The Tinman

By: Kristi Tisor Ambriz

Hugo and I have been reorganizing the garage.

Today, I put the last two charted and labeled storage boxes in the storage area above the garage.  The freedom is amazing.

I can be an organize-freak just as well as the next OCD sufferer.  But, anyone who has known me in the last, say, 7-8 years, would be scratching their heads at that one.  Because when it comes to my stuff, I have been anything but orderly.

Prior to 3 weeks ago, I saw my garage as little more than a time capsule holding difficult, painful memories.

It's been about 2 years since my ex-husband brought some of our stuff back from Nebraska, where it had been since the kids and I left for California in the summer of 2006.  Of course, once they were here, I was excited to unpack the boxes and, as Maureen O'Hara says in The Quiet Man, "Have my things about me."

The first box I opened was one of the last ones I had packed from my kids' Nebraska playroom, and it was one of the last boxes I packed before we left.  It was a hodge-podge of Lee's baby toys, video games, some of Abi's Barbie toys, board game pieces, and other miscellaneous toys that once belonged to a 14 year-old girl, a 12 year-old boy, an 8 year-old little girl, and a 20 month-old baby boy.  I remember the sorrow, as I packed it 6 years ago.  When I opened the box in my California garage, the kids were 19, 16, 12, and 5.  Most everything inside the box was obsolete, and my heart broke over the playtime that was lost in their lives.  In our lives.  I wept bitterly, went through a few other boxes, then finding myself overcome with emotion, I left the project to sit.  For 2 years.

In many ways, I sat too.  Frozen by my pain.  Rusted by my tears.  Just like the Tinman, in the Wizard of Oz.

He didn't intend to stand immobile in the field of poppies.  The field was so beautiful, with so much hope in the horizon.  He didn't want to have his fear and sorrow leave him frozen somewhere, unproductive, and without a voice.  He didn't want to be helpless.  Yet he was.

All it took was a little oil from his friends.

It sucks to be independent, yet desperately in need of help.  It sucks to make all the moves to travel forward and upward in my healing, only to find a newly discovered vulnerable spot deep within that stops me, and leaves me frozen and therefore exposed.

But, the rewards of having someone, (and in my life it's more like people), who offer me strength and encouragement to work through the pain and continue on in my journey, is incredible.  

Hugo is the main holder of my oil can.  He offers me support but doesn't let bad habits, even ones brought on by grief, fester and grow.  He mentioned the disorganized garage from time to time, not wanting to let me never go back because of the pain it caused to unpack whatever might be under the lids.

So, 3 weeks ago, I decided it was time.  I took the plunge, and I got busy.  And, as it turned out, the pain just wasn't as bad anymore.  In its place resided sweet nostalgia.  Accomplishment.  Fulfillment.  Freedom.  Strength.

After spending an entire day out there, we ran out of time and weren't able to revisit the project until last Saturday.  That day happened to be more difficult.  I unpacked boxes that took me back to our former  kitchen. My ex-husband's coffee mugs.  My coffee mug.  So many of my favorite serving dishes that I've missed all these years.  Glimpses of our life before, with all the grief of what was lost.

It was interesting.  Riding the pain, as horrible an experience as it was, led me to a good place.  A new place.  A place of freedom, closure, and peace.  I awoke Sunday morning feeling blissfully light, and free.  Cleansed from my tears, rather than rusted by them.  And I have to wonder whether having the incredible support system I have now, had much to do with my accomplishment, and subsequent freedom.  I am stronger because I'm not alone.

Being disorganized and stashed isn't my norm, but it was me for many years.  It was where I ended up  due to the tears: the wet ones on my cheeks, and the ripped ones in my heart.  My pain left me frozen.  Yet, Hugo held my oil can.  And now I can move, and even run forward.

And it is with unpacked joy that I can live, with my OCD tendencies tickled, and my Organized Girl Within alive and kicking!  With my wonderful things about me.

One of those Wonderful Things happens to be my beloved cedar chest made by my Uncle Tom when I was 18.  It was damaged in the move.  Hugo restored it, and it is now in my bedroom.  Home.

Crisis Gypsies

When we moved back to California after living in Nebraska for 12 years, the kids and I moved in with my parents for 10 months.

In anticipation of our move, my mom and sisters bought beds and dressers, and as though they were putting a puzzle together, they somehow set up my parents' guest room to accommodate the kids and me.

I remember how excited they were to be able to have it all ready for us.  The room was so pretty.  So sweet, with so much love poured into it.

I was so grateful.  Overwhelmed with gratitude, really.  So I was left somewhat bewildered when my feelings at the time didn't reflect the thankfulness in my soul.  Instead, I felt numb.  Like I had to work to make my face smile in response to the joy their faces all showed.

It was one of the first of many moments where I would catch myself stuck.  Stuck somewhere between happiness and sorrow.  A paradox of emotions.

I had left my husband  A separation for the sake of reconciliation.  My hope being that with a separation, counseling, and restructuring of how our lives had been before, we could later reconcile and raise a happy, healthy family.

We lived separated in Nebraska for a few months.  I needed to move the kids and me out of our country home, and into a house of my own in town.  I feared the seclusion of the country, paired with my husband's behavior.

I had always been an at-home mom, but I had to get a part-time job at the hospital in town, so that I could support the kids and myself.  I worked as a cook's assistant.

The older kids were too aware of our circumstances, and too hurt and broken to properly care for the younger ones while I worked.  The balancing act I had to perform by working outside the home with a hurting14 year-old,  12 year-old, 8 year-old, and 20 month-old left my side of the family here in California feeling that the kids and I would be better off closer to them, so that we could heal, and benefit from the support of family.

So we left Nebraska, the only home my children knew.  The state Adam, Abi, and Lee were born in.

The kids were excited about the move to California.  About being with their cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.  It was nice to see them excited.  So when we went to bed that first night, my conflicting emotions melted as I cuddled my baby Lee, resting in my parents' house.  We were safe.  We were going to be OK.

Maybe it's because I'm a firstborn, maybe it is my genetic make-up, but whatever it is, I am very independent.  The sense of being a burden nagged at me as time passed.  It got more intense with each passing month.  Though I enjoyed the time with my parents and my kids, working on their emotional hurts while I worked on mine, I knew I needed to find a way to support the kids and myself, so that we could move out of my parents' home, and on with our life.  This was my obsession.  All I thought about.

