IF ONLY LIFE HAD A REMOTE CONTROL

Sometimes I wish that life came with a remote control.

I would like the option to hit pause, and enjoy my kids at certain ages and stages just a little longer. I would like to hit stop, and then rewind when I make a bad decision. I would like to hit stop when things are just too hard, and play again when I feel strong enough to do so. And I would like to hit play when things are going just perfect and I can continue along.

Right now I would love to hit fast forward.

My life is daunting to me at this moment. The past 5 days were glorious. My husband was out of town (this never happens), and I had a good taste of what being the only parent felt like. And I am beyond capable. I sell myself short. I don't need anyone.

Steven and I enjoyed the added time that was available, and spent a few hours on Thursday afternoon and Friday morning together at my house. The kids were at school, and we enjoyed just having mellow "real" time. Time that wasn't in a hotel room. Talking, looking at pictures, just hanging out. Don't get me wrong...you know that the opportunity was taken to have sex...bent over the bathroom counter, looking in the mirror that is in my headboard...good intense, efficient sex. What I refer to as GOOD FUCKING.

We had Saturday evening together as well...all night. Grandma took my kids, and he was able to finagle a work excuse to not go home. We had an evening that started with great lovemaking, followed by an amazing dinner, drinks, dancing, and just really enjoying each other. The night ended with singing and dancing in the rain by our lake, and then retreating to our hotel room for more great sex, and sleeping next to each other which is a real luxury. The night was so perfect that I am choosing to leave the description at this...sometimes things are too intimate, too special, and too US for words.

So, here we are. Monday night. And while I would love to rewind and have the past 5 days happen again, I would also like to hit fast forward. AN ENTIRE YEAR.

I took a huge leap today. HUGE. I spent the day with my parents, and finally had the courage to tell them about the state of my marriage. I was very honest. They weren't surprised...I have eluded to marital issues all year. However, this afternoon I told them everything. Of course I did not share anything about Steven (or any other affairs that I have had). I shared what have been my issues. It took a lot for me to say them out loud. To say I HAVE A HUSBAND THAT IS A HARD WORKER, A GREAT FATHER, BUT IS NOT MEETING MY NEEDS AS A HUSBAND. HE HAS A GAMBLING ADDICTION. HE HAS SEXUAL ISSUES THAT HE REFUSES TO SEE A DOCTOR FOR. I HAVE BEEN LONELY, REJECTED, AND UNHAPPY FOR AWHILE. The night before he went out of town last week I had been feeling under the weather and asked him to rub my back and lay with me so I could fall asleep. His response was that he couldn't play poker online and do that. This is just one example of ways that this marriage is not much of a marriage anymore.

My family has always adored my husband. I know that my siblings have thought of him as a sibling, and my parents have thought of him as a son. He has been in our lives since I was 16. They see him with our children, and admire what a wonderful father he is. They see him tirelessly work hard for our family. And I get this. He is a great guy. A nice guy. However, he isn't enough for me. He isn't what is best for me. We have had a broken marriage for years, and I am done with the acting. The fakeness. The acting. It is time to face the music and take care of me for once.

So, there I was. Sitting outside on a beautiful fall day, crying. Talking to my parents. And their response and reaction was completely different than I had anticipated. I was prepared for them to encourage counseling. To tell me to pray about it. To tell me that I could do this, that we just needed to work harder.

Instead I received more support than I could have imagined. It wasn't even suggested that staying together was an option. They both said that they saw this coming. I was encouraged to be responsible and to start saving money. To think about me. To take care of myself. And after I got home this evening, my mother called to tell me to keep talking, remember to take care of myself, and that they loved me.

I sat on the stairs, hiding from my kids, and cried. I feel like this was one of my biggest challenges, and I did it. I have family support. I am loved. I can do this.

I wish that I could see ahead a year. See what my life will be like. What my relationship with Steven will look like. The amount of unknowns scares me. I like organization. Things to be lined out. Schedules. Plans. And NONE of that happens in situations like these.

I don't want to be a single parent. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be without a spouse. I don't want to be financially in a worse position. I don't want to adjust my lifestyle drastically from how it is now. I want to wave a wand, and POOF...have Steven in the place of my husband. And life happily ever after. I want to avoid the messiness that is ahead of me.

