Homeschool Heather Goes To Prom, Take 2!

Dreamy Eyes appearing angelic was pure serendipity.

Last year I told you all about the very first time I got to go to prom. Some of you read between the lines and figured out that I did not have a great time. I spent so much of my time pining for the perfect prom experience, that I sabotaged myself and found myself sulking over a dream that turned out to be a realistic disappointment. I told myself that I should be happy, I got a typical after-prom-night feeling.  I learned then that 1, I should never knowingly force Dreamy Eyes into a situation where he is reluctant and expect that anyone will have fun. And 2, I should never depend on someone else to be the source of my happiness when I can create it myself.

Fast forward to now.

This year when it came time to buy tickets for Dreamy Eyes' COM (College Of Medicine) Prom I told him not to buy any. He mentioned that I could still go since I am a spouse, and maybe spend the evening with my girl friends. As much as I love the friends I have made here, that wasn't the prom experience I had dreamed of, and I was honest when I said that I did not want to go alone, I did not want to go with a reluctant date, because a reluctant date is much worse than no date, and I was perfectly happy with the choice not to buy tickets.

Then came my 30th birthday. Medical school takes up more than all of a person's time, so I was happily surprised when Dreamy Eyes stopped home during lunch that day. He is so busy with school and work that he wasn't able to come to birthday dinner with our friends that night. But I heard the him come in the door, and I know he enjoys making people happy, so I thought he was surprising me with a giant iced coffee. I am often incorrect, and this was one of those times. He had 2 tickets in his hand for COM prom. I was shocked and then asked who was going. It couldn't be us. I thought this was a way of telling me I would be Sarah's date since her husband (who is not surprisingly close friends with Dreamy Eyes) didn't want to go either. Nope! The tickets were for us and I was given the gift of a promise of a willing date to prom! AHHHHHHH!!!!! Nope. Gotta dial it back. It's too good to be true.

As COM prom approached, Dreamy Eyes asked me to group text with the girls and make dinner plans. I hadn't expected that we would go to dinner first, so this added to my excitement which was becoming increasingly difficult to stifle. Then he asked me to see if one of our sitters was willing to watch the twins overnight so that we could stay over and make a weekend out of it! By the time I had a sitter confirmed, Dreamy Eyes had already booked a hotel. Not only would I get to stay in a hotel and sleep without small humans attempting to wrap themselves around my face, I didn't even have to do the leg work of finding the best rate. 

A couple of weeks before prom I was trying to decide what to wear and how to style my hair. I was in no way going to pay a ton for a haircut and spend 30 hours not sitting back or lying comfortably because my hair couldn't move. I was also in a perpetual mood to color my hair pink. I thought about waiting until after prom, but why? What did it matter if I didn't look traditionally perfect if I was on a mission to create my own happiness? I ended up loving the pink hair exceptionally more than I had expected. Last year I bought a dress and regretted it. This year I either wanted to borrow a dress, or go with one I already owned. After more than enough poking around in my parents' basement, I decided I would wear my wedding dress. Everybody says it's silly that you can only wear it once, and I agree. Thankfully my dress was a bit outside of tradition and was a perfect choice for a grad school prom. 

Note that I don't play by tradition. My wedding dress was purple... and I was also 6 months pregnant with the twins when this was taken.

The day of COM prom finally arrived and I was blissfully more relaxed than I had been last year. Instead of spending the day altering a ball gown and worrying about living up to the night of my dreams, I packed up my dress that didn't even need an iron and played princess dress up dance party with the loves of my life. Last year my girls were cute, but didn't do much. Now they have very strong opinions and personalities and I look forward to playing with them instead of just keeping them alive. I genuinely have fun being their mom now and I think they are turning into loving and hilarious people. 

Before we left we paused for a quick family photo. Note that the twins also have their very own sense of style. 

We grabbed some coffees on the half hour drive to the hotel and listened to podcasts that Dreamy Eyes finds hilarious and I find just ridiculously weird. But he held my hand in the car. We had reservations at the same hotel where we had stayed 2 years ago for a meet & greet for potential COM students. When we checked in last time we were nervous. We had no idea what the future looked like and had twins at home who were 17 days old. We worried about them constantly and transitioned from an evening of nervous handshakes to a night of running the breast pump every 3 hours. This time I felt nothing but relief and excitement. Dreamy Eyes had made the cut, and was almost halfway through school. Our twins have been climbing the charts and are far from those NICU babies we once knew. 

I went up to our room while Dreamy Eyes parked the minivan. I couldn't believe it! He had booked a suite that had the most breathtaking view of the Ocean. When I was pregnant and he asked if I would be alright with moving often and to an unknown place, I told him that if he wanted to give our daughters a dad, I would follow him to the ends of the earth. I find it rather clever to note that we had to move so close to the edge of the earth, but for some reason, I just get a roll of the dreamiest eyes. 

I had only snapped a few dozen photos of the view by the time he got up to the room. 

We spent a relaxed couple of hours getting ready. We had Netflix on reruns, chilled drinks, and no one who needed anything from us. He managed to tie the perfect knot in his tie, and I managed to use only a straightener to straighten and curl my hair (which is much more difficult to master than it sounds). I asked Dreamy Eyes how it looked and he said "Pink with some curls on the ends". Mission accomplished! 

We headed out on foot to meet everyone for dinner. I should have known better than to wear heels on a night calling for a snowstorm when I spend most of my life in sneakers, but sometimes I make poor choices. Dreamy Eyes didn't verbalize any snark about my heels, but just walked arm-in-arm with me during our chilly, but wonderful trek. We had dinner with some of our favorite people. I can't believe that we have all become so close, and in a few months we will all be moving due to assignments in different states. Maybe this IS what it feels like to be at a prom. So thrilled for our futures but wishing to stop time all at once. 

Arriving at COM prom under a sky of twinkling lights, on a balcony overlooking the party below, with no expectations to be swept off my feet was truly magical. 