And I think, as I look back with a clear head and that it was my feeble attempt at establishing a deep need of normalcy, or to at least create a new normal for us.  With hindsight, I see that what we needed was more time to heal.  But in the midst of it, with all of the Topsy-turvey ranges of emotions, I was left short-sighted.  All I could see was that need to support my children, and give them a home of our own.

After living with my parents for ten months, we moved to a beautiful little townhouse a few miles away that I was able to rent.  I had gotten a job at a local country club working as a server.  I was getting great hours, and doing very well with tips.  It was enough to cover our monthly expenses.

At that point, we had lived in California for almost a year.  My husband decided to join us in California,  so he moved from Nebraska.  At first he stayed with his relatives, but our year apart, as well as extensive counseling, proved fruitful for my husband.  He was different from before.  More nice.  More happy.  To make life as close to normal as we could for the kids, I asked him to move in with us.  We lived in separate bedrooms like roommates, but the kids had both parents under one roof.  It was looking like we would be able to reconcile.

But, as time passed, his anger started to show itself again.

He wanted for us to move back to Nebraska.  Many of our family and friends advised us against it, or at least they advised us to continue to pursue a more complete recovery from our old habits before we moved away.  My husband had extreme control and anger issues, and I had been very codependent.  He had betrayed us by being unfaithful, and I still needed to know that I could trust him.  The advice of those who loved us was that we continue to grow before moving away, so that we wouldn't revert back to how we had been before.

This advice brought a level of anger and resentment from my husband that was so great, it started affecting the children.  I had one of the kids cry to me and say that Daddy was angry again.  She was afraid of it, but at the same time was also afraid that we would have to leave him again, and she didn't want to face what that would inevitably mean.  The dysfunction of codependency and enabling behaviors were rearing their ugly head in the behaviors of my daughter.

I would not raise my children in this kind of dysfunction and fear.  I told my husband that I was going to file for divorce.

We had been living in the beautiful townhouse for only one year.  But, my hours had been cut at the country club, and I wasn't making enough to cover the $2,050 per month rent.  Even with my second job as a server at a Hawaiian restaurant.

So, we moved.   We moved into a 4 bedroom house around the corner from my parents' house.  My husband and Adam moved out a few months later.

I got a new job as an office manager for an engineering firm.  With this job, I would make enough to support my children and myself.  I quit my job at the country club, but kept the second job so that I could make extra money to pay off debt.

After 2 months at the engineering firm, I was laid off.  My boss couldn't make payroll.  It was the Friday before Christmas.

I picked-up as many hours as I could at the Hawaiian restaurant.  I got another part-time job working as a promotional model a weekend or two a month.  It still wasn't enough.

After a year in the house around the corner from my parents, I found a tiny 2-bedroom condo I could afford.  Rent was just over $1,000 per month.  Our next door neighbor was an L.A. gang leader.

LET'S RECAP, SHALL WE?

We moved from our country house in Nebraska, to a house in town in early 2006, to my parents' guest room in California in the summer of 2006.  We moved to the beautiful townhouse in the spring of 2007.  We moved to the 4-bedroom house around the corner from my parents in the spring of 2008.  And we moved to the tiny 2-bedroom condo in the spring of 2009.

That's 5 different homes in 3 years.

Hugo and I started dating in the fall of 2009.  We married on Valentine's Day in 2010.  It was a fast courtship, and a quick engagement.  Not what the professionals would advise, but it worked for us.  Yes, we have had to put in some extra work on the already-married end as the result of our speedy pre-married relationship, but it has been work that has been well worth the effort, leaving us strong and healthy.

Challenges aren't always all bad.

Lee is very insecure about moving.  To him, it is normal to move every year.  We moved to my parents' house when he was 1, to the beautiful townhouse when he was 2, to the house around the corner from my parents' when he was 3, to the tiny condo in the ghetto when he was 4, and to Glendora when he was 5.

He will be 8 in December.  We're still here.

But, he asks if we will have to move, even still.  He asked this last weekend while we were driving.  Wanted to make Hugo and me promise that we will live in this house until we die.  When we're old.

He then asked when we will be done paying for our house.  We told him that we would be done when he is thirty-five.  He stared blankly out the car window.  So did we, I think.  Yikes.

Hugo and I can't seriously promise Lee that we will stay in our house until we are old.  Who can say for sure where life is going to lead?  But when I remember that drive I had to give my kids security, a home, and a healthy life, I realize just how far God has brought us.

He brought me back home to my family in California.  My children to their cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.  He brought us Hugo.  And more grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a soon-to-be cousin.

He brought us to Glendora.  And He brought us to this house we won't have paid off until 2040, but we are so very happy we have.

Hugo and I are raising a happy, healthy family.  The hope I had from the start.  At the time I didn't realize that it would take divorce and the remarriage to a man up for the job to bring it, but since when do I have to know exactly how God will bring a prayer and hope to reality?  He saw my deepest desires for my family met, and He did it His way.  His perfect way.

It's All About Hugo This Father's Day

I can remember as if it were yesterday.  It was Halloween, 2009.  Hugo and I were dating, and he went Trick or Treating with us for the very first time.  Lee asked him to carry him up on his shoulders.  For a year, that was Lee's favorite seat.  Hugo laments that he wasn't a part of our family sooner, so that he could not only hold Lee longer, but he would have loved to have had the opportunity with the other kids, as well.

As I went through pictures, looking for shots I wanted to include in this Father's Day tribute to Hugo, I saw an abundance of pictures of him with Lee, and not one one-on-one picture of him with the other kids.  What the heck?!  We need to work on that, starting today.

Whether a photo was captured or not, one thing is clear.  Hugo Ambriz has taken this job as Dad with all of his heart, pouring himself into these kids with as much energy and tenacity as if he had been their natural father.  And none of these kids will suffer the fate of being raised with the disappointments of a non-present dad.

Oops!  I was wrong.  Here is a pic of Hugo and Adam together.  These two enjoy trips to the batting cages, jam sessions in the garage, and endless hours spent in the yard mowing, trimming, and sweating.  Well, maybe not so much, with that last one.  Their growing bond touches me.

This is one of my favorite pictures of both Hugo, and Lee.  I love their faces, and confidence, as they take command of the shark.

