SAHM I am (30 page)

…Zelia, Ms. Ham, aren’t you supposed to be working on an adoption? When do you find time to veg in front of the television? By the way, you never told us how your visit with the social worker went.

We decided to let Tyler join a swim team this summer. He’s still feeling quite well—no soreness or stiffness, praise God! But we thought it might be best to avoid contact sports for a while anyway, to be on the safe side. And swimming is so good for the joints.

You know, Shane and I were talking about the whole thing with Tyler the other day. We realized we are so much closer to each other now than we were before Tyler’s illness. We were both so busy before, and we were growing apart without even knowing it. I’m actually feeling thankful that God allowed this to happen before any permanent damage was done to our marriage. Don’t we have a merciful God?

Peace,

Jocelyn

You mean, I never told you how the home visit went? I thought for sure I did….

Anyway, it was totally
not
what I had expected. Our social worker arrived a few minutes late, which left a few minutes extra for me and Tristan to fuss over the house. We had everything just perfect! Candles on the table, freshly vacuumed carpets, no dust anywhere. Tristan even alphabetized the salad dressings in the fridge. (Personally, I thought that might be going a bit far, but then I remembered who had insisted on climbing around on an extension ladder to wash the siding and polish all the windows, even on the second floor…*blushing*). At any rate, the house was cleaner than it’s probably ever been in its eighty-year existence.

We’d brought Cosette and Seamus home from school early, and all the children were supposed to be in their rooms until we sent for them. Seconds before the social worker arrived, however, Griffith trotted downstairs and reached for one of the apples we had in a fruit bowl on the table. In doing so, he tipped over one of the taper candles. The next thing we knew, Griffith was screaming that the tablecloth was on fire.

Tristan grabbed a towel and was beating out the flames when the doorbell rang. I didn’t know what to do, but it didn’t seem like too good an idea to leave the poor woman standing outside, so I let her in and yelled something incoherent about the table being on fire, and left her standing in the foyer.

When she wandered by herself into the dining room, she was greeted by the sight of Tristan leaning disheveled against the wall, singed towel in hand, and me trying to comfort a sobbing Griffith. Seamus, in his desire to help, had grabbed a pitcher of water from the fridge and dumped it all over the table. Water had soaked the rug and there were puddles across the wood floor where he’d spilled coming from kitchen to dining room. He stood there, announcing for all to hear, “I did
not
make Griffith do this! It really wasn’t my fault this time! I had nothing to do with it!”

Cosette seemed to be the only one to keep a clear head. She walked over to the social worker and, holding out her hand, said, “Hello! My name is Cosette. Don’t mind us—it’s always like this around here.”(See, children really
do
listen to what you say!)

So much for a good first impression! The social worker asked if we were all okay and if she needed to come back at a different time. But I figured, “Hey, the damage is done. Might as well get the meeting over with, so she can go back to her office and mark ‘LUNATICS’ all over our files.”

But after we got her settled in the living room and opened a few windows to air out the smoke and burned-fabric smell, she folded her hands across her notebook and said, “First thing…relax. I’m not here to find reasons why you can’t adopt. I’m here so I can make a report on all the great reasons why you should.”

Whew! And you know what? We had a lovely time! She’d already asked us most of the hard questions in our previous meetings at her office. This time, we just chatted and she got better acquainted with the kids. When we finally did take her on a tour of the house, she hardly glanced at the fridge, much less opened it! No white-glove test on the bookshelves, no peeking in the closets. Just walked through all the rooms with us exclaiming how beautiful our home was and how amazed she was about the wall murals in the kids’ rooms—especially after she found out I’d painted them.

She’s supposed to have the final report done this week, actually. I can hardly wait!

Z

Dulcie,

Checked with my supervisors, and they really need me to stay through the 19th. So I’ll be leaving on Friday morning, the 20th, and will just have enough time to get to the rehearsal that evening. (In fact, it’s a good thing the rehearsal is after the evening performance, or I’d miss it entirely. As it is, I told Mom not to expect me for rehearsal dinner. Sorry about that.) I’m flying in to KC and renting a car to drive down to Branson. But that means I won’t be able to come to Omaha first. So maybe we can postpone our ring shopping until the 22nd and just pick something up in Branson or Springfield. Hope that’s okay. It’s the best I could do.

Love,

Tom

“Pick something up”? You don’t just “pick up” a wedding ring. You “pick up” a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk from the grocery store. You “pick up” a pizza or a rented video. You “pick up” a newspaper. You do
not
, however, “pick up” a WEDDING RING! You choose it with care and consideration and love—don’t you remember? It’s supposed to be
special!

Five years in June—is this what I mean to you after only five years of marriage? Am I now a loaf of bread to you? Or a pizza? How could you be so callous?

Your “gallon of milk,”

Dulcie

Oh, come on, Dulcie! Don’t even try this with me. You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant. You are not equivalent to a piece of jewelry. And I don’t think the person who tells all her friends what a lousy husband I am and who mocks the books I
allegedly
read should have the nerve to call me “callous.”

And, yes, actually…I do remember shopping for your first ring. I remember every detail.

Tom

Phyllis dear, I couldn’t write this to the other girls, but I was hoping you could give me advice. I got myself in a fix and I’m not sure what to do.