And I can't. I can't. While in my heart I know that what I am doing is for ME and not for Steven, I would be lying to say that he isn't a factor. It would be real easy to continue living how I am. I could trade the marital issues in exchange for the comforts of everything else. I could continue as is. My husband has said to do what I need to do (like have an affair) as long as I am not blatant about it. I could keep that up. I could keep my children with both of their parents. I would be lying if I didn't admit that knowing that I have a future with Steven isn't a big motivator.

Yet, I need to take care of me. I need out. I need a new start. I need to do this right. I want a marriage done right. More than anything. I know in my heart that I am meant to be with Steven. There is no doubt. And I know that it will happen. I have moments of doubt...moments that I worry he will just say fuck it, and decide that his marriage isn't that bad. That he can stick it out and stay married until his kids are older. That I am not what he needs. That this is too hard.

I have to trust that things will happen the way they are supposed to. I have to trust that regardless of my relationship with Steven, that I am doing what I need to do, for me. I have to realize that I have a great support system within my family and a few of my friends.

I need to remember to breathe, and that fast forwarding isn't an option. I need to work towards a divorce that impacts my children minimally. I need to think about myself and what I need.

I need to trust that Steven and I will look back on these trying time and know that we did the right thing, for the right reasons, and that it was worth it. And when that time comes, I want to relish it. And most likely I will want to hit pause and savor that moment, and then hit play so that we can continue our lives. Together.

WEIGHT LOSS AND OTHER HEALTH ISSUES

When I attended my 10 year high school reunion during the summer of 2007, I was horrified to see the pictures. I HATED HOW I LOOKED. I HATED THAT I WAS WITH MY TWO BEST FRIENDS FROM CHILDHOOD, AND FELT MORE FAT AND MORE UGLY THAN EVER.

And I realized, that I had been in denial. I thought that because I could keep up with my kids, that I was fine. That because I could work at a job that becomes extremely physically demanding during parts of the year, that I was fine. I thought because men would ask me to dance if I was out at a club, that I was fine. That because I was often complimented or told I was pretty, I was fine. And yet I wasn't. I started to get real.

I had not owned a scale in years. If that isn't denial, I don't know what is. I bought one. I was the heaviest I had ever been. And in 3 years, I had gained 30 pounds. I stopped fucking around with fad diets. I have done them all. I had a 20 pound range, and EVERY fad diet could get 20 pounds off. And they would come right back on.

It pissed me off that I looked so much better that summer that we began hanging out with Shane and Nicole...and I had recently had a baby! I was not thin, and have not been since my early teens. I am naturally curvy, even at my smallest. And now I had just stopped caring, and hadn't cared in years.

And so I started. Quietly. One thing I have learned is that if I blab about wanting to lose weight, it backfires. Friends can be sabotaging. My husband can be sabotaging. After our job changes in 2003, he gained about 40 pounds. And I thought he looked great. I liked him thicker. Shortly after that, he began working out and lost the weight, and became almost obsessed with it. And to this day, continues to be. I think he is too thin, and that has lessened my attraction to him, but that is another story. Yet, he isn't always the healthiest eater, and that was hard for me too.

I made small changes...Starbucks was fine, but it had to be nonfat milk. I stopped my horrible habit of not eating all day, and then eating a lot at night. I stopped allowing myself to eat differently than what I was feeding my kids...I would always make sure they were eating right, but would eat something different more often than not. And without much effort, I lost weight. Not a ton, but enough that I felt better.

We bought our business in May of 2008, and my husband took over running the new business full time, while I stayed at our previous work place part time. It made the most sense for a number of reasons. He eventually went to a doctor, who told him it was in his head, but gave him some sort of erection pills. I was pissed. I told my husband that he needed to get to the bottom of his issues, that I refused to have sex with someone that required drugs because IT WAS IN THEIR HEAD. He wasn't even 30 when this started! We aren't talking about a grandpa here.

In August of 2008 I had a health scare. I had two lumps on the back of my head that appeared out of nowhere. And CT scans, numerous doctors, and test after test deemed them suspiciously large lymph nodes. And the word cancer was mentioned. And I FREAKED OUT.

I spent night after restless night researching...I had copies of my CT scan, and I analyzed my head like I knew what I was looking at. I was told I needed to have them surgically removed, and although I had 3 previous surgeries under my belt, this was by far the scariest. This was my HEAD.

