What Would Mary Do?

Was Mary the perfect mother? Did she get angry only when it was absolutely necessary? Did she spank? Did she pull her hair out when something she had just cleaned was, only seconds later, enthusiastically destroyed and messied by her young son?
I have found myself asking these kinds of questions lately due to the season and the fact that my son just turned one. I've found that having a son whom I think is perfect (though I know very well he is not) is not even in the same book as having a son who actually is. In some ways, I believe it would be easier, and in some ways, very much the opposite.
Can you imagine sitting in your living room, happily participating (from your couch) in a round of Jeopardy when the Daily Double pops up. "A fruit grown in China, Korea, and Japan that, when ripe, reveals semi-transparent flesh and black seeds." You flash back to a bad fruit salad you made once and shout, "Grapes!" despite the fact that you know a relative 400 miles away that grows grapes in his vineyard...not Korea. It is then that your young son looks up from his Sesame Street coloring book, rolls his eyes and corrects you: "What is akebia?" Shortly thereafter, you hear Alex Trebek consoling a losing contestant with the answer your son just announced.
I'm not sure what my reaction would be. Embarrassment? Happiness? (The joy comes from the fact that you won't need to purchase one dictionary, encyclopedia or library card again...ever.) Maybe I'd jump on the internet and research the lowest age a contestant on Jeopardy can be. It kinda puts things in perspective.

The "L" Word

I have found myself asking an unanswerable question lately, and am growing increasingly frustrated: Why did God, in His all-knowing wisdom, make the whole process of love such a difficult one? The entire process is exhausting. Trying to find "the one" is almost impossible if you examine each step. How do you know where to draw the line when it comes to traits that you should/n't accept? How do you know you're not settling? And when you finally do decide to commit to that special someone, what do you do during those times you think you might've made a mistake? "What was I thinking? I can't live like this!" screams through your head as you look at the "stranger" you're living with. Do you swallow your worries while praying for daylight and hope for the best while praying for a remedy? Or do you convince yourself you've made an honest mistake, tell yourself you deserve better and get the heck out of there? And is your solution a leap of faith or one of fear?
I know there are actually answers to my questions, but only to those of us who have faith. I say that because I believe that those of us with faith believe there is always hope, no matter what the situation. Well, at least we try to always believe. We're human too.
There are exceptions to the rule: an abusive relationship (in whatever way), adultery, alcoholism, etc. But just because those are exceptions to the rule doesn't mean they're exceptions to hope.
I probably needed to hear what I just wrote more than anyone, but I still haven't come to a concrete conclusion. I'm still on my knees for that one...

The Mentally Ill Find Me Appealing (Pt. 6)

Is that the end? Well, officially for us it was, but not in Adam's crazy little head. A month later, I received a phone call pleading with me to return to him. Apparently, he actually thought I would still be waiting.
He told me all about how he had told the girl he left me to see that he missed me. I just sat there, listening to his pathetic story and tried not to laugh. I told him I thought he should try being single for a while and figure out what he really wanted. Well, apparently that wasn't the "Oh yes, of course I still want to marry you!" he was looking for and he exploded. I know you're all wondering why I let this one get away.
Adam ended up crying and hanging up and then calling back three minutes later to tell me he didn't know what he was thinking and to just forget he ever called.

That was the first time we had agreed on something in a long time.

I wonder how he looks in that powder blue helmet they gave him at the institution...

The Mentally Ill Find Me Appealing (Pt. 5)

It was quite a wonder that I continued to probe. Little did I know that somewhere in that head of his, hiding somewhere between the erratic drum rhythms and the little circus that had come to town, was my freedom.
Adam sat me down on the steps of his front porch and began with what I'm sure he thought were words that would make me feel "all better". "I prayed that this would come out right." Well, I know God answers prayers, sometimes with a "yes" and sometimes with a "no". I believed God pushed the "Fat Chance, Buddy" button on this request.
I asked what he meant, and as I heard his next words, I again found myself looking like a big-mouthed bass sitting in front of a big-mouthed ass. "There's just this one thing I want to try...."*awkward pause as he studied my face, looking for the understanding he had prayed for*"....there's this girl...and I think that God is telling me to try a relationship with her right now." I don't mean to blaspheme, but I think I actually heard God laugh that night. And then came the kicker: "But if it doesn't work out with her, I want to come back to you!" I couldn't believe how much sincerity was in his voice; he literally thought I was going to just sit along and wait while he figured out if he wanted me or not. I didn't have much to say, but I did cry. I cried because I would be without my "habit". He tried to comfort me by rubbing my back; he's really lucky he still has his right arm. But after that, I was rid of him.