                     

                                      

            

I spent a great deal of the evening hugging friends and then going back around the social circle to hug them tighter. I talked with people about our dreams becoming an actually reality. I savored the moments with Dreamy Eyes when we would make a joke that made sense to no one else. Instead of feeling like he would be the solution to the imaginary perfect prom I had missed, I truly just enjoyed spending the evening with Dreamy Eyes. I knew there were things that I wanted to do, but that wouldn't be the same if i was dragging my date along the prom "to do" list. But Dreamy Eyes didn't offer a single complaint about posing in the photo booth. It was actually even fun. We couldn't manage a kissing photo because we were laughing too much. 

He thinks his lobster claws are hilarious since I am so allergic that he can only have seafood when I'm away. But he did keep the hat on. 

A big part of what made my evening magical was that I have my own circle of true friends here. I hear that prom isn't all about your date. It's about partying with the girls who have become closer than sisters. The girls who know how to tell you the truth even when you don't want to hear it. They are my workout partners, my hot yoga/ ladies wine and manicure night dates, my Monday night Bachelor viewing party, my neighbors, and my new mommy friends. They are the girls who push you to be the person you want to be, and who they know you can be.  Man, I love them. 

I can't emphasize enough that I am deeply grateful to Dreamy Eyes for putting aside his curmudgeon state of mind and doing everything in his power, and then some, in order to make me happy.  But the flip side of that is that because I have gone through months and months of therapy, and intense amounts of personal development homework, I have learned how to create my own happiness, regardless of the situation. I have learned that my anxiety and depression, my homeschooled, oppressive past, and my learned dependance on a man for my happiness and rescuing can be overcome. I've learned that since I am responsible for my own happiness, that anything else that Dreamy Eyes, or anyone else does to make my life better is truly just a thrilling bonus for me to savor. 

Throughout my perfect evening of bliss with some of my favorite people on earth, I told Dreamy Eyes that I was going to go dance with the girls. My plan was to leave him to finish his drink and find an enjoyable activity such as scrolling his phone or talking to a fellow curmudgeon. Much to my astonishment, he said that he would join me! The last time that Dreamy Eyes even somewhat willingly danced with me was at a wedding when I wanted to dance but I had a broken leg, so he danced with me to hold me up through a song. But tonight, he danced the fast and slow dances. He danced with me energetically enough that I was convinced that he was trying to woo me for the first time in our lives, which is what happens when you throw wooing standards out the window in order to make out with your super handsome best friend. 

At the end of the evening we had planned on going to a piano bar with our friends in an effort to keep the fun going, but our cool friends had left, and this was the first time these twin parents had stayed out past 10pm. So we walked back to our hotel with the new dream of ordering as much pizza as we could eat in one night (don't tell my coach). On the way, we passed a small park with twinkle lights on all of the trees. I cast a wistful glance in that direction and Dreamy Eyes lead me into the park. I asked what he was doing, and he told me that he knew that I would want to stop and take a cute picture, and this was my night, so let's go take the picture. I feel the need to tell my mother in law at this point that none of my story is hyperbole. This is in fact the son she knows and loves. 

As we waited for the massive order of pizza to arrive, I lost myself while staring out of our window. I would always stare out at the view of the city from Dreamy Eyes' old apartment and think about all that worried me, all that I had to accomplish, all that I would have to fight for in order to come even close to a life that I wanted.  Now I found myself staring out over a world I never imagined I would find. I never thought that I would exist in a world where I still had a million dreams to pursue, but where those dreams made me excited instead of overwhelmed. A world where there is violence and chaos and so much work to be done, but where kindness is alive and strong, and refuses to give up. A world where I can go to sleep tonight knowing that my children are safe and loved by an adult who isn't me, but who will care for them as if they were her own. A world where I don't spend really any time wondering if my husband loves me or not and getting myself worked up over whether or not I'm the perfect trophy wife he always wanted. I'm married to a man who inspires me daily. I don't guarantee our future. I know from experience that anything can happen. But I know that today, I had the best husband in the entire universe. I know that my husband is always going to love our daughters no matter what, and that he has vowed to me that we will always act within the best interest for our girls. I know that our marriage doesn't have to look like anybody else's, and it never will. I know that I have a husband who will support my goals and keep me challenging myself. I know that he will look at my stretch marks and my saggy belly and my post breastfeeding boobs and tell me "Strong work, gorgeous!" because he knows that I'm working everyday to be in the healthiest shape I can be. I know that I can cry to him about the rough day at work and that he understands because that's where we met. I know I can go to him for my voice of reason but not expect him to make my decisions for me. I know that if he says that he will take part in a family activity, that he will do so with all that he is, because "Heaths don't do things they don't want to do." I know that if I didn't clean the house or if I fed the girls nothing but take out for dinner that he won't be upset or think that I'm failing as a wife and a mother. I know that he will get my inside jokes that just make everyone else stare awkwardly. I know that our girls will have the greatest example of what to expect in their own relationships from watching their dad respect and play on the same team as their mom. Our family is by far outside of tradition, but I think it's just right for us, and we are all trying our best. 

I lost myself in that view. That view of the world I now knew and had always longed for. I didn't have to imagine some sandy beach where I was all alone with a mixed drink. I had everything I ever needed right there in front of me. I found my way back to the moment when Dreamy Eyes came to join me, handed me the last cold beer, and wrapped his beefy forearms around me. 

The next day we woke up just in time to check out of our glorious suite, after I snapped just a few more pictures of that view that I couldn't look at enough. Maybe one day when he's a doctor and I publish my book, we can have a view like that again. If that doesn't happen, I won't be a bit disappointed with life. I can't wait to find out what our next chapter holds for us. I can't wait to work harder and write more and study later and eat healthier and make one more true friend and play with my girls and be the happiest, most present mom that they deserve.  I can't wait to wake up to every single day with the exact same feeling; the feeling that I get to be ME, no matter what happens around me or where my past was holding me. 

