tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24964697142306491882024-03-13T10:37:44.056-07:00Amelia MerrittThe only thing glamorous about working in film is getting to say you work in film.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-26527368386261000702015-02-10T11:38:00.000-08:002015-02-10T11:43:49.779-08:00Twisted Thrifter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday I posted on Buzzfeed at the behest of a darling IG friend, Aubrey. I posted about these silly and disturbing pictures I enjoy doing. The post I wrote is <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/ameliamerritt/twisted-thrifter-1ber8" target="_blank">HERE</a>. I sold at "auction" two pictures for my child's elementary school arts program and intend to do more, they are trying to raise 10,000.<br />
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Tonight is this fundraiser:<br />
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<a href="http://provomayor.com/2015/01/24/sweetart-spectacular-fundraising-event/">http://provomayor.com/2015/01/24/sweetart-spectacular-fundraising-event/</a><br />
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The first I sold was Thomas Kinkade Crime Scene, above, to Kevin Auernig at Sodalicious. I had the best time dropping it off because the employees were morbidly fascinated by it and I just love that. Plus I got to order myself a Skinny Southern Gentlemen Extra Dirty which makes me chuckle every time because I'm still 12.<br />
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I sold Firestarter to designer Dave Eliason. I think it turned out amazingly, if I do say so myself.<br />
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I have this one left to complete, I will just call it...Fetch. I'm adding dogs. Loooots of dogs.<br />
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This one was commissioned by my good friend Becky who shares a love for all things absurd. Co-incidentally, or not, I was her TA in Art in 7th grade. So kids, be nice to your TAs. You may still be friends when you're 40.<br />
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I'm having so much fun that I am now in the market for loads of old art. Paintings, prints and photographs. Anything tacky and/or odd. Make a donation to me, and you're making a donation to the Edgemont Arts program!<br />
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Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-62925230680974121382014-12-05T22:58:00.001-08:002015-01-31T09:51:26.435-08:00War Pigs. The Movie. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I began the film War Pigs with a big head. I had just shot a film for the church where the crew was wonderful, everyone was fun and silly and we laughed from sun up to sun down and had a dance party on our last night of filming. It was practically an Abilify commercial. I thought I could do no wrong. A ha. A ha, ha, ha.<br />
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The night before our first shooting day I slept an hour. The second night I slept about 4. The next day I was so loopy I feel off a rock and sprained my ankle. The third day was what we lovingly called "Mickey Day". And I got Rourked. Hard.<br />
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For the record the guy is super sweet. He was respectful, funny, charming and kind to me. The first thing he asked me was how long were my teeth in jail. He wasn't ever mean or rude or raised his voice. He made some crude jokes but at my age I would've been offended if he hadn't. It was the requests. There were a lot of them, a lot of weird them, and because our fitting was happening the night before his one and only filming day there were, shall we say, time constraints. I basically stood in line buying merchandise at 1:30 am at the Super Walmart with one lane open, a cashier who was enjoying his first day on the job and a woman throwing a fit from her Jazzy Power Chair because she didn't know her billing zip code and her card was declining. I went home and did cast laundry, altered Mr Rourke's pants, fixed his jacket and boots and then crashed for 45 minutes. The next day I was a zombie. A literal zombie. I was a shell of flesh covering internal organs that had ceased to accomplish their designated functions. There was some drama as per usual that day and there was more last minute scrambling in my department before we even got off the first shot, I even got a flat pulling into the location for hell's sale. Just trying to keep up with our chaotic shooting schedule was one thing but there was an impromptu photo shoot scheduled for that day no one in production was told about and so my wardrobe kept ending up there instead of where it was supposed to be, and since we were in a horribly haunted five story building I think I burned off like 3,500 calories before noon hauling ass as quickly as possible from creepy room to even creepier room. My ankle became the Hindenburg.<br />