The Mentally Ill Find Me Appealing (Pt. 4)

After such a ridiculous run-down of our relationship, you must be wondering why I stayed with my mental patient for almost 2 years. And to be honest, I really don't know. Fear of being alone, fear of hurting him...no, that's definitely not it...I think maybe I had just become comfortable with the fact that he was in my life. I know that fact was controlling, enfuriating, and belonged in a padded room, but after such a stretch of time, it's what my days revolved round. And to some sickening level, it was comforting because it had become habit--like smoking. I don't smoke, but I compare the two because what I got out of that relationship with Adam was about as healthy and beneficial as methane, but as comforting as nicotine. Both are screwy and logically exhausting, but we do them nonetheless. And oddly enough, my "habit" ended up "quitting" me.
We had hit a really rough patch. Let me rephrase that--I had hit a really rough patch; he was that patch. And so you can understand my trepidation when I went to his house one night and he acted like everything was fine. There were no arguments, dirty looks, accusations, or even pouting (I began to wonder if he'd developed treadmarks on his bottom lip). Adam had flipped 180 degrees and was being affectionate and kind...and I was worried. Something was up. I wasn't worried about the fact that he might be breaking up with me; I was worried that he might have finally come full circle: certifiably insane. I began nervously glancing around his parents' living room for his "little white jacket with all the shiny buckles" or at least a jar of pennies I could shake at him if it got out of hand.
Finding myself feeling a little exposed, I decided I had better go. So, we walked outside and I turned to face him; not for a romantic kiss or even a hug, but to find out just what the heck was going on. Knowing I was risking a lot, I confronted him completely. As I waited for a reaction, I began gauging the distance to his padded room; not for his protection, but for mine. All I got in response was a casual, "Nothing." Ha. Those voices in his head might have convinced Adam of that, but not me.

The Mentally Ill Find Me Appealing (Pt. 3)

Here's just a couple of examples of Adam's insanity:
1) I wasn't allowed to have any friends but him. Not my girlfriends who I'd been friends with long before him, not any new ones I made as I moved onto college (which was just ridiculous because he and I ended up in different cities), no one. If I spent time with anyone but him, he sent me on an "all expense paid" guilt trip by telling me that I was "putting our relationship in the back seat". Don't be fooled--he didn't use that phrase the way most guys do, with a smile on their face and their friends crowded around. Oh no. It meant I wasn't putting us as Priority #1 and because of that, our relationship was suffering. Believe me, that's not why our relationship was suffering. It was suffering simply because it still existed. I couldn't see that it was more appropriate to compare it with an animal that had been hit by a car and was dying slowly on the side of the road than it was to compare it with any other actual relationship. My friends and family did what they could to put us out of our misery, but somehow (and for some reason) we clung to life.
2) Adam was on his way to my house one day when he was in an accident. He was fine, but his car was totalled. To him, this was devastating because he had put so much work into that white El Camino, but I was glad to see it go. As a huge gift, his parents bought him a spankin' new Honda Civic, loaded. It was beautiful. And as a gesture of his appreciation, he refused to let them drive it. I'm not kidding. Adam would freak out if his mom came near it. (I'm still looking for the bottle of pills I just know he was hiding from me.)
3) I think one of the examples that best shows his character is something that happened after we were engaged. (Don't judge me!) Adam invited me to a formal banquet his college held annually. He asked me to try to do my hair this one particular way he liked. And I did try. I tried until I almost made myself late, but as hair does sometimes, it just didn't cooperate and I settled for a happy medium of what he wanted and what it would actually do. My mistake was that I thought he wouldn't care that much. Wrong. Adam was quite upset that I had neglected to fulfill his wishes of what he wanted my hair to look like. Thankfully, we had to leave, so he couldn't dwell on it for too long. Then after we arrived at the banquet, one of the most horrific moments of my life was set into motion. Adam had gotten down on one knee in front of his entire college and asked me to marry him. My brain talked me through the steps that a young woman should mimic once a ring is presented to her and I did them perfectly (I'm still waiting on the Grammy). But inside, I have never heard myself scream so loudly. I was almost sure everyone else could hear my horrified thoughts. "Noooooooooooooooo!" was the only thing I was thinking as I somehow managed to form the word "yes". The rest of the evening was shot. I was spinning so crazily then that I don't remember much of the rest of that day. Which, as I think about it now, was probably ok. Odds are it wasn't pleasant because I was still with Adam. Anyway, as our engagement continued, I began looking for a dress. And I found one I loved. My mom loved it, too. It was perfect. I wouldn't show Adam, but he asked me if it was the one he liked from a catalog he showed me. I said "no" and that was it. He almost didn't want to marry me because I didn't get the wedding dress he wanted. Yes, that's a really good reason to not want to marry your fiance: she just wouldn't be worthy walking down the aisle to be your wife in some other dress than the one you specified you liked. I might as well have had a lover on the side. At least I would be wearing "his" dress.