Hugo used to leave for work before Lee left for school.  He'd bow down on one knee, and give Lee a talk, encouraging Lee to be honest, fair, a hard worker, and a good friend.  Hugo started taking Lee to school, so the routine was altered a bit, and it was done at school, rather than on the front porch.  Toward the end of last year, the beloved BEST teacher in the school approached Hugo, and told him how much she enjoys watching him see Lee off because of his obvious love and commitment to his son.  It's funny, too, because I had noticed her smiling at me every afternoon with an extra twinkle in her eye.  She'd see me with Lee, and she made the connection.  We're all being watched, and when we get caught doing great things, it's freaking awesome.  Hugo was caught.

Hugo plays with Lee.  A lot.  He enters his imaginary world, and devotes hours of time to creating forever memories.  Here, he hasn't even gotten out of his work clothes yet.

There are pictures of the older kids at events where Hugo was very present, but not pictured.  Like, at the high school orientation one Saturday at Abi's future high school.  It was just Hugo, Abi, and me and it was a special time to learn about her future options.

Tessa is cheering on Hugo's inner rock star at a festival in Azusa.  This picture is a treat.  She does not like getting it taken.  She is so beautiful.

Danielle is cheering him on, too.  This child, also beautiful, does like getting her picture taken.

He is cool, just as the sign says.  So very cool.  And such a gift to these kids.  Not only filling in the blanks, but writing over written wrongs that left each of them wounded and insecure.  He is the man of my dreams, and the father I prayed for, for each of the five kids he loves and holds.

Remember when I said that I need to start taking pictures of him with the older kids, and I said that I need to begin starting today?  Well, I did.  Four of the kids are with their natural dad this weekend, so we will celebrate Hugo together with them next weekend.  But, Danielle will be in Italy then, so today, Hugo had Father's Day #1 with Danielle.  We started the day by bringing Donut Man to him in bed.

I said, "Donut Man," not the donut man.

We wanted to take him to Pozzeto's, our favorite Italian restaurant, after church.  But, Hugo wasn't in the mood.  He wanted Carl's Jr., instead.  I know.  I tried.  I even suggested his favorite deli in the Glendora Village.  Anything but Carl's.  Not that there's anything wrong with them, at all.  I love them.  But Carl's?  On Father's Day?  Since it's his day we went with what he wanted.  A hamburger eaten at a park.  So, while we were there, I carried out my plan of getting a one-on-one with a child.  The child available today.  Danielle.  Yes, the one who likes to get her picture taken, so it was easy.

Happy Father's Day, Mr. Ambriz.  The man of my dreams.

Adam's Story -- Part 3

Adam had just turned 16 when he moved back in with Hugo and me.  His charter school has multiple locations, and we were able to transfer him from his previous location to a different one closer to our new house.

His life was pretty simple for him.  School two days a week, and that was about it.  Concerned that his leisure time was far more heavily weighted than his productive time, I urged him to seek balance by involving himself in volunteer work.  He volunteered weekly in Lee's Kindergarten class listening to kids read out loud, testing their comprehension, and helping Lee's teacher grade assignments.  It was so much fun seeing him in there, completely adored by the kids.  Mr. Adam.  He smiled deeply, beneath his smile.

Transitioning into life with Hugo was not nearly as difficult as other transitions I've heard about, when a step-parent comes into the mix.  Adam was never threatened by Hugo's command of authority, simply because Hugo didn't demand it.  Sure, he is a strong leader, but he never wanted to come in and push his way into the family as the new sheriff in town.  In a way he was, because he is disciplined in the ways in which we have lacked discipline, and he maintains that discipline himself, expecting us all to follow suit.  But, in matters of the heart, he didn't want to throw himself to the kids, making them love their new dad.  He knew they already have a dad they love.

My ex-husband has continued to maintain a distance between himself and his kids that has been painful for them.  Adam had a lot of conflict when he lived with his dad.  But, as he compared his natural dad's behavior and responses to the behavior and responses of Hugo, he saw big differences.

The kids have been blessed, because it seems as though all of the ways in which their natural dad struggles, Hugo is strong.  And I could be wrong, but I really think that my ex-husband sees that, and rather than be threatened by it, to his credit, he is comforted by it.  Like, he knows that there are aspects of what the kids need in his personality and character that he just can't produce, and when he sees Hugo fill those needs, he is relieved.  He loves his children very much.  And so does Hugo.

Adam sees this.  Of all of the kids, he was the first one to accept his dad for who he is, and how he is.  Knowing that he doesn't behave the way he does because he is evil, or bad, or doesn't love his kids, but that he responds to life, the kids included, because of the hurts and pain he suffers deeply from his own childhood.  It doesn't excuse it, or make it OK for him to berate or neglect his kids, but it helps those of us who are subjected to his behavior understand him.

Adam was able to see his dad for who he is, forgive his dad for who he is, and love his dad for who he is.  And when he did that, the anger, lifted.  It was gone.  No more lashing out at me.  No more yelling matches with his dad.

Adam was also able to seek the things he needs in a dad from Hugo.  Hugo's love for him is intense, and he marvels at the depth of their relationship.  Hugo willingly gives Adam the time and attention  Adam was so starved for, his entire childhood.  Trips to the batting cages, games of catch, jam sessions in the garage, incessant nagging about Adam's need to pick up his dirty clothes and empty clothes hangers from his bedroom floor.  Adam has needed it all, and he drinks it in.

Hugo joined me in keeping Adam on the straight and narrow academically.  He was in an independent study program, which means he could work extra hard to make up his freshman year, and graduate on time.  But, it could also mean that he could slack off.

We push for academic excellence in our family.  It doesn't necessarily have to be straight-A's.  If a child is working their hardest, and they get a C, they will get our applause.  But, if they are slacking off, and they get a C, well, not so much.

Adam was definitely improving his Straight-F GPA from his freshman year.  He was getting B's, and C's.  But, we really believed he could do better, because we just didn't see him working that hard on his schooling. He needed to study more, and try harder.  To not be so happy to settle for mediocrity.  He challenged us on this, holding fast to the fact that he wasn't failing like before.  That he had improved.  But, we stood firm too.  We wanted to build in him a character that wouldn't so easily settle for less.  It caused some tension, especially between Adam and Hugo, because Hugo was able to sift through the smelly stuff, and cut to the chase, where I was always a little fearful that Adam would snap again, and give up altogether.

I have a rule of no gaming on school days.  Adam asked to have that rule softened, since he was older.  I had to really think about it, but I agreed, under the condition that he only game when his grades were good.  He had to spend more time studying, and applying himself to his education.  If he brought home the grades, he could game.  It was a great incentive, and an opportunity for him to take more responsibility, seeing firsthand and immediate benefits to working hard in school.