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Noon. It couldn't come fast enough. I was so excited to finally be able to lay down and sleep. We were in the Masonic Temple and there are couches literally everywhere. One room had seven couches. I told the first AD where I would be, took off my walkie and picked one to sleep on. I had no sooner laid down when a woman with a fluffy round hairdo hovering just over a lace collar looked down at me and said, to the greasy man next to her, "She has her feet on the couch!" And the greasy man came closer and she said it again. "Her FEET are on the COUCH." Now, to my discerning eye these were not precious couches. They were not white silk, they were not velvet, they were not linen. They were leather and they were old. The man yelled at me, "Get your feet off of those. Don't you know those are 100 year old couches?" Now...I am 42 years old. I am not, in that case, a child. I'm not even a young lady. I am a grown up. An adult. And these people just spoke to me like a child. Like an annoying child. But all I had done was lay down on a couch. I said, "No, of course I didn't know that. Just like you don't know that I haven't SLEPT IN THREE DAYS." And when I got up I shot over my shoulder, "You could have asked me NICELY!" And then I began to cry.<br />
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I do not cry. Well, I cry at sad movies. I get choked up at commercials about parenthood. But I don't cry when my feelings are hurt. I get super angry and talk to myself when I drive home and then vent to my family and friends. But I was a hollow shell of my former self so I cried. (My favorite part is coming up...) I have no where to go so I sit in the wardrobe trailer and cry. One of our poor PAs comes up to me and just goes, "uuhoooh." And walks slowly backwards away from me like I'm a wild animal. He was trying to bring me back the production credit card because he had gone and had custom boots made for Mickey, in three hours. We had managed to fill that impossible request (cause we rock) so I womaned up and went back inside with the now terribly uncomfortable PA. I figured it'd be fine, everyone was eating still so no one would see me. But the 1st AD did, and he stopped me and then he just gives me a huge hug, and I lose it all over again. He and the 2nd AD conspire and get me a room in the honey wagon and buy me an hour of quiet time. I can't be on set like this, I'm useless as long as I am inconsolable, so it makes sense to squirrel me away. I call my therapist. I had just started seeing a therapist. I tell the receptionist I'm losing it and I need the good doctor to call me back ASA friggin P. But like my second birth story, I sat with the phone on my chest, crying and waiting for a phone call that didn't come. And boy, was that JUST what I needed right then, to be reminded of my best day ever. (Yay, that is my favorite part of this story.) I can identify clearly that it was around this point that my psyche splintered.<br />
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The rest of the film was a mixture of sleeplessness, disfunctionality, clashing egos and sub-zero temperatures. How's that for a cocktail? Mix in that we were behind schedule and perpetually covered in Fuller's Earth from head to toe and smelling of smoke pots and you have one quality situation. Now, I am leaving out a whole lot of stuff that frankly, is probably not best for public consumption. Probably not for private consumption either. Probably best to forget. But I will write it down in my journal so that after I'm gone my grand kids can read it and say, "Jeez, grandma. Those were 100 year old couches." </div>
Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-5226233801867659632013-06-24T13:29:00.002-07:002016-03-23T11:44:07.829-07:00One Year Ago. Life After I Could Have Died.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I can't believe it's been a whole year and I've only written a couple of blog posts. I was thinking about all the posts I have written, many of the posts in the beginning, about having moles removed or being humiliated on Pictionary. The levity in them seems to have disappeared along with my desire to write. I kinda wonder what changed.<br />
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I know that dealing with an autoimmune disease has been one thing. First of all there is the fact that it just isn't considered an actual thing by really anyone. It's funny, I was talking with a guy I know about it and I explained how it's just like Lupus and he said, "Well except that Lupus is serious." And I said, "Exactly." Same dog, different leg. My autoimmune system attacks my body. I know, I absolutely<i> to my soul</i> comprehend that I can not expect anyone on the planet to understand what I went through for so long throughout my life before I finally found a way to sort of cope and then begin to feel better. I remember hearing about things like Epstein Barr and thinking it was all in people's heads and they just needed to buck up and quit whining. I<i> was</i> that person so I get that person. I still don't really talk much about it other than maybe with other people who have it or the people I work with as a means of helping them maybe understand why I am the way that I am, somewhat tired, caffeinated, and a tad forgetful. <br />
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We also had a solid year of working through Brett's depression. Now, it's not really my story to tell, it's his illness, so it's his story. But my story is that it came at a time when I really wanted someone to take care of me, but he needed someone to take care of him, so we both just sort of took care of ourselves. Which figures since we married late in life and we were used to being independent and alone. This is not to say that I in any way blame him, it's just a fact. I appreciate that he has not only kept a job during his depression but he's advanced and gotten promoted repeatedly which his doctors were entirely baffled by. It's cause he's cool like that.<br />
