Pillow talk

Last night was the first time in several weeks that I'd been on our bed with my wife, at the same time.

Not all ski days are great ski days

Bra tree - life immitating art; didn't even care that my wife saw it on cam with our shots when I got home.

Jet + Silicon = lewd

Mirage of Guapo, softening silhouette to a smile - dream sequence-ish; I imagine that's the image that will flash through my head as I die

Blockage and the Scarlet Letter

Orchestra - girls, sitting

Reminded of keychain @ regional conference, latina, red letter A on keychain

And I Ran, I Ran So Far Away

Tonight at Barnes & Noble, after picking up some C.S. Lewis for a friend but then stopping to thumb through some piece of random garbage with an alluring cover at the sale rack near the register, I found myself migrating toward the magazine racks, to check out Maxim and its PG-13 peers. Before picking one up, Jeff Holland's recent "Run!" admonition flashed through my head and I hightailed it out of there.

At home, I stumbled across and was sobered by an old quote from Boyd Packer: "They have therefore missed doing what they might have done, and they have missed being what they might have become."

Two Roads Diverged in a Mood

On the way home from work last night, I was elevated by the beauty of spectacular clouds, a radiant sunset, and fresh April snow along the fronts of the mountains.

I arrived here wanting to have a burst of high-energy fun with the kids. I thought that a quick bike ride would be just the thing. My wife wisely said we shouldn't because it would end the kids up in bed way too late on a school night. I insisted that it wouldn't. She shook her head in ominious resignation. I called for the two eldest kids (henceforth, I'll refer to the kids by number, so #1 and #2 in this case) and we headed out the door.

As we pulled the bikes out, my daughter suggested that we play basketball instead, which we could start immediately rather than biking to our destination before the "official fun" would begin. #2 wanted to bike. I made a deal with them that if they promised to brush their teeth and get their PJs on with lightning speed, we'd do both.

Long story short, the night ended with me (angry at them, yes, but angrier at myself for naively disregarding my wife's hard-earned maternal wisdom) yelling at both of them after they took 40 minutes from the time we go to get into bed, and my daughter crying herself to sleep.

I fell asleep not caring that I'd yelled at my kids, tired of all of them, and wondering which would have the maximum collective utility, our divorce or my suicide. I contemplated no third option.

This morning as I was finishing up in the bathroom, #3 ambush-hugged my leg and smiled up at me with his big eyes. Tonight, #1 practiced with me a Spanish poem that she's reciting tomorrow at a language competition.

Tonight, at least, I'll fall asleep not ready to leave these precious kids, legally or lethally.

Crossing the Rubicon

Setting: This morning, in the pantry. In-laws are visiting, kids are noisy, noon approaching with precious little accomplished for the day.

Me: I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said.

My wife: Never mind, it doesn't matter.

Me: Can you just repeat it?

My wife: No, you won't understand anyway.

Me: Try me.

My wife: I have tried you, for twelve years. Our communication is...is a joke. It's like I'm talking here (gestures with left arm extended out from body in one direction) and you're here (reflects gesture with right arm), and it'll never, ever, EVER be here (brings hands together in front of torso, fingers interlocked).

Me: (quietly) Well, what do you want to do about it?

Wife: (pausing, then sarcastically, while rolling eyes) Oh, DEFINITELY get a divorce!

Me: (in a measured and deliberate monotone, looking her directly in the eyes) OK.

Wife: (eyes open with a mild startle as the exchange sinks in, then she walks past me back into the kitchen)

Curtain

I believe this was the first instance during those twelve years in which the person uttering the "D" word wasn't met by some kind of resistance (hopeful, desperate, or otherwise) by the other.

It followed a conversation late the night before, a conversation that I'd hoped would be a chance to share some of my feelings and reflections that came out of Conference, but which quickly--and due primarily to her input--ended up being about sex and her body.

Family Harm Evening

Last night during FHE, I chose to focus on Conference, letting the kids choose an opening song from among those we'd heard over the weekend, and for the lesson we discussed thoughts and impressions about Conference. My daughter described feeling "The Holy Spirit" during President Monson's closing talk and the closing prayer. My eldest son talked about "feeling good in [his] heart" when people spoke about Jesus. I talked about Eyring's prayer story and shared my own version with the kids, the closest I've come in a long time to really "testifying" to them of anything drawn from my own experience.

My wife didn't really participate, and I grew frustrated that she wasn't--for some inexplicable reason--suddenly radiating at the early indications of a nascent Attitude Adjustment. So I was upset, and after she'd left to put the baby to bed, I was struggling to corral the remaining three into a kneeling prayer, and suddenly lost it, cuffing my daughter and eldest son on the forehead. It seems that I hit my daughter with my wedding ring, and it really hurt her.

Somehow or other, I need to get out of these kids' lives before I really damage them.

Small, semiannual success

Sat AM
ballard daughters, eyring prayer, close affirmation of rezrtxn‏


Sun AM/PM

Christ
Monson: A hopeless Dawn in Tate, pain

Hales - how far blessing

Darkness of world (sun PM)

Testimony - Alex - through spirit can command you to change, recognize, believe; Pix - ted b - possess - what ejm ikke geben

Holland - lujuria; my moral equivocation - "it's not porn so it's OK"

Goodie box

We saw another house today, and this time the wife's accoutrements were in a tidy little pile of related items, in an open box on her side of the walk-in. I don't think my wife noticed me noticing, but I'm sure that when she saw it, she knew that I would notice, the effect of which was probably the same as had she actually noticed me noticing. But the bitterness now is not that I'm noticing another woman's intimates or wishing that my wife were so inclined, but that my interest in her is at an all-time low that not even a red lace push-up bra would raise.

Tonight I took my daughter to the Priesthood session. Afterwards, I took her for an impromptu oreo shake and greasy fries. It together time well-spent. When we got home late, my wife, who had some rice and green beans on the stove, asked my daughter if we'd gone out to eat. Upon hearing the affirmative response, she laid into her, at which I came into the room and told my wife not to take her anger out on our daughter, but instead on me, since it wasn't our daughter's choice or fault. "I'll take it out on whoever I please!!!" she shouted before bursting into tears and disappearing for the rest of the night.

Memory block

This evening, as my wife and I were looking over some numbers to assess the unaffordability of the house we're considering, the screensaver slideshow on our PC ran in the background.

After a while, my wife started reaching over to the keyboard and clicking past pictures from our (brief) dating days, our wedding, and the first couple of years of our marriage.

When she reached to click past a more recent photo, I protested, "Wait - by then we already knew what we were into. No reason to feel hoodwinked by that one. Just let it play."

All the while, I'm wondering whether we should be working with lawyers instead of Realtors.