This is a more accurate version of how we look. 

"It's everything you'd ever want. It's everything you'd ever need, and it's here right in front of you..."

Gavin! I said "NO!"

30 years. That's how long it took me to understand that I, and only I, am in control of my body. Sure, I knew that could I move my limbs at will and I could override my autonomic nervous system by breathing at a different rate, but I never really understood that it wasn't up to anyone else to decide what happens to MY body. 

Let me note: there are situations where evil people override your will and commit despicable acts in order to harm you or fulfill their own selfish desires. Those situations will never, say it with me, NEVER be your fault! It is NEVER your fault that someone touched you in an uninvited manor just because you agreed to a date, or even to take off your pants near them. If you said no, or even didn't say yes, that's on THEM. No matter how you spin it, you have never deserved to be harmed. 

The Advanced Training Institute (ATI) produced the curriculum my family used for homeschooling. One of their standard means of counseling was to brainwash us into believing that God let this happen to us for a reason.  Let's take a look...

Steps 1 thru 5 are entirely about blaming the victim, which I now know is only something done by assholes. 

God did not let someone rape you because you played volleyball in shorts instead of culottes (a lesson I didn't learn until adulthood and some very unfortunate culotte donning years). 

I would like to zone in on "Being with evil friends". Um, obviously. ALL SEXUAL ABUSE IS EVIL. But still, NOT your fault. Those "friends" decided to abuse you against your will. 

It's not until we get to step 6 that we even get CLOSE to being on track. And even then, it says "if". IF!!! IF I haven't mentioned this before, THE ABUSED IS NEVER AT FAULT. 

But not to worry! You may have been abused, but look how super spiritual you get to be now! 

And really, let's be honest, as step 8 points out to us;  if you could go back and do it alllll over, isn't it way cooler to have been completely and utterly traumatized for the rest of your life but be the most Spiritual person on the block? Thought so. 

After this brief look into the teachings of my childhood, you may begin to fathom why it took me 30 years to figure out that victim blaming is crap. Not only did I need to stop feeling like a victim, I needed to start being my own heroine. 

On one of the nights when I was working I had the choice of which of those role I would decide to take. I was going about my job and using both hands to hold my patent's dislocated shoulder in place. A nurse who had been having no interaction with me over patient care, nor who in the past has ever been a friend nor an enemy, came up behind me and tickled my waist with both of his hands. I froze. I was instantly transported back to a vivid swirl of nauseating childhood memories and I wanted to puke. He was laughing at the fact that he had surprised me, and I did manage to mention that had I not been holding an arm, I would have instinctively punched him. He laughed and walked away. A few minutes later he came back to explain to me why what he had done was so hilarious. I responded with the choice to be the heroine I had needed so many years ago. I told him that it is NEVER acceptable to tickle me, ever, regardless of the humor he may find in the situation. I told him that if he ever laid a hand on me again, I would be going to his supervisor. I'm pretty certain that the man is not out to harm anyone, but is more on the side of absolutely clueless when it comes to socially acceptable behavior. Still. He then cupped his hand around my shoulder in attempts to de-escalate the situation. Not his best judgement call. I took a blatantly large step away from him and reminded him that he had touched me again only seconds after being told that I did not want to be touched. So he offered me some gum. Some guys are evil, but others are just plain idiots. Idiots need to be educated. 

I did talk to his supervisor. I did so calmly and rationally. As a general rule, unless it's an emergency, I don't respond nor report an offense for about 24 hours. I give myself time to breathe and go about things the best way I know how. I told her that I didn't want to get him in trouble. I don't feel threatened, but I do think that tickling outside of a healthy and consenting relationship is inappropriate and should be noted. 

When I'm at work my mom watches my twin girls. They are 2. My mom teaches a pottery class and brought them with her during one of my shifts. My mom told me that one of the kids was playing with my daughter, Abby, and tickled her leg with a paintbrush. My mom said that Abby told the 10 year old boy "No tickle Abby". I'll note that we do tickle the girls and they are allowed to tickle as long as it, or any behavior is stopped immediately when they are told "no".  My mom told me that the boy continued to tickle Abby with the brush and Abby then forcefully told him "Gavin! I said 'NO!'" 

I hope that she never loses that. I hope that she never stops being her own heroine. What took me 30 years only took my daughter 2. 

Ghosts of Character Sketches Past

I wonder how long it will take before I am no longer haunted by the ghosts of seminars past. It's been 10 years since I've been out of ATI and I'm still having nightmares. Well, to me they are nightmares.

I woke in tears and a panic around 4am from my ever-evolving recurring dream. This time in the dream I found myself in the house where I began my ATI life (not my parents' current house). My father and Dreamy Eyes were sitting together and instructed me to sit, as it was time for Character Review. I should have known then that it was a dream because Dreamy Eyes has not seen my father since probably 2 years before we were married. But I sat down and began to hear a handful of character qualities that I had shown recently. I got high marks in attentiveness, boldness, enthusiasm, and gratefulness.

That's when things took a frightening turn. Having the positive praises out of the way, the two informed me that they had come together to pray about my lack of submission to either of their God-given authorities, and this was about to change. I would be made to go to the church of their choosing, to sit silently in the baggy clothes that had been selected for me. I would not be allowed to decide my own wardrobe until I learned to show reverence. I would have my car taken away until I could show meekness and orderliness (my real car is quite messy). I would not be permitted to wear jewelry until I learned virtue. I could not use my phone until I learned creativity (THAT'S WHAT PINTEREST IS FOR!). I couldn't tell Dreamy Eyes about my day until HE was finished talking about his day until I learned deference.

I think it's pretty telling that this was instilled into us seeing as I can still list them in my sleep, with punishments, 10 years later.

The dream continued and I rebelled against these rules. I walked everywhere... determination. I dressed myself up without jewelry... flexibility. I climbed out the bathroom window when I should have been getting ready for church and went to a protest instead... justice. And eventually I convinced a bunch of other women to stop the submission lies and come with me... persuasiveness.