And he did it.  Adam made up his freshman year, as well as completed his other requirements, so that he could graduate the same year he would have, had he stayed in traditional high school.  He did 4 years in 3.  And through the completion of every subject, we saw him stand a little taller.

Adam has gotten very involved in his youth group of about 500 teens at church.  He is close with a group of guys his age, who meet together with a leader/mentor every week.  He has grown tremendously.  Spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically!  My 10 pound, 1 ounce baby boy stands at 6'2", and wears a size 13 shoe.

The sweet, witty little boy I raised all those years ago has grown to be a sweet, witty, intelligent, and beautiful young man, wise beyond his years.  His heart for others, and compassion for people who are hurting is a driving force within him.  His love and commitment to God is the driving force that gives purpose to all of his other driving forces.

Sure that he has been called by God, Adam has chosen to pursue a life of full-time Christian service.  He wants to take the pains of his past, and help others who suffer as he has suffered.

He graduates next Tuesday.  He will start college in the fall.  We celebrate, not only the success of his completion of high school, but we celebrate the success of his life.  Courage.  Facing his heartache, working through it, rising above it.

He laughs.  A lot.  And he makes us laugh.  A lot.  Oh, and he plays the piano again.  The beautiful piano music of my son fills our home, and my heart.  Beauty from ashes, indeed.

Adam's Story -- Part 2

This is my least-favorite of this three part series.  It was our darkest years, and the years in which I actually contemplated suicide.  I never planned how I wanted to die, not really.  But I begged God to please take me.  To maybe steer my van into the concrete median on the freeway?  Maybe if I was driving fast enough, the impact would be great enough to end it all...I obsessed about it.  I felt like I had failed my children--I couldn't fix their pain, and I couldn't fix our situation.  I believed that they would all be better off without me.  

When Adam first started junior high, he had tremendous support.  I met the principal the day I registered him for school--a total honey badger.  Perfect lady to have on Adam's side.  Smart.  Tough.  Sharp.  Soon, the teaching staff fell in love with him, which was comforting.  He has always been comfortable around adults, and he felt safe with their presence and attention.

He joined the school band and developed friendships.  He was a Woodcrest Wolverine.  Trying so hard to create a normal experience for him, I got involved in the Band Booster Club, a parents' group that helps raise funds for the band, helps the band instructor as needed, etc.  I wanted him to see my support.  That I was interested in the things he was interested in.  But, being involved allowed me to really notice some things as his 7th grade year ticked away.  I observed that Adam gravitated toward the rougher kids.  It seemed they were the ones he identified with the most.  The kids in Crisis, just like him.  Single parent kids.  Kids with disappointments and broken hearts.  With little to no love and support from home, and with pretty bad attitudes.  Adam stood out amongst them at first, because he had love and support, but it was only a matter of time before their influence would graft to his own broken heart, and grow something in Adam I never saw coming.

His stress level increased.  He had days when he didn't want to go to school.  I would take him to school, and he would refuse to leave the van.  He would cry bitter, and defiant tears.  Sometimes he won.  Sometimes I won.  Sometimes, from the curb of his school, I had to call the school office for reinforcement.

I had gotten a job as as a server at a country club halfway through Adam's 7th grade year.  My life in Nebraska had me at home full time, raising the kids, and homeschooling them.  This was a life we chose, and it was a life we loved.  But, my choice to move to California left me on my own, with no resume.  Working as a server was all I could find to do, but it was great, because it increased my hourly income when I factored in my tips.  The downside was that I had to work a lot in order to  survive.  Which meant less time at home.  Less time to care for my family.  For the kids who were used to my availability, it was a huge stress.  

After the children and I lived in California for a year, my husband moved from Nebraska to join us.  He had stayed behind in Nebraska when we moved.  He spent the year in counseling.  We moved into a townhouse, and not sure that he was fully recovered from his anger issues and control, I could only have us live as roommates.  It was a practical decision.  The kids were suffering with me having to work and be away so much, and with the separation of their parents and life changes.  He could help out, and give himself to their needs.  My deepest hopes and dreams were that he would be available to them for the first time, ever.  That we could heal.  We worked on rebuilding our life together.

But, as Adam's 8th grade year moved on, Adam's stress only seemed to increase.  He is a beautiful piano player, and played all the time when we lived in Nebraska.  But, I noticed he never played the piano once we moved to California, in spite of the fact that we had a piano, and even though we had a piano teacher come to our house weekly so that we could continue the piano lessons the kids started in Nebraska.  Normalcy.  Trying so hard for that sense of normalcy, and to recapture the things important to my kids.  But, his aversion to playing piano was so intense, that it got to the point where he would have panic attacks when the piano teacher would come.  He begged me to have the piano teacher leave, and never return.  And he never touched the piano.

His grades fell.  His episodes of not wanting to go to school increased.  He was always kind and respectful to the staff, but they could still see signs of stress.  We made the decision to have a counselor from a local counseling center come to the school weekly to meet with him.  And in addition to the counseling through the city, we got both him into private counseling, as well as encouraging his involvement in the youth group at church.

Never, when I separated the children and myself from my husband, did I want the end result to be divorce.  It was a separation, for the sake of reconciliation.  Beauty from ashes.  With great hope that our nightmare would be behind us, and that we would emerge a stronger, more healthy family.

But, after a year of living together, it was evident that my husband hadn't changed in the ways that we needed him to.  Things started out so good.  He was available to the kids.  Responsive to their needs.  Patient.  Joyful.  He wanted us to move back to Nebraska, and since that was where we had spent the majority of our life together, where all but Tessa had been born, the kids and I wanted to move back too.  But he didn't want to move back to Gothenburg, where our life had been before.  He wanted us to live in a community completely new to the kids and me.  The one he had moved to a few months after we separated, before the kids and I came to California.  It was a 5 hour drive from Gothenburg.

I had too many people advising against it, concerned about him relocating us to a new community.  Fearing that our lack of an established support system would too easily enable us to revert back to our former roles.  That the kids and I would too easily be left with a life of control and abuse.  I presented these concerns of so many of our friends and family to my husband.  Not that any of them thought that there was no hope; they just thought that it was too soon.  He responded negatively.  He was mad that I listened to them.  Mad that I needed, or even wanted more time.  Over the days and weeks following, his anger increased.  He acted out more against the kids.  He resented me.  Despondent, I made the decision to file for divorce.  Tessa, Abi, Lee, and I moved to a less expensive house closer to my parents' house, and my husband moved into an apartment.  With Adam.  Our family was divided.

