It's Never Too Late For A Happily Ever After

Some time ago, my fiance (now wife) and I were walking through a craft store (gasp!) and we came across the phrase used to title this blog: "It's Never Too Late for a Happily Ever After". I've often seen these cute little one-liners that people like to stencil on their walls, but this particular one really seemed to hit an emotional chord with me.

Over seven years ago I found myself newly divorced from 12 years of marriage. I was feeling incredibly guilty over what had happened and felt like life's happiness had indeed passed me by. I was stressed beyond belief over issues with my children's well-being as well as my employment. I was such a wreck I could scarcely function. In less than 2 months time I had lost over 40lbs. On a daily and sometimes hourly basis I was trying to endure emotional and verbal abuse from my ex-wife, her family members, and even some former friends. I was quickly reaching the point where I didn't even want to exist anymore. I was beginning to lay piles of guilt on myself in order to justify my own miserable existence. I was truly lost.

Somehow I managed to endure this misery for a year or so whereupon I met someone who showed me there was life after divorce. I dated this person for nearly 6 years before I had the courage to try marriage again. Even though the abuse from my ex-wife continued for several years beyond my divorce, this woman stood by my side. She never judged me and she was always quick to encourage me. She was and is always there for me - always! She has accepted me for what and who I am without condition. I don't think she will ever fully understand the profound influence she has had upon my life. It is because of her that I continually strive to become a better person.

Now the reason for this blog: My wife has given me insight to some rather strange things - strange to me, at least. Every time I start to make dinner, she comes in and helps me. Whenever I go outside to do yard work, she comes out and helps me. Whenever I am folding laundry, she helps me. Whenever I am making the bed in the morning, she helps me. Whenever I am making home repairs, she not only offers her help, but insists I teach her how to do the job at hand as well. Never before have I been in such a loving and helpful relationship. She does all these things for me without me so much as even hinting for her help. Now I don't want anyone to think I do all these things all of the time. She does these things (and more) too and I love helping her as well. She is the sole reason that I feel that God must love me to have sent such a wonderful human being into my life despite all my shortcomings. I honestly don't deserve her!

Not only did she come along at just the right time and save me from myself, but she really is my happily ever after! I'm grateful it wasn't too late. I love you, L!

Crazy Math

For some odd reason I have been thinking about a conversation I had with my ex-wife a year or so ago. The entire conversation was centered around recalculating child support due to her getting health insurance.

This is the procedure: I calculate what it costs me monthly to insure each of my children and then subract half of that amount (because she is responsible to pay for half of all health coverage for the children) from what I pay her in monthly child support. This is quite easy for me to figure out since I only get paid once a month. My ex essentially does the same thing, except that when she figures out her cost to insure the children, I add half of that amount to the child support. Sounds simple, doesn't it?

The only real difference here is that she gets paid every other week, but that really doesn't make the math that much more difficult...or does it? I tried to explain to her that since she gets paid every other week that she would do the same kind of math, but multiply that amount on each of her paychecks by 26 (half of all 52 weeks in a year) and then divide that amount by 12 (months in a year) to determine how much I need to reimburse her each month.

This is where she got lost and the arguing began. She told me that she gets paid every other week (a correct statement) and that works out to twice per month (hold on, sissy, that statement doesn't calculate). She insisted that the amount per child she pays on each paycheck would be divided in half but then multiplied by 24 because 2 paychecks per month multiplied by 12 months equals 24.

When I asked her to count her paycheck stubs and verify that she has 26 of them she told me she didn't need to because, again, getting paid every other week, or twice per month as she believes, equals 24 paychecks. She told me my math was terrible. She ended the call, but called me back the next day and stated that she asked someone at her work about all this and they confirmed that she was correct. When I questioned her further, she said she trusted that person more because she was in charge of the office's finances. Scary!

I told her that if we went with her method she would be getting less money per month from me to reimburse her insurance costs. I thought this was my chance to persuade her I was correct because I was sure that when she realized she would get more money using my "crazy math" she would concede. Oh no. She said I was up to something and trying to cheat her in some way. What!? I asked her how giving her more money was trying to cheat her and she said that I would probably take her to court in a few years and show I had overpaid and then she would be required to pay me back. Wow, she really has an active thought process!

At this point I told her I was going to give her the amount I had calculated regardless if she thought it was incorrect. She refused me. This time I asked her to write out her calculations and include a statement that she considers her amount acceptable and then sign it and give it to me. She refused to sign anything like that and once again hung up on me.

The next day she called me again to tell me she had figured out my math. She said I was still wrong but she had figured out how I came up with my number. More than curious, I asked her to explain. She told me that there were indeed 26 paychecks per year. I asked her how that was possible if, as she insisted, she only got paid twice per month. She told me there were 13 months in a year! At this point I realized there was no point in arguing any further. I figured as long as we were finally in agreement as to what the correct figures were, that was good enough for me. I am getting too old for this!

Thick Paint

It's been awhile since I have posted anything and I just thought I would take a moment for some senseless ramblings and perhaps meaningless observations.

Has the formula for paint changed? I can't tell you how many times I've tripped over a painted line. Either I have some serious coordination issues, or paint has gotten thicker over the years. Either way, there is no graceful way to pick yourself up after such mishaps.