Every other thing that I read on the online mentioned Lymphoma. And every other thing regarding Lymphoma mentioned H.I.V. / A.I.D.S. I had flashbacks of unprotected sex with Nick...and panicked.

I had the lymph nodes removed, and waited a week to be told that they were non cancerous. My husband sweetly took care of me while I recovered, and while helping me wash my hair the day after surgery, gently held me while I cried over the chunk of hair that had been shaved in the operating room. And within 2 weeks, I was fine, and we were back to our same old relationship. Like I said, he is sweet...and has really good things about him. Yet, there we were, sexless and co-existing again.

The H.I.V. / A.I.D.S. thing still bounced around in my head. I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood, not wanting to ask for tests of that nature from my regular doctor. I sat their in the waiting room, feeling out of place with those around me. I was once 17 and wanting to get on the pill. Yet...I felt stupid. I wasn't 17. I was 29. I was married. I had children. I went to church. And here I was, SNEAKING AROUND, asking for this and that test, and NOT USING MY REAL NAME. Asking for anonymous tests. What the hell? And as I looked at a young couple leaving, knowing full well that the girl must have just had an abortion, I was judgemental. I was judgemental towards Planned Parenthood for even PERFORMING abortions. Being there was against my beliefs. As I high school student, I chose to go to the HEALTH DEPARTMENT for birth control, because they didn't kill babies. And yet, here I was.

I scurried out of there with my clean bill of health (thanking God the entire time), and began to think about my rapidly approaching 30th birthday...and I began to panic. I had knocked out my 20's in the blink of an eye, and had so much to be thankful for, yet so much to be ashamed of.

AND SO IT CONTINUES...

From that point in 2006 until the fall of 2008, I worked my ass off.

In every sense of the word. In December 2006 my husband and I took our dream of being business owners to the next level. We weren't sure what we would do, what it would look like, just that we wanted it. It was a long grueling process, one that he was ready to just quit on several times. That is his nature. I wouldn't. I refused. Every small victory was huge to me...every license, every bank meeting, every franchise that we researched, all of it. He was excited too, yet, pessimistic. The process brought us closer on many levels, but sexually we drifted further apart.

He began having impotency issues. At first I was confused. I thought it was me. I discovered, several times, porn on his computer. And not that I cared that he was looking at porn, but I cared that he was being secretive (even lying about it), and that for someone that had ZERO desire to have sex with me, it made no sense. One night I found that he had been looking at TONS of young, "barely legal" skinny blonds. I LOST IT. Stormed out of the house and left. Drove 40 minutes to a friend's house, where I no longer protected him. I shared with her and another girlfriend (both from church) an abbreviated version of our issues.

I tried hard to be patient. I love giving blow jobs. I would patiently take him in my mouth, have him aroused, only for him to lose it moments after entering me. I was (and still am to a point) convinced that it was me.

I tried new lingerie, started wearing random hot numbers to bed. Bought different lubes, sex toys, and would try to build up sex throughout the day with text messages and whispers in his ear. Once I had the kids go to grandmas, and surprised him...he came home to find me scantily clad, laying on the couch, watching porn. It should be noted that I am not, nor have I ever been, a frumpy mom. Hair, makeup, and toe nail polish are mandatory with me. Matching bras and panties are a must. No matter what weight I have been, looking put together has been important.

Nothing really helped. It seemed that the ONLY time that he could maintain an erection, and last a little longer than a few minutes, was if he was entering me from behind.

Now don't get me wrong, I love all positions. There is nothing like a good ass slapping while being fucked from behind. Yet, I took it personal. Was he pretending it wasn't me? Not wanting to look at me?

Most times, I would just roll over and quietly cry. Sometimes, I would get angry, and we would fight. I begged him to go to the doctor, and began researching medical causes. Nothing made sense...I read somewhere that if a guy wakes up with erections, that impotency is not the issue. That it is psychological. He always woke up hard.

He had never made me feel insecure about myself until this point. I always felt that some of his compliments were fake, yet he tried. He was, and is, overly affectionate in front of my family, and that bothers me. He fronts like an ultra horny man, yet isn't. Kissing had become nonexistent because of his constant use of chewing tobacco. I never knew when he had some in his mouth, and I refused to kiss him.

And I began taking a hard look at myself, and my body.