Although he had moved out of my house, I stayed involved in Adam's life.  High school was a nightmare for him.  The rougher kids he had gravitated toward before were now into bigger things.  Gang activity was prevalent in his school.  He joined a group of kids that had gang ties, and were very gang-like in their behavior.  Brotherhood.  Violence.  Bad attitude.  Defiance.

We kept him in counseling.  Still, he was slipping away.  He failed every class in the first semester of his freshman year.  I was at his school a lot, meeting with his guidance counselor, and teachers.  They observed that Adam was deliberately failing.  Two teachers told me he was the smartest kid in their classes.  The other kids would go to him for help, he would give it, but yet, he himself would fail.  Next, he failed his second semester.  He had to leave the school and go to a charter school that had an independent study program.  As bad as this was, I was relieved, as it got him away from the daily influence of the gang he was involved in.

I worked a second job at a restaurant near his charter school.  He had to go to school twice a week to turn in work and test.  He would walk to the restaurant to see me sometimes.  I loved seeing him, and drank in the opportunity to connect with my son.  But, when he would come to my house, he would end up having loud, verbal outbursts, when we'd disagree over anything.  Highly emotional, even attempting to intimidate me by towering over me, with clenched fists.  I had to tell him that as long as he behaved that way, he couldn't come to my house.  I would not subject our family to that kind of environment.  Our family.  Where was our family?  How had this happened?

The divorce took a year and a half, mostly because I dragged my feet.  I desperately wanted my husband to snap out of his state, work hard on his character, attitude, and role, and want his family and marriage back.  Make me stop the divorce.  But, he never did.

I was dying, or thinking about it, at least, and trying so hard to heal.  I was in Celebrate Recovery, and I was seeing all of the wrong ways in which our family had functioned.  The wrong ways in which I had functioned.  I started making changes.   In everything.  No more undisciplined disregard for keeping up our house, though this part was hard, with me working 6-7 days a week.  No more accepting laziness as normal.  No more eating whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted.  And for me, no more wrapping the essence of my entire being into doing whatever I needed to do, to make and keep my children happy.  They had to take responsibility for that, accepting my guidance and example, but doing the work to achieve it, themselves.  If they weren't happy, they could no longer project their disappointments onto me, expecting me to make happiness happen for them.  We all had to accept the things that had happened in our family, and then do what we needed to do, to make our family healthy, and good.  A lot of changing had to take place.  The combination of the way I approached them and life itself so differently from how they were used to me being their entire life before, and having our life be so different, was very threatening and uncomfortable for them.

But, yet life with their dad was as it had always been before.  It was normal for them.  The way they were used to life being, even if it was dysfunctional and unhealthy.  Gaming as much as they wanted, not having to do house chores, or pick up after themselves.  Living under the rule and control of their dad, complete with verbal insults, and loud outbursts.  Hating the new feel of home with me, and craving a feeling of normalcy, Tessa eventually moved out and lived with her dad and Adam.  Our family was truly divided.

It was around the time that I was really thinking about that concrete median on the freeway, that Hugo, a high school mate and friend of my sister's husband, came into our life.  When Tessa and Adam came over for visits, and Hugo was at my house, they were comfortable with him, and enjoyed being around.  Our times together were more pleasant.  Less stressful.

The divorce was final in early December, 2009.   Hugo proposed Christmas Day, at my parents' house.  Adam was happy with the engagement.  Feeling urgency to get on with our life and create a healthy and new normal for the kids, we married two months later.  He lived with me after we married, until we bought our current house in Glendora.  I quit my job, and we moved.  This was nearly two years ago.

Just before we moved, when I told Adam that I was quitting my job, and that we were going to be moving to Glendora, he shocked me when he said, "Mom, I can't tell you how long I've been  waiting for you to say that."  And then a few weeks later, he said something else that shocked me even more.  He said that he wanted to move out of his dad's house, and move in with Hugo and me.

Hope.  But, there were obstacles in his future that would challenge whether or not he was really ready to take life seriously, put away old habits, and pursue a better path.  He still had a rough road ahead of him.

Day #6: The Concept of Good Things Coming From Something Bad

Danielle and I were talking this last week about something we both think of often.  About how, as bad as her childhood was, if it was functional, and hopeful, and safe, she would still be with her parents of origin.  We also discussed that had my ex-husband not had the affair, the other kids and I would still be back in Nebraska living a completely different life than the one we now live.

If she hadn't suffered terribly seeing her parents' decay through alcohol and drug abuse, and if the other kids and I hadn't suffered the pain of seeing that our husband and father had betrayed us, it's obvious that we wouldn't be here together, with Hugo.  And all the balance and right he adds to the mix.

It kind of messes with my mind sometimes, when I lament the sorrow of what the kids and I have endured.  But, I can't stay in that bad place for long, because that line of thinking inevitably takes me to where I am now.  To where we are now.  And I know that the sorrow of our past brought us to the life we now live and cherish.

Just like I can't wish I'd never married my ex-husband.  If I never married him, we wouldn't have Tessa, Adam, Abi, and Lee.  If I never married him, I wouldn't have Nebraska.  It was, after all, his job transfer that took us there in the first place.  Could I even imagine life without these children?  Without Nebraska?

If I say I wish the affair had never happened, then the kids and I would have still been in a system that was unhealthy and so very dysfunctional.  It's for this reason that I can say that I hold zero bitterness toward my ex-husband's act of betrayal, for it took something just that powerful to open my eyes to what was going on in our family, aside from his infidelity.

Can I be thankful for the affair?  I think I am.

What Danielle endured throughout her childhood is only just really starting to emerge as she matures and feels more and more safe in her new home with us.  She's allowing herself to face the demons of her parents' past--demons they allowed her to be tormented by.  But, at the same time she is looking at her parents with love and acceptance, and an understanding of the havoc their addictions brought to their lives.  Hers included.

And she does this in her room.  The safe room in her safe house, with her safe family ready to listen to her whenever she is ready to share.  A family that wouldn't be here for her if some of us were still in Nebraska. 

I do believe that the Perfect Plan was for each of our families to be healthy, void of secret sins, and blatant in your face neglect and abuse.  But Perfect Plans sometimes crumble in our imperfect world.  And when the plan ends up being less than perfect, it is good to know that God has our back.  And a Plan B.