Again, even in my sleep, I can still fight in character qualities. I guess it's that whole "train up a child" thing hard at work in my subconscious.

By 5:45 I desperately wanted a few minutes of peaceful sleep, so I gently asked Dreamy Eyes if he was going to the 6am cross fit class so that I could have the whole bed. I like to think I was just helping him show endurance.

I'm Sorry.

"What's going to happen, is going to happen. Just make sure it doesn't happen to you... You know I have no political convictions. Can I help it if other people do?"
"Oh yes you can help it. You MUST help it."

The Sound Of Music has been my favorite musical from the very beginning. It was the first I had seen on stage and the one that has stuck with me throughout my life. It is where I get the song I sing to my girls as we go to bed... "The sun has gone... to bed and so must I..." and they sing it too. I have a draft of a blog written about how much impact this story has had on me, but it was drafted long before the story became so very real again.

If you are like me, you have probably seen the quote by Nelson Mandela posted multiple times that states  "No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin or his background or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite." 

I was taught to hate. 

This doesn't make it excusable. I wish I had seen hatred for what it was so much sooner than I did, but I didn't. 10 years ago I would probably have been alright, if not pleased with the status of this world. Typing that made me cry. But I don't deserve those tears. It's just a feeling. No actual harm done. All that my past does is make me feel bad. It doesn't set me up for harm from others. It doesn't make a crowd march against me. I don't know how that feels. I may never know how that feels. 

I don't like the person I was 10 years ago. I wish so deeply that I could change who I was, but I can't. All I can do is move forward and try to be better every day. From my ATI days I was taught that anyone who was homosexual, let alone transgender, was an abomination and was destined for Hell. I wrote in my then (and I hope future) friend's wedding book that I loved her and her wife, and although I was against homosexuality, I was happy for them. I'm SO sorry. I. was. an. asshole. 

I have written about this before, but I went to a wedding of two amazing men, in New Orleans and enjoyed myself, but suppressed it because I felt that they were sinning and that I would go to Hell if I was happy for them. I looked around NOLA, soon after Katrina, with judgement because I was certain that God had done that damage to cleanse them. I'm sorry! I am so, SO sorry! 

I've also told you before that Bill Gothard, the founder of ATI would send updates to ATI families each month. In his update from April 1997 he writes "Being an exhorter, I tend to overlook the negative and concentrate on the positive. This approach to life gives me continual energy and encouragement. In recent weeks, however, two events have stunned me sufficiently to realize that conditions in our country are far more desperate than I had realized...(The first event is about non-married heterosexual couples living in sin) The second incident also occurred in Chicago. The city council voted to extend medical insurance and other benefits to the live-in partners of sodomite city employees despite the outcry of many community groups. This horrendous decision was announced on the radio the next day along with ridicule for those who opposed it and a closing blasphemous statement: 'God was not available for comment.' The fact is that He has already given comment in both Scripture and history. Whenever a civilization accepts sodomy as a way of life, severe judgements follow." I thought that I was following God by thinking that those who didn't follow His laws (as interpreted by me or my leader) didn't deserve the same rights as I did. I am so sorry. 

Part of standard courtship in the church where I was raised involves the young man asking permission from the lady's father before courting her. I found out that a man from church asked my father if he could court me, and my father said "no". Truly, honestly, I was happy about that because although this guy was kinda cute, he was as preacher boy dull as you can imagine. My father had seemed to like this guy, he got him a job, they prayed together. I asked my father if he said no because the guy was black. My father said yes. I can insert all of the "But I went out with a black guy!" arguments I want, but that still doesn't excuse the racism I was taught and subconsciously practiced. I'm Sorry! 

When I broke out of the cult I found my solace in EMS. I still believe that I have met some of my best friends there. EMS allowed me to meet Dreamy Eyes, and my girls' godmother, both of whom I talk to every day. But being SO desperate to break out of homeschool world, I did fall into the wrong crowd. 

I fell into the crowd of superior white guys who had a hard-on for the power their uniform held. The kind of crowd who thought it was acceptable to abuse a prisoner and say that "he fell".  The kind of crowd who would harass me for introducing myself to a 17 year old detainee because "he didn't deserve to know my name or why I was there".  I used racial slurs of which I am now too ashamed to type. I'm sorry. I thought I fit in by saying these things. I thought these racial slurs were funny because my grandmother thought they were funny. That's no excuse. That's not progress. I HATE that this is part of my past. I'm SO sorry. 

I fell into the crowd of confederate flags and chants at country concerts about how the working man supports the bums. This made me uncomfortable, but I didn't speak up. I'm sorry. 

Working in EMS is difficult when you have to care for the bad guy. It SUCKS when you are the caregiver for the person who you know is responsible for a violent act, such as murder. It hurts, but it's easy to care for the kid who was abused, because you naturally want to. It's easy to take your rage out on "criminals". It's easy to yell at someone who has overdosed AGAIN, and is depleting all of your narcan for "free", and not understand how gripping and overwhelming addiction can be, even when one of your own has succumbed to it. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. 

When I began my EMS career as a homeschooler, I was often teased about how naive I was. After I worked full time in a busy city, this ceased. Over the past year and a half, I have dropped my hours to part time and work enough to pay my rent and bills. This has allowed me several giant steps back. I am sorry that is what it took.

Working 80+ hours a week is exhausting. Being that tired makes it easier to be mad at the mom who calls 911 at 4am because her kid needs tylenol. It seems like such a simple solution to have tylenol on hand for when your kid spikes a fever in the night and can't sleep. It seems like such an easy solution to go to the drug store and buy a $7 bottle of tylenol instead of "selfishly" use an ambulance, hours in a waiting room, and even more in an ER all night just to get treatment for a childhood illness. I'm sorry that that frustrated me. I'm one of the lucky ones. I can buy tylenol. But the way that insurance works in the state where I work, the ambulance bill is covered, the ER visit is covered, and the prescription for tylenol is covered, so it only makes sense to "use the system", because that's what is provided when you can't afford tylenol.