The Mentally Ill Find Me Appealing (Pt. 2)

Things started out alright. Heck, I was happy just to have someone over 6' leaning over me. My parents were relatively happy with my choice; after all, he did attend our church. That alone was a marathon run in the opposite direction of my past little boyfriends. But as time progressed, I began wondering what in the world I had gotten myself into and a little upset that I'd provided such an easy-out for the girl before me. (I stopped saying "You're welcome" every time I saw her due to the awkward silence that would usually follow and because of the lack of conversation that follows a statement like that.) Never before have I begun to so deeply regret my meeting someone, and yet, I would do it twice more after this particular relationship.
He got so mad so quickly, it became comical. Though, the joke was only funny between the rest of the world and I. When I was in his presence, my mouth was literally left hanging open in a most unnattractive way, like I had pushed the "pause" button in the life of a big-mouthed bass. Not because of my awe and wonder for him, but because I didn't think anyone who wasn't on medication could comfortably lay claim to the outrageous things coming out of his mouth. There isn't enough web-space for me to try to describe all the ridiculous, insane things he tried to demand of me and even littler space for me to describe how incredulous and dumbfounded and furious I felt day after day. He would call me to argue. I'm not kidding. Some people use that lightly, as a way of saying that a lot of their conversations would evolve into arguments, but I'm not using that phrase to expedite any process--he literally called me to argue. Why would I answer the phone? Good question. Well, being that age and thinking I was in "love", I felt I had a certain obligation to. But more heavily, I would be in enormous trouble the next time I actually did answer, had I neglected to the time before.

The Mentally Ill Find Me Appealing (Pt. 1)

To give you a glimpse at where my desperation and frustration originate from, I'll have to bring you up to speed on the last little while of my "love life". Love life is in quotes because most of them had very little to do with actual love, or care, for that matter.
When I was about 17 and a junior in high school, I was given the opportunity to attend Idaho Business Week in Boise. Most of us were not nearly as concerned with worldly business as we were with the business of the opposite sex. It was a chance for a bunch of adolescents to experience college dorms and cafeterias for a week. Yeah, not a lot of "business" got done. But the first day I arrived, I had scoped out a project that I wanted to invest my time into. We'll call him Adam. He was tall (very important for me), dark, and handsome (my friends didn't agree though). And to top it all off, I knew him from my church! He was the drummer for the worship band. I didn't know how the situation could get any better. We hit things off right away and every moment we weren't in meetings, we were trying to arrange our own. I mean that in the cleanest way possible--we didn't even kiss that week. In fact, the last day, right before we both left, Adam told me about his girlfriend. Yeah, I couldn't believe it. Anyway, to make a long story a little shorter, he ended up breaking it off with her and becoming my beau. I'll admit right up front that it wasn't the most brilliant move on my part to welcome him with open arms, thinking he'd never do the same thing to me...young "love". (Again, in quotes.)