As good as our collective Plan B is, sometimes I wish that this had been our Plan A in the first place.  That's the whole messing with my mind thing again, hard at work.  But instead, I choose to simply be thankful for who we are, and where we are today.  Because since the paths that brought us together were rocky, we can really appreciate just how good it is now.

And it is so very good.  I am so thankful.  So thankful for so much good being brought from so many somethings that were bad.

Dads Need to Step Up, and Quickly

A day doesn't go by, that I'm not reminded of the reality of Family Crisis in our world, as I see it rear it's ugly head all over the place.  The other night, in fact, I ran into one of my favorite little spots in Glendora, just at the base of the Village.  The dollar store.  You never know what you're going to get, but whenever I go in, I give my bargain hunting high a fresh hit.

There was a mom in there with her young children.  What is it about young moms with their little ones that get at my heart?  The newness?  The hope?  The joy?  The little family seemed extra darling to me for some reason, and I enjoyed hearing their helium high voices as they shopped with their mommy.

As it turned out, they ended up in line after me.  Then the mom realized she forgot band-aids, and leaving her pre-school aged little boy in line, she went to the bandage aisle to get a box (it's a very small store--she was within ear-shot).  The little boy started to get nervous about the line progressing, so I offered him encouragement that there were a lot of people ahead of him, and that his mom would get back in plenty of time.

He was a chatty little guy.  "My dad took all of the Band-Aids," he said.  I laughed.  "It's OK," I replied, "Your mom is getting more."  Then, he added a bit of information that cut me to my core, as he took me from a mindset of the family simply picking up needed supplies, to a darker reality.  "I can't have my dad living with me anymore."

My heart sank.  He was so honest.  So real.  So matter-of-fact.  He looked up at me with such innocent eyes.  Eyes that don't deserve to be the windows to a soul that is being put through the torment of everything at home being turned upside down.

All I could offer him was, "I'm sorry, Honey.  That happens sometimes."

The mom came back to the line, and before I knew it I was handing her a piece of paper with my blog address scribbled on it.  I told her I'd been admiring her family.  And I told her what her little boy said to me.  I told her that I wanted to offer her hope that she will make it.  That I have been where she is right now.  That there is life on the other side.  The cashier called me for my turn, and I was gone, but not without one last knowing glance as I walked out.

I've thought about her a lot.  About her little boy, about all of her kids, and about all of that sweet and tender energy dancing around their mommy as they shopped.  I've prayed for them.

Do I notice these things because they are everywhere, or do I notice them because it's a world my eyes are now opened to?  A world for which my heart bleeds?

My mom called me a couple of days ago telling me about a movie she and my dad saw twice over the weekend.  She saw it with each of my two sisters, and she said my brother saw it in Minnesota as well.  It was a movie I hadn't heard of.  A Christian movie made by the good people who brought you Fireproof with Kirk Cameron.  The movie is called Courageous.

You gotta just bless the little hearts of Christian movie makers.  As much as it pains me to say it, Christian movies just tend to be cheesy.  But, my mom told me that this one had such a compelling and real story, that it was easy for her to bypass the cheesiness, and go for the good.  A lot of good, in fact.  So much so, that she was calling to insist (INSIST!!) that Hugo and I go right away to see it.  That night, in fact.  It has been in theaters for a while now, and is only at a select few as it is.  She feared that if we put it off, we'd miss our chance.

I looked on line, and the only showing near us was at 10:20.  I have a hard enough time sitting through a movie at prime time without falling asleep, let alone a two hour movie that doesn't even start until 10:20. But I agreed, went to the dollar store for candy to smuggle in (maybe the adrenaline of getting away without having to pay theater prices for snacks will keep me awake), and after taking a nap next to Lee at his bedtime (when I discovered a rash on his face and arms, but that's another story), Hugo and I headed out the door for a late date night.

Hugo said he wanted to get there in time to see the previews of "Fireproof II...The Reckoning," but it appears that there is no such movie, so we had to settle for...well, to be honest, I can't remember any of the previews.  I was already starting to get sleepy.  So I popped in a bite sized Milky Way.

OK.  So, the movie had its share of lame attempts at not being cheesy, but really?  By far amongst the best Christian movies yet.  Second only to Soul Surfer.

We were touched deeply by the message.  The obvious message of our need, in society, to see our dads step up and father their children.  It portrays varying dads, with different styles and backgrounds, as they take on the demands of fatherhood with a serious look onto what's at stake.

What's that line Keanu Reeves says in the movie Parenthood?  Well, here.  Unless you're sensitive to profanity, just take a look here.

So many of the ills of society would be wiped away, if fathers really fathered.  And it's not to get us moms off the hook.  Sometimes we have a situation when we see that the fathers of our children can not only not father them properly, but we find that they do our children more harm than good.  In a case such as this, we as moms have a huge responsibility to take action and make changes.

Those of us who have wonderful men fathering our children need to let them do what they do, without interfering.  The role of the dad is different from the role of the mom.  We need to stick to our own job, take it seriously, and do it well.

I sincerely hope that this is what that young mom is doing for her babies.  I hope that now that the Dad and the Band-Aids are gone, she is reaching out to the resources available to her.  Sometimes it's hard to find them--it was for me.  But unfortunately, it isn't hard to find a woman who has walked in your shoes before you.  Hopefully, you can find one who is healthy, who has worked her hiney off to bring function into her home, and into the lives of her children.  Go to her.  Learn from her.

If not, call me.  Write me.  Message me.  This is why I'm here.  I will offer you support, and any resources I can to get you and your children to a better place.

And for everyone else, if you are interested in boosting your parenthood powers and have 2 hours, go see Courageous before its run in the theaters expires.  Know it won't be winning any Academy Awards, but what it lacks in movie finesse, it more than makes up for in message, and in getting a much needed point across.  There are even some side-splitting funny parts, which is an amazing find in Christian movies.

"Limonada!"

The Story of Hugo and Me

I got an email yesterday from a very dear Life Friend of mine.  She and I have been friends for 25 years. We were new brides together, and we used to meet weekly to pray for our husbands, and study about ways to be better wives.  We shared a determined commitment to our husbands, and that common bond was something that has kept us close all these years.