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Then with the heart failure. And the feelings that come afterwards are hard to describe. They told me, repeatedly, that you go through depression after a heart event. It is a well documented fact and heartily recognized by the medical community. Every single one of my doctors and my Visiting Teacher all made sure I was very clear that it was a<i> real thing</i>. I wish they hadn't. I knew what depression was, I live with someone with it, and what you feel after a heart event is not the same as depression. It is a total re-calibration of your life. In the beginning, things feel hyper-colored and important. Things that maybe don't really matter so much. Everything that actually <i>is</i> important has meaning three layers deep. I can only akin it to being a walking, talking exposed live wire. I reality-checked in frequently with my dear friend David who has had multiple open heart surgeries and he's only in his thirties. He knew. He got it. Thank heaven. I found that, yes, I didn't want to work, but not because I didn't love my job anymore. I was healing. And I could sort of tell I was still not 100% yet and I was also emotionally off-kilter. I knew I could look fairly normal for short periods of time but that I wasn't normal. (Kind of the story of my life.) I turned down films, short films, music videos...I mean, fun stuff. Stuff I would not normally hesitate for one second to do. I've stayed at home more over the last year than I have in my entire life which is a huge risk in my industry because the fear is real that they will one day just stop asking, if you keep saying no. But the re-calibration included being with my family more. And thankfully my husband had a new job that meant that I could. God is good.<br />
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Last week I went into the ER for more tests. I've been passing out. So I did a Tilt Table Test. Seemed basic. You get an IV and attached to a butt ton of devices and then lay down on a table you're strapped to for about thirty minutes. Then they tilt you back up to a 70 degree angle and you sit there. No big deal. But once I was vertical and I began to get light headed and I couldn't move, I started freaking out and I heard myself say, "I'm dying, I'm dying," and then at some point I passed out. The rest of the day I felt incredibly nauseous and sort of freaked out all over again. I was wondering why on earth I should be given so many opportunities to experience a loss of consciousness. It felt like the bastard brother of the blackouts I had during my AV Block, only slower and more diabolical because I couldn't move my arms or legs at all. I can only assume it's pretty close to what it feels like to die from blood loss or asphyxiation. Maybe someone I know will finally snap one day and strangle me and I will be familiar with the process. Maybe they will strangle me with one of my new compression stockings I'm told I have to wear. I can only hope so because heaven knows I'd rather die than wear these hideous things.<br />
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I can't say that I am back to normal because it's still an ongoing thing, all of these health issues, and they seem to point to the fact that I am now "that" buffalo in the herd. The wounded old buffalo. The one in the back. I'm sort of priming myself for an early departure. There is something magical though about knowing that every one of your days in the present is actually a day that you are only borrowing, because a year ago a bunch of smart people got together and bought them back for you. There's an odd peace in that. And an incredible amount of gratitude.<br />
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Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-5128232257857853542013-04-29T16:47:00.004-07:002013-04-29T16:47:53.858-07:00Nothing Doing.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So its been a whole lot of nothing going on over on this blog, amirite? I've been busy shooting stuff and being a mom, as per usual. The kids got to do a Hogle Zoo spot recently and the spot we shot last year for Lagoon comes out soon. It is so beautiful it's not even funny and I feel super lucky to have been asked to have my family participate. Julian Acosta is a genius DP/Director. That dude will make a weepingly gorgeous film one day, you mark my words.<br />
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Anyway, there is a new post up on <a href="http://otherpeopleproject.blogspot.com/">http://otherpeopleproject.blogspot.com</a> and it will give you some idea of what's been going on in my world, if you don't follow me on Instagram and you have no idea what I've been up to. On a personal level, frankly, I'm not feeling much like talking about my life right now which is unusual for me. I'm just sure I have a reason why but I can't imagine what it is.<br />
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Oh. And. IRON MAN 3 AMIGOS! I can't wait. Cant. Wait. </div>
Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-11685449769375662122012-08-27T16:42:00.000-07:002012-08-27T17:52:51.652-07:00In Defense of Intuition.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As a small girl I had odd experiences. I would just "know" things. I would know who would win Miss America, I would know which horse was going to win the Kentucky Derby, I would know when something bad was about to happen. These were not guesses, these were full on impressions. Information would just appear in my head, like I had spontaneously downloaded it. It happened time and time and time again. I told myself that I was mad, that I was stupid, that there was something wrong with me. And there were enough people that supported this fear that I believed it for a long, long time. It can still be a struggle not to discount impressions that I have. I have a scar on my forehead as a tiny reminder. I ran into a log not long ago because I ignored an impression that I had that I should turn around and abandon our hike up the face of Bridal Veil Falls.<br />
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Shortly after I began dating my first serious boyfriend at the age of 18 I began to have very powerful feelings we should break up. I have since heard this particular feeling described as "The Pit". I think it very accurately describes it. I had a sinking feeling, like a weight or an anchor right in the center of my person. Not excitement or anxiety or butterflies in my stomach, it wasn't that. It was something dark and awful and undeniable. I tried to break up with this particular boy on multiple occasions because I had this "pit". When I told him I wanted to break up I was forced to defend my decision to break up with him but could say nothing more than, "I have a bad feeling." I adored him, I was crazy about him, we got along great. There were no apparent issues. He made the argument that it was illogical and my decision was based on fiction and I had to agree. It was just a feeling. But the feeling persisted and I told him so. He never respected these feelings or my decisions to break up so each attempt on my part fell flat. He'd laugh at me and my illogical argument and then talk me into staying together. It's not like I took much coaxing. We dated for a year and around the time we were fully and completely and ridiculously in love, a girl he dated came home from her mission and reminded him that he was late for their eternal marriage. I can not understate how devastating it was for me. For years I was just...lost. I married a nice person who was so very wrong for me as a direct result of this one relationship. I left the church because of issues that arose (that were MY fault) as a direct result of this one relationship. I made 100 bad decisions based on the outcome of this one relationship. He married and graduated and lived happily ever after, his life went on unaffected. Mine was thrown off track for over a decade, in fact in all honesty I <i>still </i>struggle because of this one relationship. I got the warning because I needed the warning. What I wanted to do wasn't what I should do.<br />
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When I was in college a very nice boy started asking me out. We went on a walk one night and my family dog came along accidentally. I didn't feel it was important to go back and put him on a leash because nights in my neighborhood are dead as door-nails. I now live on that same street. The entire walk I had this horrible feeling and kept hearing a whisper, "Go pick up the dog." I finally decided to stop pushing the thought into the back of my mind and as I approached him a single solitary car doing about 90 hit my dog. I saw it happening and I tried to wave to the driver to stop. It was just like in the movies, you see the car, see the dog, instantaneously calculate trajectory and speed and you know where and when they will collide. His head hit the bumper and it took him a half an hour to die. There were no vets open at 11:00 at night and there was no way he would have lived long enough to get him to one even if they were open. I prayed he would hurry up and die and I said I was so so sorry. The dog died in front of me, in my arms because I didn't listen.<br />
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I had a baaaaad feeling the night my now ex-sweetheart cheated on me. I held his arm and begged him not to go out with his friend that night and I even cried because I felt so strongly about it. He told me I was being crazy and emotional because I was pregnant. In the recently spoken words of my mother, I have paid a dear price to learn one particular lesson over and over again. Because of these experiences and more, I listened when I felt I should quit my job and quit college even though I was single with two young children. In prayer I was told that even though it was illogical I should not continue my education because I wouldn't need one to do what I would be doing. Exact words I downloaded into my head, I wouldn't need one to do what I would be doing. Two weeks later I began working full time in film. It went from something I did four times a year to four times a month in the blink of an eye because I listened to inspiration, I listened to the spirit. I listened when I was told when I would meet my one and only. I knew the week I would meet him, I knew what to do to find him and I knew before I opened the door on our first date that he was the one. My thoughts when I opened the door were something along the lines of, "How many times do we go out before I tell this guy he's gonna marry me? How does THAT come up in conversation?" I still hear people say, "There is no ONE right person for everyone, it's silly to think so." and I just shake my head. I think it's sad not to believe that magic can exist for some people. But I digress...<br />
