a blended life

Help usually comes in small pieces, especially with scripture reading. Which I am a big fan of and don’t talk about much.  Here’s something I just found from Marvin J Ashton (old white guy from a long time ago but still said some true, valid things): … Greatness is best measured by how well an individual responds to the happenings in life that appear to be totally unfair, unreasonable, and undeserved. … I’m going to remember this tomorrow when I know my beautiful, orange firecracker daughter will be a birthday party that should never be and while my tween is begging me to go to Times Square to see the new Hershey World, but really I just want to stay in bed and feel hysterical that I’m in this situation and don’t even have a job yet. 

I already don’t want to blog tomorrow but I feel like August 25 should be acknowledged. I’m doing this post in bullet points because everyone is talking me out of using real bullets, though I think we all agree that the impact of this day felt like a death.  • It’s the day Jacob first took me to court for custody—except I didn’t think he was actually trying to get custody because his claim was so far fetched and ridiculous.  • He lies to the judge and said I’d been served but refused to accept the papers. I challenged him and the judge set a new date for the hearing, requiring him to produce evidence that he served the papers.  • We were supposed to have another hearing that afternoon for child support. He went to the judge and asked to be excused.  • He texted me after running out of the courthouse saying he couldn’t make the support hearing (how convenient) and that he was at the birth of his twins.  • I thought he was talking about some patient he was working...

The last leg of our big, scary exodus back into the Big Apple happened on Tuesday when the Relocube* showed up.  *Relocube: very handy 6X7 pod that fit every thing I love dearly, like a steam mop and Instant Pot.  The bishop arranged for two guys to help unload. It was another example of me thinking I can handle it on my own but in the end being very grateful for the extra hands, especially since my back was a tad wobbly toward the end.        Side note— one of the guys kept making unintentionally funny comments like “The Wells (family in our ward) are so brave for living by the cemetery since their apartment is probably haunted.” And “I can take the heavy boxes. I’m Mexican.”  Are we happy to have our stuff? Extremely. I’ve had to accept help from ward members, family and even anonymous givers to get this place looking like a family could live here. And guess what? We LOVE it.  It’s ours. It’s home.  It’s the first time in my WHOLE LIFE that...

I flew back to Utah last week to sort through every item of crap that I own and decide if it was worth keeping. It’s either the coolest thing I’ve ever done or the worst. I realized how much stuff is kept purely because it’s still in working order and I don’t like filling up landfills. I realized how I can immediately know within seconds if I really love something or not—-a skill I honed in Miami when I read Marie Kondo.  I really love my steam mop. I don’t love camping chairs.  My sister and her family donated hours of sweaty, hard, messy labor to this effort of clearing out a storage unit and sorting through my girls stuff at my uncle’s house. I was moved to tears several times by their tremendous service. It was one of the most touching acts of love I’ve received. I hope they always know how deeply grateful I am.  (I don’t have pictures but they exist and I’ll share when I get them) Me and Lucy flew to NYC today and met the other two girls at the airport, who were flyi...