The part of my past that makes me the most ashamed is that I refused to learn any language other than English. If I went to another country, I figured that I would be polite and get a translator app or book so that I could communicate, but I never planned on leaving the USA. Why would I? It's the greatest country on earth, right? I was among those who thought that anyone who came here should learn the language, and that I should not have to learn their foreign language. I followed the lead of the guy I was dating and did not want a foreign language spoken in our house. I was a complete asshole and I utterly loathe that part of myself every time I think about it. I hate that I could ever be like that. Nothing I ever do will make up for how horrible the past version of me was. I wasted so many years being purely hateful when instead I could have been fluent by now. I am working on learning Spanish. I also want to learn French. I would like to visit France someday and would like to understand without an app. But Spanish is what will help me most in my job, and in America in general today. I do the lessons along with my girls so that they will learn as well.  Lo Siento Mucho. 

Note: I have retyped this paragraph several times and have decided to stop trying to justify it and just write it. When I was a child and we drove past the market that said "WIC/EBT accepted" and I asked what it meant, I was told "That's where the drug dealers get milk for their kids". With Dreamy Eyes in school and two babies, we did the math every way that we could in order to be the least "drain on the system", and end up with enough money to pay for rent and bills, but needed State health insurance and WIC. I had quite the negative stereotype before I became the stereotype. None of it is a free handout. They keep a pretty decent watch on your receipts, social media, and wellness checks to make sure it's an honest system. WIC is an outrageously fantastic program and I wish that my family had reached out to them when I was a kid. There are SO many resources for education and healthy lifestyles. There is a breastfeeding support coach who calls me to check in each month. Just because you give birth to a kid doesn't mean that mother suddenly knows best. Having help to balance my kids' diets is literally a lifesaver, and I know that I would have been a MUCH healthier kid if my family had not been hiding from the "system" to cover the abuse that was mandatory in ATI. I don't know how WIC works in all states, but here there are "checks" that have milk, eggs, bread, yogurt, cereal, beans, and produce allotted by the ounce. There are a few items on each check. I learned that I must separate each order by a different check, and often the cashiers are unfamiliar with the ounces I am allowed, or how to use the checks at all. More often than not, this makes for a small scene at the grocery store. There are loud announcements for a manager's assistance for a WIC check. There are long lines behind me and crying twins in my carriage. I am a crazy couponer to the point where I can get 97% off my total. WIC does not accept coupons. I tried! I wanted to be less of "a drain". If you want to know what humility feels like, come shopping with me. I am SO sorry that I ever thought WIC was anything other than very, very needed help. Anyone who is pro-life should automatically be pro-WIC. This is NOT to imply that those women are poor. I am saying that pro-birth is bullshit. I am sure that WIC has saved more lives of children than any planned parenthood protester ever has. 

There is so much of me that I regret. I would like to think that much of this behavior was nurture, and not my nature. I have family members who don't think it's just a given fact that Nazis are bad. I can't believe I even typed that sentence. I don't know how to stop the evil in the world. I do know that I can try, with all that I am, to be kind every day and to be wary of the influences I allow into my life. I thought that I was correct back then, but I knew I wasn't kind. I cannot express, nor say I'm sorry enough. I can't change who I was. I wish I could.  I can only change who I am. And I... am sorry. 

Table For One, Please.

I love going out by myself. I used to go on vacations alone. I plan to do so again once my girls are in college. I love going out to eat alone. Maybe I can "blame" some of this on ATI because they used to teach the girls to go on dates with Jesus until they got married. But I always thought those girls were weird too.

For a short time in my life, when I would see someone out who was eating alone I would feel bad for them. Now I think it's great. That takes an enormous level of not giving a fuck what people think about you. High five, lady who takes advantage of senior discount Tuesday!

This Summer, I am spending an extended period of time with my in-laws so that they can have grandchildren (and super fun daughter-in-law) time whilst Dreamy Eyes is home focusing/ starting his second year of medical school. (Cue the dad and wife tears)

As a small digression, let me also note that I like to eat my feelings. They are not always sadness. Sometimes they are joy, boredom, anger, homesickness, or liberation. But they all taste like cheese and my in-laws happen to live in America's dairy land.

Tonight, on my second to last night before dad and I start our 1000+ mile road trip with the twins and what I'm sure will be another blog, I went out for some of what was promised to be the town's best french onion soup, at the Best Western.
I am no stranger to this joint. I have been here a few times with my mother-in-law's Friday coffee group, who I relate to much more than my own cohorts. I may or may not have also sampled the hotel's wings on Thursdays. Anyway...

I had planned on a "me" date tonight, with some french onion soup and my feel-good book. So after I put the girls to bed I headed off to the local hotel restaurant where the bartender is shyly protective and the waitress was just named "Most Gullible" in her graduating class. I took my seat at the end of the bar so as not to take up an entire table. I chatted for a bit as I ordered, about how the local JCPenney just closed, so there is nothing left for a girl in this town, and then became mostly lost in my book and my $3 glass of wine.

The last time I went out on my own, my mother-in-law said I should wear a wedding ring (which I had been going without due to an apparent allergic reaction). This time I wore my band, even though I would be eating cheese covered soup, which we all know is a super attractive food. 

As I was sitting there, thoroughly enjoying myself, I overheard a man talking about how odd it was for a girl to be reading at a bar. I thought they might be talking about me, but I didn't want to seem super conceited and look up. Then I heard the voice continue, saying that SOMEONE had to go and talk to "her", so I made it a point to start fiddling with my wedding band. 