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I have believed myself a freak my whole life because of this gift. I don't tell people about these experiences usually and I still feel a certain amount of shame and embarrassment. I mean, if you get a miraculous gift from God it's usually something more socially acceptable like a truly beautiful singing voice or the ability to hear and memorize music instantly, not the gift of being able to look at someone and know where they should go to college. (1992. Met a co-worker, shook her hand and heard, "BYU Hawaii" clear as a bell in my head. She got her degree and met her husband there.) Now these are anecdotes to you, the reader. But they are real and sometimes painful experiences to me. I have learned to listen to them every single time or I will be sorry. Sometimes I have been very, very sorry. Other times it just seems impossible. For example I just KNEW this house was ours even though it didn't belong to us, it belonged to friends that swore they would never sell it and we had just barely bought a house up the street. It took years for it all to actually come to pass, but here we are living in this house that I just KNEW was to be ours against all logic. <br />
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I could keep recalling other "supernatural" experiences but that's not why I wanted to write this post. The feeling I want to mention is my impression not to immunize. Right now a whole lot of people I know are getting really upset at those who chose not to immunize and are calling them names on the Internet. It's become a thing today I guess. And I won't delve into what they are saying but it feels purposefully hurtful and mean spirited and one guy went so far as to say he was done being patient with us idiots and another mocked anyone who's feelings might be hurt by being called stupid and unthinking. I am that person who's feelings might be hurt. I felt that after my daughter's infant shots I should not continue with any more immunizations and I didn't know why. I felt my son was fine to continue with his shots but I had a "feeling" not to continue to immunize my daughter. Just a "feeling". I made a big decision based on a feeling. I knew the risks, I knew the benefits, I knew logically what the consequences could be. And I had to have faith in the feeling. I still must. Even though people are calling me stupid. My friends are calling me stupid. I think I was right to make this decision when she was little. I am actually amazed by how right on I might have been. I mean, I made the decision years before I knew about my auto-immune disease and years and years before my sister was diagnosed. I had this impression way before I ever even heard the name of this crazy auto-immune disease that has most likely been passed on from female to female in my family for the last four generations. Do I <i>know</i> that this was the reason why I felt like I shouldn't immunize? No. I can't prove that. I don't know why I felt I should not immunize. I <i>suspect</i> this could be why but I do not know that this is why, I just have faith enough in these feelings and promptings because of past experience that I continue on in faith. Like a lot of us crazy Mormons tend to do in our illogical support of the miraculous.<br />
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I don't think we all are given the same gifts. I think some people are given keen minds and are able to judge their paths for themselves and God says, "Sweet, cool with me." Like my friend Julia. And then some people are given keen minds and judge their paths for themselves and God has to step in and say, "Yeeeeah, that's not for you." Like me. God guides me, a lot. I don't know why. I don't think it's because I'm stupid, but maybe it is. Maybe my whole life I haven't been getting enough blood to my head due to my AV Block so God steps in to assist. That would suck for me. I'd like to think it's because I'm an intuitive person who is trying to be a logical person 100% of the time the way the world tells me I <i>should</i> be but when it's not the right path for me and I'm making an error I require course correction. I need "the way hedged up" for me, in the words of my patriarchal blessing. Maybe it's because I was raised by wolves and I was given a really strong guardian angel who's talking in my ear. Doesn't matter. At any rate, I'm cool with the gift of revelation. I need it in my life, it's a part of who I am and a principle of the religion I choose to belong to. It takes a lot of humility and attention to nuance to be obedient to it. It's a gift that I now have come to appreciate although I have had to defend it both internally and externally. But I guess having a weird gift comes with a certain price. Today, that price feels like maybe it's a few people that I thought were my friends. </div>
Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-53618609249362921782012-07-17T13:38:00.002-07:002013-06-24T13:46:21.156-07:00FAQ's.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
