Exactly the kind of autumn I can handle

It was cold this morning, so cold I made Lil E grab a fleece hat on our way out the door. So cold that we've been waffling between wearing our winter coats and adding an extra layer underneath our fall jackets.

It is too chilly for this time of year, I keep saying and thinking as the heat kicks on and I crawl underneath my comforter or turn the faucet so the water in the tub is just a little steamier. And this morning, as I stepped out on to the balcony to test if we would need those hats and coats, I did want to turn right around and go back to bed or at least into the warm comfort of the bath.

But the morning wore on, and later, when I stepped back out on to the balcony, I found the sunshine there. It was warmer and I could see all of the signs of fall that I love emerge. A smattering of red oak leaves seemed to reach out to me from the tree in the yard. The mums on the neighbor's porch below seemed brilliant among the dark green and brown and gold grass and shrubs. It was pleasant, peaceful, even pretty.

I got a cup of coffee, left my coat inside, and sat on my balcony, soaking it all in for a few perfect minutes. This won't last much longer. In fact, the sun is already fading behind gray clouds. And this autumn will become winter all too soon.

But today, I got to stretch my legs and feel a little of the fall I love, caught on my balcony, my bare arms, and right in front of me.

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Thank God for the passing of time: Another October 12

And so another anniversary has arrived. Seven years ago today, I married the man who is now my ex-husband. It is more than just any other day, and yet, I can write and think and talk about it with a neutrality I never dreamed I'd have.

Last year, I struggled some and found a way to acknowledge the anniversary and then do something meaningful for myself. Even then, I wasn't sure I would be in the place with it I am now. What a blessing that is.

The only person I mentioned it to was my son. Over dinner last night, I told him that this would mark the day his daddy and I got married. He got the wide-eyed look he gets when I can see he desperately wants more information and is afraid to get more information.

"Oh," he nodded, taking the tiniest of bites from a baby carrot.

"I wanted you to know," I explained, "because even though Daddy and I aren't married anymore, it's important to remember that we were madly in love and very, very happy when we did get married. And for a long, long time, which is a big part of the reason we chose to have you. That changed. But it doesn't change that we made the decision to get married because we were in love way back then."

He nodded again, took another tiny bite.

"So I just wanted to honor that. We call this an anniversary. I wanted you to know about it."

Another nod, another bite.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, lovey?" A big question was coming. I could feel it. Or at least I know it from experience in having these kinds of conversations.

"Can we look at the pictures of your marriage tomorrow?"

"You mean the wedding?" I clarified. Then I nodded. ""And the video, too, if you'd like."

"No," he said certainly. "Just the pictures. But...Mommy? It's important to remember when people DID love each other. Even if they're separate now."

"That's right," I said. He got it.

"Mommy? I'm going to marry you one day."

I smiled. We'd been through this many times as well.

"Oh honey, boys can't marry their mommies. But it is a sweet thought and I thank you for saying it. But one day, you may fall madly in love yourself and I will be there to celebrate with you just like the people I love celebrated with me."

"Mommy?" More to process. "I'm not ever getting married. Well...maybe."

"We'll see," I said. He's been on a kick about never getting married, and it saddens me even though I understand where it comes from. "It is your choice. And you can always change your mind."

"Yeah, things change." He gets that, too.

On this October 12th, there will be no roses, no cards written to myself, no phone calls to The Ex, no awful, desperate dinners. I don't need any of that this year. 

I'm reminded that Pema Chodron says our hearts don't break, they break open. That hurts, she says, because it is new and raw. As painful as it once was that the vows I said on this day were severed, my life really did break open once the marriage ended. This day now marks the beginning of a moment of time, one that I don't regret having even though it is now long over.

I'm good. I am really good with it all. And what a relief to feel that. What a feeling of thankfulness to find what was there when it all opened up.

This is one of many stunning pictures snapped by the photographers on that day. They are all in a box of keepsakes I am saving for Lil E, but it does me good to see my family and grrrlfriends and loved ones all dolled up and happy together. I was pinning a corsage on my mom -- doesn't she look gorgeous? -- while my maid of honor, my brother Seth, was holding my veil for me to put on. It was a sweet moment, one that I will happily hold on to.

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Pumpkin with pumpkins

We took a day this weekend and drove to Wisconsin to see some dear friends who we haven't seen in far too long -- since the day after our family changed forever, to be precise. We pulled in to their driveway as very different people and still, once we exchanged hellos and hugs and reintroduced the kids, it was really very much the same as it always was.

Lil E got to geek out on Star Wars with the boys, playing, dueling light sabers, and watching "Return of the Jedi" on a projection screen. I got to spend a long time catching up with one of my favorite friends, Katie, about little details and major life transitions.

As we talked, I kept having flashes of all the moments Katie and I had, beginning as coworkers and quickly becoming friends. There were many escapes from our offices to eat chicken dumpling soup and whisper about the conservative old men we worked with. There were Halloween parties with cauldrons of sangria and crazy suburban scrapbooking get-togethers and secret meet-ups to edit resumes. There was the moment that I believe defined our friendship, when Katie called during my first attempt at letting Lil E cry it out during nap time. I picked up the phone sobbing almost as much as my baby was in the other room.

"Jessica, listen to me carefully," she said. "Go in to your bedroom, close the door, and talk to me. Trust me. He will be OK."

Every ten minutes or so, she would pause our conversation and ask if I could still hear cries. Finally, 47 minutes in, he'd stopped.

"You did it," she said calmly, sweetly. "You survived. I'm proud of you. Now call me at nap time tomorrow and we will do it again. And again and again until he goes down without crying."

I will never forget the care and the guidance she gave me that day, how she helped me carry out the choice I'd made and how concerned she was that I was as safe, sound, and OK as my boy.

Today, Katie and her husband and boys took Lil E and me to a pumpkin farm, where the kids climbed bails of hay, did somersaults in the bouncy house, squeamishly fed llamas and goats from their own wiggly hands, and picked out pumpkins to take home. As we tromped through a corn maze with our silly, leggy, talkative boys, I asked Katie if we would have ever believed the scene if we'd been shown it on fast forward ten years ago when we met.

"Oh no!", she laughed, and I tried to imagine what we looked back then in our suits and with our Franklin Covey day planners, what was important to us, what we dreamed lay ahead of us.

It wasn't this. But this...this is so much better.

The only change I'd make is seeing Katie and her family more often.  But even if it is another two years before we meet in person again -- and I am going to do my best to make sure it isn't -- I know we will be back up in Wisconsin, picking out pumpkins and picking up right where we left off with each other, no matter how much our lives may changed.

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