A few moments later, a man in a very bright Hawaiian shirt, who was at least 2 drinks ahead of me, was standing beside me. He asked how I could possibly read a book in a bar?! (I would not classify the restaurant at a Best Western as a "bar", seeing as I need zero cleavage to get the bartender to wait on me, and I had plenty of elbow room.) I told him that I have very young, noisy twins, so reading a book where no one needs to be changed nor breastfed is rather delightful. 

He tried to keep making his way in by asking why I was here alone, without the babies' daddy. I replied that my HUSBAND was back in Maine, and I was here with my HUSBAND'S family. Having a husband didn't seem to phase the gentleman, nor did my very apparent wedding band fiddling, and he asked if he could buy me a drink. I pointed out that I already had one, but I would love some more soup (Thanks, 30 Rock!). I don't feel it's right to lead someone on, but since I had been quite clear about my relationship status, and the fact that he would not benefit from my drinking, I asked the bartender to fill half of my glass and charge it to Mr Fancy Shirt. Hey, why should couponing stop with shampoo? 

Part of the reason I like going out on my own is that I get to observe other people. I like to catch snipits of their conversations. But once in a while I get a front seat to the entertainment. Being out of the dating world brings a whole new, wonderful level of not caring a bit what guys think of me, that I wish I had possessed when I was single. Empty compliments and cheap lines no longer flatter me in ways that they once unfortunately did. Mr Fancy Shirt talked for a bit about his work that had brought him to town, and I politely engaged, seeing as I was not in apparent danger and I like talking to people when they aren't trying to tell me who else they know with twins. At no point was I rude, but I no longer feel it cute to giggle and blush when men flirt with me (I WISH it didn't take being married to the most handsome guy on earth to find this confidence, but... bonus!). 

Mr Fancy Shirt asked me about what I do for work, and then interrupted me to tell me that he can't even listen due to the fact that my eyes are SO gorgeous that they are just beyond distracting (this included some dramatic covering of his eyes and turning away from me). At this point another gentleman who was sitting opposite from me yelled "Hey! Mikey! You are taking too long to come back to your seat, so I'm drinking this shot without you!". Mr Fancy Shirt, a.k.a Mikey, ignored Chuck (Miss Gullible calls him by name a lot) and continued to stand around and awkwardly try to get me to swoon. 

It was then that I turned to Mr Fancy Shirt and said "Excuse me, but I would like to clarify a few things. First, I did not interrupt you when you were telling me what you do for work, even though your mustache is highly distracting (gross), so I find it rude that you did not allow me to finish what I had been saying about my job. Second, while I appreciate the compliment about my eyes, I feel as if this is your "go to" line. It seemed rehearsed, and we both know that my big, pretty smile is my best feature, not my muted brown eyes. Third, it seems that I am not special in this situation, nor should I be due to my marital status, but if you also bought drinks for other people around the bar, you should stop excluding them in order to talk to me, especially since Chuck has piercing blue eyes that are actually gorgeous, but I somehow doubt that you are ignoring him because of his distracting eyes." 

After a pause to take that all in, Mr Fancy Pants bid me adieu, asked for his meal to go, left his shot, and went up to his room. Apparently I had been the popular provider of the snipits tonight because the other 4 people sitting across from me at the bar raised their glasses in an "air cheers" with me and said they enjoyed that. Chuck told me that this was the first time he had ever seen a girl hold her own in an awkward situation like that, which was why he had tried to jump in and rescue me. I thanked him. It's comforting to know that there are people out there who look out for a girl who needs a way out of a situation, even a small one.  But I went home with a big, pretty smile knowing that tonight, I was a girl who could rescue herself. 

Dear Mr Gothard,

      When I was about 10 I had an assignment to write a hymn. I didn't need to write the music, just the lyrics. ATI is big on this. It took me YEARS to figure out that most of the songs I had learned in the Children's Institute (ATI's kid seminar) were parodies. Every time I went to a parade I thought that "The Ten Unchangables" was a largely popular song until I was an adult and found out the bands were playing "Anchors Away", and no one in ATI was as original as I had thought. 

Since my assignment, and being heavily involved with ATI's programs for kids (Children's Institute, Character First!) I have started writing parodies as a natural part of my day. I do it allllll the time. I have posted a few on YouTube about being locked in my room at the cult, and summaries of sermons. My thoughts tend to turn into parodies, which comes in really handy when playing with my twins all day, and entertains Dreamy Eyes quite a lot. 

     After watching the documentary The Cult Next Door , which is about ATI, I was up all night writing a letter in my head to Bill Gothard. He is 83 and I thought it would be cathartic to put something out there before he finally dies (I checked with my therapist, and she said to go for it, but to avoid becoming pen pals who argue).  As I lay awake, mentally penning my letter about all the ways that Bill Gothard had directly hurt me, the more and more it became a song. Finding this ironic that it became a song after this habit was one that ATI started, I decided to embrace it. It took me about one commute (3.5 hour drive) to write, and as you can guess, about 10 minutes to film. I also had to borrow my mother's ATI clothes, because I had thrown away anything that reminded me of how I had to dress back then. 

  

I think the only person on earth who understood the entire thing without explanation is my mother. Facebook decided that the preview of my video should be the first thing that is shown on my page, and that the snip of an image they would show is the part of me holding up a giant knife. Thanks, Facebook, I really didn't need more friends anyway. I promised my fans (read: my cousin) that I would write a blog post so that they could also be in on the jokes. So, here is the breakdown of the lyrics, and the video for those who don't know what I'm talking about.  ➡➡  Dear Mr Gothard ⬅⬅ (Really, click on it, and join the 37 others who have watched it)

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life...

So far, I think it speaks for itself. 

Due to your evil rules, I was homeschooled, 

Everyone in ATI must homeschool according to their standards. 

And let's forget going to college 'cause I'm just a girl. 

Brevity here. You CAN go to college if you don't have a penis, but you can only major in SOME of the studies. Not the ones that require a penis, such as Pastor, or "How to use a tool that isn't a needle and thread".  My sister's graduation presents included a kitchen aid mixer, and books on homemaking and motherhood. 