You see, this evening, since Tom isn’t home, and since I was feeling sort of bored, I decided to go to a Bible study our
church hosts on Wednesday nights. It was good to get out, and it was great to be able to talk on an adult level with so many people. I didn’t know most of them—our church is getting so large, and I haven’t been in the habit of doing anything there on Wednesdays. Anyway, I enjoyed the study, and afterward I was sitting around talking with a few of the people who were in my discussion group. One of them, in particular, was really nice. Very outgoing. Friendly. Mature. Interesting.

And…MALE. (
Gorgeous,
to boot!)

But there were several of us sitting around talking, like I said, so nothing of that nature crossed my mind. Then, after a few minutes, the others left. And it was just me. With him. We kept talking, about the study, about all the general sorts of things you talk about with someone you’ve only just met. After about fifteen minutes, I realized with a shock that I’d forgotten to pick up the girls from their classes! I jumped up, rambling apologies all over the place, expecting him to take the not-so-subtle hint to leave. But he stood up, too, and said, “You have three little ones? And you’re all by yourself?”

I’m not always the brightest star in the sky, Phyllis, because I thought he was expressing surprise that I’d brought three kids
to church
by myself. So I nodded. “Uh-huh. All by myself.”

He says, “Wow, I really admire that. It takes a lot of strength and energy, I bet.”

I say, sort of confused why he’s making such a big deal out of it, “Not really. It’s just church.”

He shakes his head. “No, all of it. You, shouldering the full parenting load yourself. How long has it been?”

Again, call me stupid. I still didn’t get it. “Well, Tom left a few weeks ago, but he really hasn’t been in the picture for the past year.”

“So it’s still really fresh for you, huh?” By now, he’s looking at me with these great brown eyes, nearly brimming over with compassion. Melting my heart…

“Well,” I babble, not noticing that somehow I am walking with him to the nursery, “I didn’t like it, but I’m getting used to it now.”

“I understand. I have two kids myself. But I left them with a babysitter this evening, for this very reason—so I wouldn’t have to hurry to pick them up. Now I know why. God wanted me to help you with yours.”

Isn’t that just so sweet? And still, fool that I am, I was clueless. After I pick up McKenzie and apologize for being so late, this man kneels and shakes McKenzie’s hand. “Hi,” he says, “my name is Travis. What’s yours?”

“McKenzie,” she says, then asks, “Are you my mommy’s friend?”

I must have looked startled at that, because he glances up at me and smiles this great smile that made me feel all warm inside.

“Well, I guess we have to ask her.”

I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or confuse McKenzie, so I said, “Of course he is.”

He carries both twins all the way to my minivan and helps me load them up. Handles the car seats like a pro, I might add. Then, after I shut the door, he walks me around to my door. “Hey,” he begins, “are you in the church directory?”

“Yep,” I tell him with a little laugh. “The only Huckleberry listed!”

He grins this dangerously cute grin and tilts his head, “I’ve never called a Huckleberry before. I think I’ll give it a try this week.” Then he opens my door, helps me into the van and closes the door. With a tiny wave, he walks off.

And you know what?

IT TOOK ME FIFTEEN MINUTES INTO THE DRIVE HOME BEFORE IT DAWNED ON ME WHAT HAD JUST HAPPENED!

All of a sudden, I felt like I’d been in some trance and then jolted out of it. He was hitting on me the entire time, and I totally encouraged him! What have I done, Phyllis? The thing is…he made me feel really good. Even though I know it’s bad, I haven’t felt so much like a real person, like a woman, in months. I hate this! I hate living the life of a single mother while at the same time having the moral constraints of being married. It’s the worst of both worlds. I have this little voice that’s saying “I hope he calls.” And then the rest of my brain is saying, “He had SOOOOO better not call!”

I am such a bad, bad, bad, bad person. What am I going to do?

Help me!

Dulcie

Calm down, Dulcie. You’ve done nothing…yet. But there are a few things you’re going to have to do. And I don’t think you’re going to like them.

First, you are going to face up to the fact that you were strongly tempted by this man. Second, you are going to call on the Lord to help you resist that temptation. Third, you are going to
flee!
This means, I’m sorry to say, that at least for the foreseeable future you will need to find a new church. I don’t care how big your church is—it’s not big enough to avoid temptation of that kind. And fleeing also means that if this man does call you, you are going to tell him you are very much married and had no intention of giving him the wrong impression. You apologize and you get off the phone. Un
derstand? I will ask you about this later, to see if you followed up on it.

Next, you must talk to Tom. You must tell him that you need him to come home. Ask him to quit his job, if necessary, but his being in Alaska is
not
a good thing right now. You need him there in Omaha with you. Your other choice would be to move to Alaska to be with him. Actually, that’s not a half-bad idea. It would address the need to
flee,
as well.

I can well imagine why you chose to share this with me. And let me tell you, Dulcie, I know what it’s like. The consequences of giving in to temptation with someone I love and was free to marry has been devastating enough. Please take a moment and imagine how much greater the disaster will be if you, as a married woman, follow my path.

Thank you for trusting me. I trust you, too.

Phyllis