The single most frequently asked question is how I got started working in this business. It's been asked of me so many times. At least once per shoot for the last 13 years. I know what people really want to know when they ask. They want to analyze my story for the probability of it happening to them. Like if it turns out I'm just a normal girl with a relatively normal level of talent or natural aptitude for my profession maybe they, too can one day have this career. I assure them I never went to school for what I do, I have just made my way through by luck, God, reading books, and learning a lot while on the job. I inform them my mother was a makeup artist but that my boyfriend gave me my first real jobs. See, nothing special. They like that answer.<br />
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I used to not want to be what I am, I wanted somehow to work for the FBI. I read a lot of books over a three year period, a lot of books. And for about three months I was in the UVU Criminal Justice program. But I quit. People ask sometimes why I quit and went into film instead. I warn you you may want to skip to the next paragraph. I quit after I read a case study where Prosecutors secured a conviction based on a toddler's footprint found inside of a pedophile's closet. On the ceiling. How does a child's footprint get on the ceiling? The accused had restrained a child and placed him on the top shelf of his closet. The kid had done what all small children do, he had struggled in a compact space. It may have even been out of boredom that he put his foot there. What I do know is that I couldn't stop thinking about it. He had no idea that it was so important that he place his foot there. Who had the brilliant wherewithal to look for a print on the ceiling in the closet? It became really painful where it once was clinical. I had an 18 month old. I knew I could never work a case involving a child.<br />
<br />
One time on set I was talking with a guy about a book by John Douglas he was reading. I told him about how much I also had liked it and gave him some other book suggestions. He asked me if I ever noticed anything that all serial killers had in common. I blurted something out and later really thought about what I said. I said that they all feel sorry for themselves. And it's true. You know who is the victim in their minds? They are. They are victims of fate, of their parents, of circumstances the other person has put them in or just of...life. They want to regain control, they want to make people pay, they want to not be pathetic. I think feeling sorry for one's self is an evil sin. But it's also my greatest struggle.<br />
<br />
Here is the biggest question I've gotten lately. The 64,000 dollar question. What happened? No one can believe that someone like me who appears perfectly healthy goes to work one day and then ends up in the hospital in the cardiac ICU for five days, right? I had to have known something was wrong, right? This time they ask because they DON'T want this to be able to happen to them.<br />
<br />
What happened is that I laid down to go to bed on Wednesday, June 27th and felt my heart pounding. I could feel the rhythm and it seemed off sometimes, which is not odd for me in it's self. I have had mild arrhythmia throughout my life, no biggie. The pounding was also not odd because I was weaning off caffeine. I had only had about 4-6oz a day for a week but on that day I had a 24oz Coke Zero so I figured more caffeine than usual = pounding in chest. No biggie. I went to work and felt some mild chest pain. Some light headedness. Some nausea. But the swamp cooler was broken in the studio so I blamed the heat. I took some Excedrin. I don't know what made me but I called my Doctor. The Nurse there has my same Auto-Immune disease and we have bonded over it in the past so I reminded her who I was, the girl with Hashi's, and told her my current symptoms. She said to go immediately to the ER. I was kind of surprised. I was expecting something like, come in on Monday and we'll get you an appointment. She said something that struck me really hard, she said that what I was feeling was either everything or nothing. I asked her if I should drive myself to the ER and she said yes. I went to my friend, Jed, who is producer of the series I'm on and I told him what was going on. I had also called my husband before I called the doc and told him I felt off. Anyway Jed had enough professional experience with crew safety to know to tell me not to ride it out but that the most important thing was to be OK. He told me to get out of the studio and go immediately to the ER. For some reason I knew I had to. No logical explanation for it at all. <br />
<br />
I called my husband and told him I was leaving and going to the ER. He told me to go to Timpanogos in Orem because we know we are covered there. I got in the car and began to drive from the studio in Sandy on 90th S. This is when it got dicey. I began blacking out while operating a vehicle. Not 100% losing consciousness but something like it. And I was at the point of the mountain. My first thought was, I can't hit someone. I can't take some family out. I called Brett and said that I was losing consciousness in the car and that he had to drive me. The miracle is that I was not half a mile from his new office building. I pulled into the lot, saw my husband, pulled into a spot access from his car and hopped into the passenger seat in under two minutes. The ride down to Orem however was the longest half an hour that has ever existed in time. Time is a construct, I know that now. I kept having the near blackouts. I was hysterical. I kept thinking that I was having a panic attack and making this all happen. If I could just calm down I would be perfectly fine. I knew that they would tell me to eat a banana and drink some sports drinks to replenish my electrolytes and they'd send me home. I knew this whole thing was going to be embarrassing.<br />