Why is it that children (particularly your own) always vocally express their opinions about other people's habits when you are next to them at the store? According to my children, people who smoke have low IQ's and obese people shouldn't have candy in their grocery carts. And did you know there is no way to shush your children fast enough - ever.

For those of you who have ever had to teach a lesson in church...It doesn't matter how hard you prepare for your class each Sunday, the week you didn't have time to adequately prepare is the Sunday you have that special visitor from the Stake Presidency drop in unannounced. Is it a coincidence that it's also when you are trying to teach from the Book of Isaiah?

And could someone please tell me why it is that the moment you decide to go barefoot in the park that you seem to find the exact spot where somebody's dog decided his own yard wasn't good enough to poop in? Oh, and this happens before the park is officially open for the season so there is no running water anywhere for you to rinse out your toes.

For your information, milk always and mysteriously disappears sometime between the conclusion of dinner (when there was still plenty left) and breakfast. Like socks disappearing in the dryer, no one can ever explain this. Dry corn flakes are not good.

Have you ever noticed that when you stop by your favorite store's magazine section and pull a copy of Car and Driver that an issue of Cosmo always seems to fall to the floor (nasty side up) and attracts the attention of every woman nearby who now thinks you are a dirty old man?

Can anyone tell me why when I take a nap at home I usually wake up calmly, but when I take a nap in church I always wake up as though I'm falling from a tree?

I know you can sneeze at any time, but why does it need to happen so suddenly when you have a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Does anyone have a suggestion on how to politely evacuate your mouth of said potatoes before the inevitable splatter occurs?

I've obviously heard of Murphy's Law yet I'm always amazed when it manifests itself. Immunity from such a law would be nice, but until then maybe I can cover it over with some thick paint.

I've Been Tagged

Ok, I guess since I have been tagged, proper etiquette would dictate a response.

Hmmm...Provide five (5) things people don't know about me...What on earth could I divulge to the world of blogging? Generally, I consider myself a rather quiet individual (no laughing, Lesleigh) but I will try my hand at this:

1). I am not a picky eater. I have eaten everything from peanuts to pig brains....From salt taffy to snake....But there are two things that just do not cross my lips (unless accompanied by enough other stuff that you can't taste 'em): green pimento olives and tomatoes.

2). I have a rather eclectic taste in music. Excluding Rap music (oxymoron), I have bits of all kinds of music ranging from MoTab to Motley Crue.

3). My hobby is photography and I suffer from acute NAS (Nikon Acquisition Syndrome). I have had some of my work appear in national publications (Popular Photography) and have won various photo contests.

4). I am a hopeless window shopper. I love roaming the aisles of WalMart as well as any other mass merchandiser. I rarely buy anything - I just love looking at stuff and I think it drives people crazy. I can spend serious time in any store but two: Fabric stores and Victoria Secret. I am not comfortable with the stares you get at either of those places.

5). Vanilla ice cream. I love it. If ever there was a home-made-vanilla-ice-cream whore that would be me. When I go to Cold Stone, I head straight for the vanilla. Don't bother me with peppermint-this or double fudge-that...Just give me vanilla.

And there you have it.

The Beaver

Ok, I am new to this whole concept of blogging. I was introduced to this cultural phenomena by my little sister when she posted something about the ill effects barbequed almonds have on my gastric pipes. It would appear that nothing is sacred anymore.

I was curious to read Lorien's comments about her childhood and how awful she thought she looked with years of bad haircuts combined with having to wear an orthodontic birdcage over her head. Lorien, if you happen to read this, I understand where you are coming from, but you don't know what ugly is! Compared to me, you looked like a goddess. I wore the same birdcage you did. I don't think my family was even aware I was "wired" to that degree because I would come home from school and lock myself in my bedroom before I would don the apparatus. I would remain there all night sometimes. I would quickly remove the appliance if I had to venture outside the sanctuary that was my bedroom. This was due primarily to the fear of being the brunt of a new set of ugly jokes. They always hurt more when they come from your siblings.

I was late getting braces so I had to endure all the comments that are associated with a bad smile until I was a sophomore in high school. Ever since fourth grade when my teeth decided to go on a fieldtrip, my just older brother had affectionately referred to me as "the beaver". How bad were they, you ask? Let me state this as eloquently as I can. Are you familiar with a power rake? I could have easlily given it a run for the money. I used to put my head face down on the table and rest myself upon my protruding teeth in hopes that they would take the hint and retract themselves back behind the safety of my lips.

And you speak of bad haircuts? I had my share. My mother used to cut our hair when we were children and she was pretty good at it. It was the between-cuts period that were horrific. You know the stage when your bangs get long enough to get in your eyes and you start thinking hey, how hard could it be to just grab the scissors and fix the problem. And that is just what I used to do. I would snip the longest hairs first and then check the results. Of course it always looked like someone had notched my bangs and not just trimmed them. No problem. Just even it out, right? by the time I was finished "fixing" what I had done, I looked like a Billy Ray Cyrus twin. And as luck would have it, this would always occur right around school picture day. Arg! That's when I would sheepishly ask my mother if she could fix the disaster. As a result, I had some pretty short haircuts and they never did mask what I had done.

Luckily, life goes on and we grow up - at least to some extent. My teeth have long since been reunited with their fellow brethren and I leave the hair cutting to the professionals. I don't claim to be handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but I don't feel too ashamed to be found in public places anymore. Now, maybe if I could just lose about ten pounds...