The last few years have brought both of us a great deal of pain, and as sad as it is, life has gotten in the way of our being able to really connect on a deep level through this time.  She said to me yesterday that getting to read my blogs has helped her tremendously, which was a beautiful thing to read, as this is one of the reasons why I wanted to blog in the first place...so that I could re-connect with all of the dear people I have had in the various parts of my life.

One thing she has requested, though, is one thing I haven't yet shared...the story of how Hugo and I met, fell in love, and married each other.  The story of our love, and how it came to be.  It made me smile.  Without even knowing it, Michelle played a big part in it.

She prayed with me for my husband.

It was a dark moment in my life when I allowed myself to see my now ex-husband for who he really was.  He wasn't the man I had prayed for.  And no matter how hard I worked at being the best wife I could be, he couldn't allow himself to receive any of it.  Instead, he took my attempts at honoring him as a means to keep me belittled, and under his thumb.  When the marriage ended, I was devastated.  Incredulous that all those years of prayer and commitment to my husband went away as painfully as the marriage itself.

We had been separated for nearly 4 years, and the divorce I allowed to drag on for years was nearing its finality.  I worked at a Hawaiian restaurant where I was the Marketing Manager and Special Events Coordinator.

My brother-in-law Joe is a musician and a music producer.  He was contracted by the restaurant to facilitate Saturday night entertainment.  Hugo, his friend from their teenage years, lent him equipment needed for the music gigs.  I had heard about Hugo in various stories through the years, and I had met Hugo's brother Luis, another friend of Joe's, before.  But never Hugo.  I was always kind of curious.

My first impression of him was that he was really, really cute.  With an engaging smile.  And a kind spirit.  I loved the way he patiently helped Joe out with whatever he needed.  He was funny, too, and very easy to talk to.  I learned quickly that he liked root beer.  Rather than have one of the servers keep him loaded up, I decided that as manager, I would be showing better hospitality of I just took care of him myself.  Oh, Joe?  Sorry Joe.  What did you want to drink...?

Every Saturday night I looked forward to seeing Hugo.  The kids would be with their dad every-other-weekend, so on the Saturdays that they were gone, I'd volunteer to work, even though my job was mostly a Monday-through-Friday job.  It was good for me to be there, but there were many Saturdays when it wasn't necessary.  But I'd volunteer to close, giving the younger managers the opportunity to go out and be with their friends.  Kind of a nice gesture, really.  They're only young once.  Should enjoy their youth.  Get out more.  What's that?  Hugo needs more root beer.

So on and on it went.  Saturday after Saturday.  OK.  It really wasn't that long--only about 6 or 8 Saturdays, I think, before I asked Hugo out.  Yes, I did.

I did the asking.  You see, some Irish guys my siblings and I know were coming to town.  Set to perform on a not-so-Sunday-Bloody Sunday at the Rose Bowl.  I wondered if he'd want to go too.  I asked Joe.  How would he feel if I asked his childhood friend to the U2 concert we were going to?  Oh, and how would he feel about the fact that I have a RAGING crush on said childhood friend?  He gave me his blessing, but not without sharing the very obvious elephant in the room:  If we made an attempt at a relationship, and it didn't work out, it would put Joe in a potentially awkward position.  I appreciated his honesty.  I couldn't pursue a friend of my brother-in-law without considering that.

But the truth is, it meant a lot that Hugo was a long-time family friend.  A whole lot.  We knew who the family was.  The history of the family.  Joe had eaten at Hugo's mother's table many, many times and if you knew Elaine Ambriz' cooking, you'd make darn sure you found yourself at her table too, by the way.  We knew that the family was a good family.  A loving, and committed family, with values that were so close to ours.  I felt safer for my children.  So I asked.

I stood in my parents' garage, and called him.  He seemed happy that I had wrangled his number from Joe and made the move.  And U2?  His brother and sisters had all seen them in concert--he was the only one who hadn't, and he'd love to see them.  His siblings like U2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Oh.  And he said YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He called me the following week.  Would I like to accompany him to a company Halloween party the night before U2?  Would I?!!!!!!  I mean, sure.  Thank you for thinking of me.  I'd love to.  (Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!)

The week before the U2 concert I textedLOL-ed, and I gushed to Christina, a co-worker.

But first things first.  The Halloween party.  He came to my condo to pick me up, with a make-up kit.  We were going as vampires, and he is an artist.  He painted his face.  It was horrifying, but from an artistic perspective, it was beautiful.  Greenish-gray skin, the illusion of veins under the surface, the obligatory drop of blood at the corner of his mouth.  And the bite marks on my neck.  *sigh*

We danced at the party, which was a big deal for me, the non-dancer (no rhythm, but mostly no dance-confidence).  Then we sat on a quiet sofa in a corner and we talked.  And talked.  And talked.  And talked.  He drove me home, and we talked some more.  At my door, he asked me if he could kis--Yes!

The next morning (U2-Day!!!!!!!), Danielle came into my room to ask me how my date with Hugo went.  She was "watching TV" when he came to do make-up the night before, and she loved his presence.  She had also met him at the restaurant I managed, where she worked as a busser.  She really, really liked him, and she was really rooting for us.  So she was eager when she came into my room.  When she asked me, I pulled the sheet over my head and cried.  My muffled reply was, "He's perrrrrrfect!!!!"

U2 was magical.  Seeing Bono on stage, one of the greatest humanitarians of our time, is a Spiritual experience.  The combination of that, and the hot guy I was with during the concert, made it a night to remember forever and ever.  We fell fast in love.

Another Halloween party, this time at my parents' house the following weekend, cemented our relationship.  The kids fell in love with him, even though we never expected them to so soon.  My family fell in love with him, even though we never expected them to so soon.  And he fell in love with all of them, for which I had secretly prayed.

As we trick-or-treated, my brother-in-law Matt put my nephew up on his shoulders.  Lee looked up at Hugo, whose hand he was holding.  "Can I go up on your shoulders?"  It was a position we would find them in every time we were out somewhere, until Lee got too big last fall.  Precious.

Before I knew it, my mom was cornering me, telling me to not let go of this guy.

I had already met Hugo's brother Luis, and a couple of his sisters had come to the restaurant on Saturday nights, so I had met them too.  By mid-November, I had met everyone but his sister Elsa who lives in Atlanta.  But we didn't let that stop us--we emailed & Facebook Messaged and got off to a great start.

On Christmas night, as we gathered in my parents' dining room, standing in a circle holding hands, my father prayed before we ate.  After his prayer, Hugo spoke up.  I can't tell you what he said.  Just that he was suddenly on his knee in front of me, and he had a ring...

