secrets that lay in the red spiral bound notebook I'd stolen.

I want to know. I want to know what preceded the adultery, the deceit and eventual demise of my marriage. I know I am in a much better place now, but my subconscious still wonders. It wonders what I did, what he did and what she did. The only one who probably knows the whole truth is Butters and he just won't talk. I find myself searching for answers on the internet - maybe they have a blog, maybe a facebook or myspace account. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I look. I wonder. I wonder how they can move on in the face of what they've done, of who they are, of who they've hurt.

I know they deserve each other and yet my heart yearns for some kind of sentiment that they know that.

I had another dream, years ago now, about them. It was very soon after I found out about their affair. Again, I was sneaking into their apartment - I think I was hiding in the closet, wanting to see with my own eyes that it was real. To believe they truly were together. Nick, at the time, pretended that he was leaving me only because he didn’t want to be married anymore. I knew it was partly that and partly because he had this other girl in his pocket. I spent a few solid months working to expose this, which I eventually did. In my dream, I watched them interact from the slats in a hall closet. They didn't do anything spectacular. Again, there was a dog. He exposed my hiding place and Nick ordered me to leave.

When I woke I realized that I was now on the outside of their relationship. It was one giant step in recognizing that my marriage was over. It wasn't all about me and Nick anymore -- I was the third wheel; I really wasn't wanted anymore and I had no power to change that.

I think the dream I had this week is another step towards acceptance. It is acknowledging the yearning I have to see that they are unhappy and recognize what they did was wrong and hurtful. Even though I know these are not things I should be seeking, it's been damn hard to satiate the desire for them.

I stopped writing this blog because either Nick, Amber or a Nick supporter wrote a few disparaging comments on a blog entry I wrote a few years back. I became aware that unfriendly eyes read this stuff too. I also feel like people have this expectation, now that I'm married, that my divorce and the pain of it all dissipated into the atmosphere with my new husband. Or maybe I have that expectation of myself. Having your face ground into dog shit and then getting handed an ice-cream cone, doesn't change the fact that your face was ground into dog shit. There is residual pain that will continue to haunt me -- exposing it and sharing it diminishes its affect. Hiding it and pretending like everything is wonderful now that I am married does not. I accept that mean people read what I write too and I choose to let that go. I want to be honest here.

I am in counseling now. Not because of what Nick did to me - but because I have a hard time trusting people with my real self. The leadership team at Core Life Church suggested that I start it this summer. They’ve seen me running in circles, getting lost, getting angry - getting hurt. Angry at myself for letting it all spiral out of control, angry at myself for not reigning it in and accepting Tre's good and true love as a solvent for my frustrations. I’m angry at God for not being that healing balm that's promised in scripture and also at myself for not accepting that healing balm that's promised in scripture.

I need a place to share my life without a façade; a place to share my true self. This blog started out that way and it can be that way again. Come as you are -- broken, weary from the winding roads that brought you here; courageous and unafraid to expose things as they are and to deal with them in real time. I want that. I want to stop pretending.

Super Heroes

Our costumes for the Super-Hero bowling night for our church.

Costumes were made of recyled material (AKA - stuff around our house), so they were even "green." :)

My favorite Hymn

Lyrics to "How deep the Father's love for us"
How deep the Father's love for us

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen

OneBring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon the cross

My sin upon His shoulders

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything

No gifts, no power, no wisdom

But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom.