9 years later...

Last night while I was getting a massage, my massage therapist, Monica, was talking about her 17 year old daughter.  (Monica is only 4 years older than me and she has a 17 year old.)  Anyway, she was talking about how much her daughter talks about all the 'adult' stuff she plans to do once she turns 18.  Like moving out, piercings, tattoos, etc.  We got talking about how hard it is to let kids grow up and make choices, and mistakes.  Monica was talking about her tattoos and the ones she wishes she's never gotten and how hard it is to encourage her kids to not make the same mistakes she did.  Not that tattoos are mistakes, but just the idea of doing permanent things just because you're suddenly at the age where you can, ya know?

I got talking about things I'm scared to talk to my kids about.  Or how I'll answer different questions that may come up.  Our talk made me think about my first marriage.  I never talk about it anymore, and I think about it even less.  Sometimes I forget that I was even married before.  Like, I've caught myself talking with friends who are going through a divorce or have a sibling who is, and I say something like, "Wow, that must be so hard."  When I suppose I could say, "Wow, I know how hard that is."  And it is.  It was awful.  I remember meeting him at the court house.  Standing in the divorce line.  Signing my name about a bajillion times.  Having the notary make sure I signed in all the right places, then she would hand all the same papers to him to sign.  She never smiled.  Never really looked at us.  I was shaking the whole time and trying not to cry.  I remember thinking as I looked at her, "this has got to be the worst job in the entire world."  We paid.  Got a divorce receipt and a case number.  And a phone number and judges name to call a few weeks later to get the finalization date.  It was awful.  I called my mom when I got back to our my empty apartment and just cried and cried and cried.  "What do I do now?" I remember thinking.

It was just interesting timing for a conversation like that because it reminded me that it was on August 2nd that we got married.  9 years ago today.

I'm not particularly excited to talk about it with our kids.  I've thought maybe I never will...  So, kids?  If you're adults now and you're reading this?  Um, Surprise. :/

I never want marriage to be taken lightly.  I never want my kids to have the attitude that they can try it out, and 'do what mom did' if it doesn't go like they thought it would.  I don't want them to live with regrets.

My first marriage took me from Ogden to Salt Lake.  I quit my job when we moved so I could go to school full-time.  I loved school and the people there.  After the divorce I stayed in Salt Lake, finished school.  Met more new people.  Started a new job.  Met friends there that later became roommates.  Those roommates led me to my next apartment with more new roommates, which led me to a new ward.  More people, more opportunities.  Another new job. Travelling.  Learning.  Being single.  Growing.  (I suddenly feel like I'm writing the sequel to Eat, Pray, Love.)  Anyway, a few years and countries later, I found myself stopping by my parents house to say hi because I'd gotten home from Peru the night before and hadn't seen them in several weeks.  And Paul was there, too.  THEE Paul White.  My family already knew and loved him but never imagined us together, and truth be told, my brother that was closest friends with him was not a fan of us as a couple.

I'm not saying I would have never met him if I'd not gone through all the experiences I did.  But I know everything happens for a reason, and I am who I am (good and bad) because of all of my life experiences.  And that's who Paul loves.  

All this being said, I don't know how I'll talk to my kids about certain things.  But I'm not worried about it right now.  Because right now all I need to be is their mommy, with squishy, comfy parts to snuggle up next to, and plenty of kisses for all their owies.