There's no light in my eye. 

ATI is big on eye light. Bill Gothard and his wizard senses can tell whether or not you still have your V card just by looking into your eyes. Maybe it's me, but they really could have capitalized on this super power. 

Not a submissive wife. 

ATI teaches that you need to submit to your husband NO MATTER WHAT. Unless it is illegal. Then you pray about it first, but usually still submit. Dreamy Eyes is rarely wrong, but being able to say "I don't want to do that" and not being brought before the elders of the church is something that I never thought I would be doing in my married life. Dream bigger, girls. 

There is more to me than my baby factory. 

You guys have seen TLC shows. You know that spilling your seed is a sin. 

He's got that 9 to 5, but honey, so do I, 

Dreamy Eyes works, but my job pays the rent, and takes skills AND pants-wearing. 

So don't expect I'll have the Hebrew Bible memorized. 

Women should be at home, keeping the house spotless, whilst memorizing and meditating on Scriptures all day. The "ATI Bible" is a KJV with Hebrew and Greek study guides, and is Bill Gothard's personal favorite.  People stand in line for hours waiting for him to sign theirs (I stood in the line, but I didn't want him to sign my Bible). 

I read your Wisdom books,

Wisdom Booklets are the curriculum put out by ATI. They are all based on the Bible, and contain educational material on how to be a submissive wife, how to hate sodomites, how to deny climate change, etc. 

but you should take a look, 

Was it worth it all? Yeah, was it worth it all? 

"It Will Be Worth It All", aka "When We See Christ" is the theme song that the Apprenticeship Choir (choir of hundreds of 12-18 year old ATI students) sings at every ATI conference. It is a gigantic deal and everyone cries. After the song, Bill Gothard usually looks at the choir and says "What an awesome, awesome sight." (This comes up later). 

When I hear your name it sounds like clanging hangers. 

A "famous" story from Bill Gothard's Basic seminar is about how a woman complained that her husband left metal hangers on the door knob and they would clang and drive her crazy. It was like the "thorn in the side". Eventually she learned to love her husband more than the clanging hangers, and learned that submissive wives put away the hangers happily and stop giving their husbands shit about things that are their job. 

This did NOT resolve my anger! 

Bill Gothard also has an Anger Resolution Seminar. The portion I held up in the video is called "Understanding Why God Lets Things Happen". 

I'm so sick of blue and white! 

The dress code of ATI. White shirt/ blouse, navy bottoms. All modest, aka potato sacks. 

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life. 

You told the fathers "If you want the hearts of all your daughters, tell them they'll burn in Hell if not pure on the wedding night. 

Fathers are "encouraged" to sign a contract with their daughters that will assure her purity until marriage. 

My father and I signed no such contract. You can see that I'm holding up my wedding photo, 6 months pregnant with the twins. 

And when you've found the man in God's perfect plan, and if he prays enough with YOU to win your daughter's hand... 

The ATI books literally teach that wives are prizes to be won from their fathers. 

What if your choice is wrong? Wait, men are never wrong!" 

How dare I disagree with your authority. 

It would take an illegal act, and a BIG one at that, to convince the population of ATI that what "God told the father" about his choice in suitor for his daughter was wrong. 

You taught the men how to take command of ladies. 

See: Bill Gothard's Umbrella of Authority-

  

Your umbrella makes me crazy. 

Get me out of ATI. 

I'm out, but again, brevity. 

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life. 

You said rock music shouldn't be the kind of stuff I'm choosin', 

That it would allow the Devil to control my mind. 

Come over to my mom's house. She has a few shelves full of videos of Bill Gothard speaking on the evils of rock music. HOURS of this stuff! He preaches often on how a 1-3 beat gives your mind over to Satan.

Zero. Hyperbole. 

Don't need a neck bow to enhance my countenance. 

ATI is BIG on drawing attention to your face and away from your body. Neck bows were a regular part of my wardrobe. Note: This blouse is not ATI approved, as it has pockets that call attention to my tits. I borrowed it from my mother. Clearly my father needs to take better inventory of her closet. 

You locked me in my room in hopes that I would break. 

When I was at the ATI training center in Oklahoma City, I would get "Heart Checks" and get shut in my room with a staff member outside my door to assure I didn't leave until I had made my heart right with God. Eventually my roommate and I just started taking naps and pretended to be super spiritual. 

Then looked at all of us, once all our brains were washed. 

The Apprenticeship Choir: 

"What an awesome sight, an awesome, awesome sight!"

I told you it would come up later. 

You always told me to be an empty vessel. 

Constantly. The goal was to be an empty vessel, ready to be used by God. 

But the thing with empty vessels, is they make the loudest noise. 

This was my passive aggressive attempt at a sick burn. 

Bill Gothard: Bad at picking proverbs for motivation. 

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life. 

You said a stronghold comes from all the lies the Devil has told, 

This is the famous "stronghold" diagram from many of Bill Gothard's seminars. It's pretty much a false thought (from the Devil) that you allow to fester and consume you and eventually ruins more and more areas of your thinking and your life. There is actually something to this, but this is the ATI version, where it's always the Devil's fault. 

But, hey, let's be honest, you're the one who told the lies. 

Which, according to my mother, include "This is NOT a cult". 

See my other posts for more lies. 

Ooooo, Mr Gothard, 

F you, and ATI. 

You can figure this line out on your own. Basically, I know that sometimes my friends with kids watch my stuff, and they will learn how to say "fuck" soon enough, so I don't need to be blamed for that too. 

Dreamy Eyes came home to find this on his bed. He figured I was working through some stuff. He is very supportive of my catharsis, even if sometimes I leave knives on his bed.