I found out later, that he had asked my father's permission.  He asked my father's permission!  I said yes.

We took off to his parents' house to flash some bling.  There was a lot of energy, a lot of happiness.  And a whole lot more people in Hugo's childhood home, with all five kids and me.

We were in Big Bear with my family over the New Year weekend.  After all the kids were in bed, and the cabin was quiet, my mom and sisters had an intervention.  They told us we needed to get married sooner, rather than later.  They put the suggestion of eloping in our ears.  We pondered the possibilities.

Wouldn't it be fun if we eloped on Valentine's Day?  Hugo is a hopeless romantic, and as cliche as that notion could be to some people, to us, it sounded magical.  But remember, I managed a restaurant.  Managers didn't take time off over the Valentine's Day holiday.  We worked.  But, the night of February 13 found the restaurant easily managed.  Certainly nothing that required a hefty management staff.  Before we knew it, we ditched the restaurant, Joe, who was there for the entertainment, family friends who were there that night, and our own Danielle who was there with her girlfriends, all dressed up for their Winter Formal.  We left with everyones' blessings, and we were off.

It was 7:20.  Las Vegas was our destination for a quick wedding.  It is a 3 1/2 to 4 hour drive.  The courthouse closes at midnight.  We arrived at 11:20, with the help of the navigation of family as we conversed via text.

We thought we had it made, and that we could relax a little.  You can get married all through the night in  Vegas, so we kind of took a breather in the car while we waited for the clock to strike February 14.  There was a chapel right there.  How about we just go to that one?  So we walked on over to it, got in at around 11:50, and asked them if they wouldn't mind waiting until 12:00 so that we could have a Valentine anniversary.  We were married at 12:05, and the minister left.  We thought it odd, and then we saw other personnel leaving.  We discovered that the chapel closes at midnight.  In fact, all of the chapels in Vegas close at midnight!  Had we driven around looking for a chapel, we wouldn't have made it on time.  This would have been bad, considering we couldn't have stayed until morning--I had to work the next day, and Hugo had a Daytona 500 to watch with his sisters and brother.  Life does, after all, go on.

When the kids came home after their weekend with their dad, and Danielle was rested from her Winter Formal, we broke the news.  They were elated.  And thus began the healing of five wounded children, enjoying stability and love and all the things kids need in order to be well-balanced and happy.

We bought a house in Glendora, and even through our downs, we are counting our blessings.  The kids and me, because we have someone loving us and taking care of us.  Hugo, because he has the kids and me loving him and taking care of him.  We need each other.

Yesterday, another friend posted something on Facebook that caught my eye:

While you scream at your woman, there's a man wishing he could whisper in her ear.  While you humiliate, offend, and insult her, there's a man wanting to remind her how beautiful she is.  While you hurt her, there's a man wishing he could take her pain away, while you show her how low she is, there's a man wanting to show her how high she makes him.  Re-post if you're against Domestic Violence & Mental Abuse.

I thought about it, rather startled.  The writer was right.  There is a man out there wishing he could whisper loving words into her ear, reminding her how beautiful she is, wanting to take her pain away, who will show her how high she makes him.  He is the antithesis of Domestic Violence and Mental Abuse.  And to take it a step further, he even wants to take the lives of her children and make a positive difference for them.  He will take on their pain, and their needs, and he will be a healing balm to them.  I know.  I married him.

And it was this man who breathed in every prayer I ever prayed for my husband, for all those years.  The prayers weren't lost.  God heard every one, and he answered.  Thank you, Michelle, for praying with me.

Not Quite a Honeymoon in Italy

When Hugo and I got married, our plan was to honeymoon to Italy.  We knew we couldn't do it right away, between work and the kids' school schedules.  Our plan was to find a house in late spring/early summer of last year, close escrow by early-to-mid-summer, move in, settle the kids, and then head out to a land flowing with wine and lasagna.  Passports in hand, all we needed was to see the details of our plan play out, so that we could make travel arrangements.

It was a beautiful plan.

Let's just say the California housing market didn't agree.  And after a very long, drawn-out process the bank decided that they liked our Italy money more than we did.  So Italy is in our house--the price we have to pay to live in Los Angeles County, I suppose.

So, what's a newlywed couple to do when they didn't get a honeymoon?  Especially when the groom inherited 5 kids and needs a vacation?  Especially when said groom did take a week off in February, but spent it taking care of the kids so the wife could take off to Maui for a girls' only trip?

They make lemonade from lemons.

The lemons aren't just not being able to go to Italy.  Today my ex-husband took three of the kids with him on vacation for 10-11 days.  This is nothing short of a big deal for me, as I'm not a let-the-kids-go kind of mom.  I'm more of a keep-the-kids-at-home kind of mom.  I am with them all the time.  I seldom to never feel Like I need a break.  My grandma never took a break.  My mom never took a break.  It's just not what we do.  (Except for Maui...that was a FIRST!!)

So, while the kids are away, the parents will play.  And drink lemonade.  Of course, we still have 2 college kids at home, but that aside, we're outta here Friday for a few days of mini-vacation.

It's kind of nice to anticipate.  I've been dreading the kids leaving for weeks.  I woke up with a knot in my stomach this morning, tears on the surface since Sunday.  But they drove off, and I survived.

Knowing my nature to freak-out over things like this, Hugo took today off.  In fact, he took the next 11 days off...the whole time they're gone.

It is helping.  Not that I ever subscribe to the mindset that it is best to look the other way, or not focus on the bad stuff.  Hardly.  But sometimes, we can't control the bad situations when they arise, and we are given a choice to either accept them, or stay in a perpetual state of freak-out mode.  I choose the former.  My children have another father.  No matter how difficult the relationship may be with him, he is still their dad and he needs to be a part of their life.

And I have a new marriage to grow.  Because the health of our family really hinges on the health of Hugo's and my marriage.

We will be going up Lafayette, California.  Hugo's sister Olivia and her husband Scott live up there, and they have offered their guest room.  We will base out of their house for a few days and take day outings to San Francisco, as well as wine country.  We'll spend Independence Day at their house--they're having a party.  Beyond that, we will stay flexible.  We have family staying with the college girls, so their transportation needs will be met.  We'll be free of the responsibilities we have had immediately in our marriage, enjoying a time to be carefree.

It might not be Italy, but it's what we have, and we'll take it.