<br />
I get to the ER and I'm still blacking out. They hook me up to stuff and get an EKG. They take blood and urine samples. Dr Dahl, the cardiologist, who btw looks like a kindly farmer, tells me I have elevated heart enzymes. Not to full heart attack levels but it's concerning. They order an Angiogram. This here is where we pause again. I'm on the table in the Cath Lab, with a bunch of like, drop cloths on me and one is sort of over my face. I just grasp that some serious stuff is actually going down and I start to cry. I'm not exactly scared, I'm not exactly anything. I'm thinking about my kids and I'm grateful and I'm weirded out and I'm confused and I'm afraid it will hurt. I wake up and they say it's good, no blockages, I did NOT have a heart attack (which they already pretty much suspected) and they will watch me overnight then I'll have an Echocardiogram then go home the following day. I don't eat a thing and I barely sleep two hours. My lower back sort of hurts. My husband comes the next day a few hours before they are set to release me. My best friend is on her way over, too. I begin to black out again. This time I am wired up like Peter Boyle in Young Frankenstein. They can sort of see what is happening and what is happening is that my heart is stopping. A bunch of people appear in my room and Jules shows up. I tell Brett she will freak if she sees this and he should go out and talk to her. They have a guy with another EKG machine come in and hook me up to more stuff but there isn't room enough on my torso to place more stuff. So those sticky rounds are now laying on top of other sticky rounds and I'm a big mess. They can see what is happening and this is where things for me reach a hazy place. I am sure you can imagine why. I mean, I'm dying. I remember the nurse saying to me things like, "Stay with us..." Which by the way really works. That's why they say it.<br />
<br />
I remember Julia came in. I remember they introduce me to an asian Doctor they are all very excited about having and I remember being drilled. Not literally he just asks me a lot of questions in a very "direct" manner that makes me feel like maybe I'm being water boarded. His name is Wang, pronounced "Wong". I am told another Wang named David is coming to see me and my EKG results. I now have an Electrophysiologist coming to see me and I should be excited because he's amazing. I am no longer going home.<br />
<br />
I get a temporary pacemaker because my heart is not beating. I hate the temporary pacemaker, it is a whole lot of wires hooked into a long plastic thingy that is shoved into the artery in my neck with a wire in my heart. My heart is not in rhythm. It hurts like a lit charcoal briquette is in there. I am now being told more details about what is happening and the funny part is that every nurse and doctor that happens through has the desire to tell me what is going on. I like to hear them each describe things in their different ways because from time to time someone will say something extra or put something in a new way and it helps me learn. But it's also kind of confusing. Basically there is an electrical issue. The thing telling your heart to go Lub, Dub isn't doing it's job. It's going ..............Dub? Twice a day they have to test me to see if my heart will begin beating. They turn down the voltage on the temp pacemaker and my heart stops beating. I lose-ish consciousness. It's as if normal sensory input is a 10 and I go to a 2.5. Not total 0 but not good. And it lasts for mere seconds but...it happens. I hate that so much I cry when they tell me they have to test me. They kindly begin to make the tests quicker. One nurse even tells me she's going to lie and just not do it at all because it's cruel. I continue to not eat or sleep until Sunday and my back is now killing me. I figure out it's my kidneys over producing because of an enzyme that is a side effect from all of this. I am drinking multiple 2 liters of water per day. My husband says that he has been trying to not talk to me about any insurance stuff but that he has to now because I have to move to UVRMC.<br />
<br />