Homeschool Heather Goes To Prom

  Twelve years ago I watched as all of my friends got ready for their proms. I helped them pick out dresses, stood by at the mall while they tried on different styles that their fathers would hate, and finally find the perfect one. I went to their houses to help them get ready, and giggle about their dates, hoping it wouldn't be awkward going with a guy who wasn't thrilled about going to the prom, but it's a thing that you do. I took pictures of them outside, along with the other proud moms. I was handy to have around for group pictures, since selfie sticks weren't a thing yet. Then I would wave as they drove away for their magical night, and I went back home, understanding how Cinderella felt when she watched the rest of her village go off to a giant ball, and she was commanded to stay home.

Being homeschooled was a big part of not getting to go to a prom, but there were other factors. I could have gone. I was actually asked to 4, but I wasn't allowed to go because of all the sinning there would be.

(Example: tattoo showing above my dress)

     A giant fear of mine is that I'm going to drive my girls crazy by trying to live my longed for high school experiences through them, and they will end up embarrassed or hating me. I'm absolutely going to chaperone their prom, but I'm going to try my best not to take away any of their joy. I have always felt like I missed so many normal parts of growing up, and not going to prom was a big one for me. I've been told that it's not all it's cracked up to be, that many nights end in tears, that their dates were jerks and they ended up with a group of girls all night. Didn't matter to me. I wanted to go. I wanted the experience everyone else gets to have, and I think I got it, complete with the standard prom photo.

When Dreamy Eyes started school up here, I was talking to one of his classmates and she told me that the school throws a C.O.M. (College Of Medicine) prom every Spring.
I was elated!!! I was FINALLY going to get to go to prom!!! No matter what, I was going.
It took forever to find out when the date would be. I had to find out from one of his classmates because I had assigned her the task of watching for tickets since DE wasn't thrilled about going and was hoping I wouldn't notice. She came through, and he bought tickets.

I work 3.5 hours away from where we live while he's in school. I work all of my shifts in a big chunk, and of course, prom fell on a date right in the middle of my scheduled work chunk. This provoked a tiny amount of panic, but I rearranged my schedule so that I would drive (with the babies) from CT to ME on Friday, go to prom Saturday, and drive back to CT on Sunday to finish my work week. 8 hours of driving for a prom? To me, that's how much I wanted it. That's how much it meant to me to feel normal. That's​ how much I wanted that dream night. I was going to get myself all of the experiences I longed for.

Another friend of mine who is also a med school wife and brand new mom was also homeschooled, so this would be her first prom as well! We heard that a lot of girls get pregnant after prom. We had to worry about whether or not to pack our breast pumps. I guess prom as an adult is slightly different.

I don't think I can explain how excited I was in the days leading up to prom. I think I told anyone who would listen that I was going, and was going to have the most handsome date there. I got my hair styled on Friday and drove all the way home leaning forward and slept sitting up so that I wouldn't ruin it. I spent all day Saturday altering my dress, (I dropped 12lbs for this) which took hours because my girls are afraid of the sewing machine and it's not the easiest task to measure your own alterations and sew them while nursing 1-2 babies the entire time. But I was determined. I was FINALLY going to prom. I ironed DE's shirt and got his clothes ready, including the socks I laid out for him that got left home. I shaped my nails perfectly and painted them. The babies also wanted their toes done, so while the other girls were getting ready together, I was getting ready with my babies. Babies are really not helpful with hair curling and not putting applesauce on your dress. They spent most of the day crying, but it's only fair, because that's how I will spend all day leading up to their prom.

After lots of chaos, we were ready. The poor babysitter had her hands full, and because we don't have working doorknobs, got to see me naked. I told her I was sorry a lot. This isn't meant to sound cocky, but DE always looks handsome no matter what, and I'm told a lot that I'm so lucky to be with such a good looking guy. It took me a lot of work, but I looked better than I've ever looked before, and I was happy. I finally felt like I could belong on his arm.

12 years ago my friends all went to prom together in a limo. We have a minivan and are too lazy to move the car seats for a carpool.

We went to dinner on our own because our other plans fell through, and then walked awkwardly around the city for a bit because we were really early. We still ended up being the 4th and 5th people there. As we were walking, a few people yelled out of their cars that I looked like a princess. That was much nicer than when I get cat called walking past a cell block at work. It may have embarrassed DE, but it was kind of fun having a bunch of strangers tell me that I  looked beautiful. As flattering as that was, I would have traded it to hear that from him. I'll assume that he thought I looked ok.

I would guess that most typical prom features were there, except for the bar. I doubt they have those at most. There was a photo booth, which was fun. DE was the one who suggested we get our pictures taken. I wasn't even going to bother trying to coax him into that, so it was nice that he offered. As you can see, we seem to have forgotten that it was still taking pictures somewhere in the middle.

Once everyone arrived I think the night took on the atmosphere of how proms are portrayed. The girls danced and took pictures together and had a blast while the guys kept an eye on the trays of food.

I was surprised that there were no slow dances. I was looking forward to that, but maybe it's better to have not had the chance than trying to drag a reluctant date around for 3 minutes. Sometimes it's easier to have a romantic moment with a dissected cadaver between us than in a setting that most people would find ideal. I gave up on the idea of being with Prince Charming and realized I got more of the Flynn Ryder type of prince, who sings "I've got dreams like you, no, really! Just much less touchy- feely. They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny, on an island that I own, tanned, and rested, and alone..."
Which seems to be a decent fit as far as dreams go, because all Rapunzel wanted was to see the floating lanterns. Nothing big, just one happy night.

I had been really excited about writing this post about the magical night that I waited over a decade to have. Instead, I ended up having a fun night out with our friends, which was really, really amazing, but not magical. I love the friends I've made here, both his classmates and the "med spouses" who know not to make double date plans during block week. They are incredible.

I didn't have a fairy godmother to drive me 8 hours, lose 12 lbs, sew for 4 hours, do my hair for 2, or hold my babies during any of that so that a prince could fall in love with me. Escaping a cult was something I had to do on my own, just as I can't depend on anyone else for my happiness. It takes work, but it's up to me to make my dreams come true. Homeschool Heather went to prom. It wasn't a dream. It was a check mark.