So my husband started a new job. Hence, the new office building previously referred to. He hadn't been at this job two weeks even. Our old insurance covered us until the 30th and it ended at midnight on the 1st. Our new insurance kicked in and we were no longer covered at Timpanogos so we had to leave, stat. So I got strapped with my temp pacemaker and my ports and my catheter and bag to a gurney and taken by ambulance to UVRMC. I was put into bed and already I was more comfortable. The beds do this inflatey thing that was much more comfortable. No you don't understand, right now, in this moment in time that means the entire world. Imagine a bed being as important to you as your annual income. IT's that big of a deal. There are no meals, there is room service. I call in an order when I am hungry for whatever I want. I am scared at first I will not be doing it right but I am assured two things, one: I get to eat whatever the hell I want because I didn't have a heart attack and two: I'm not being charged for how much I eat. So now I can look over the menu for a half an hour just like when I'm pregnant, and think about how everything will taste in my mouth and whether or not this will make me want to throw up. I eat weird stuff. I only want to eat weird stuff. Cheesecake and shakes mostly. I gain weight in the hospital. They tell me that's normal. Turns out because of the insurance issue we have to actually pay the remaining deductible on the old insurance plus our 20%. They also claim we were not covered on the 30th at all so they claim the 30th and first part of the 1st is not covered and we have to pay for these days out of pocket. We also have the new insurance's deductible plus our 20% as well. I'm guessing the total will be in the ballpark of "Holy, Holy Crap".<br />
<br />
They waste no time and schedule me for my pacemaker surgery for Monday, July 2nd because my heart never picked up beating on it's own. (In the words of my friend Daryn Tufts, "So the rhythm did in fact, get you..") I get the thing implanted and everything looks fine. Sort of. I heard a few things described to me in different ways. I heard that my heart was enlarged, too big, twice the normal size and that it looked like "there was something in your heart muscle". So I am scheduled three more appointments and an MRI. The Pacemaker I am given, the Medtronic 3000B, is compatible with MRI machinery. Kidding. About the name. It's just made by Medtronic but it sounds comic bookey and fun the other way. I am released the same hour the Alpine fire hits and so as I leave the hospital we can see this huge cloud that looks like a nuclear bomb went off in front of Timp. I get to my house and have never been more excited to see my dogs and kids. My house is super dirty though because of the damn fire ash being dragged around by the dogs and kids and I find out my girl's ears grew closed because she and dad couldn't get her earrings back in when they tried to change them for the children's parade. This upsets me. This? But I took her for her 8th birthday. She was getting baptized and it was a milestone. My mother pierced my ears with a needle, twice, because she was too lazy to take me to the mall and get it done professionally. My ear holes are ripped because of it. I did it the right way because "I'm a better mom". But I wasn't here to put in her earrings, so now all her pain and careful cleaning for two months and her new earrings we just bought her the day before I went in to the hospital, all for nothing. Poor kid has to do it all over again.<br />
<br />
I'm grateful for my husband and my friends who really showed me they loved me by coming and being there for me, texting, calling, leaving me Facebook messages, bringing me treats and magazines and Sonic shakes and so many flowers. I am beyond blessed and lucky. My patriarchal blessing says that I am blessed with the association of those who love me, and I am. Even my father stepped up and came every day to the hospital, checked in on my kids and post ponned a trip to Iowa by a couple of days to be sure I was all right. My mother was super sick her own self so she just came one day, on Sunday but we had a great prayer together and it was really awesome. That lady can say a prayer, let me tell you. I am grateful, I am. To the core. I am also confused and worried and freaked out. I almost died. My cardiologist is the kind of guy who just blurts things like that out. "You know, you almost died in your car." That's what happened.<br />
<br />
So now, today, I'm watching Bones on Instant Netflix and trying not to feel sorry for myself.</div>
Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-63644574537675526922012-04-02T22:39:00.004-07:002012-04-02T22:48:48.564-07:00Pretty Stinkin' Darn FunnyHere it is! Episode one. I'm super excited, I never thought I'd live to see this day. Mostly because I was PD on this shoot at the SAME TIME as Designing the sets for not one, but TWO news programs. So a total of three shows simultaneously. I seriously have never worked so hard in my entire life. I think I am still suffering the side effects...nausea, vomiting, dizziness, shortness of breath, crankiness, mood-swings, sleeplessness, over-exhaustion, dry mouth, constipation and hair loss. I should be back to "normal" by the time I turn 40. In October. <br /><br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/r9_3qrakFNg" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-89068638598460218652012-03-28T15:22:00.007-07:002012-03-28T16:45:58.035-07:00On David and His Literally Broken Heart.David. <br />Keifer Sutherland's face. <br />You wear aums and the gnarled roots of trees on your arms. And leather pants in the mountains in January. "Leathery" the man said to his companions on the curb. We smoked in platform shoes and talked to John Cryer. That man had a private party to run, but made us a table when a table didn't exist, because you are magic.<br />David. <br />You wore Frank Sinatra, The Cult on repeat because of John and Sarah Mclaughlin with your Diesel. The former, in a VW bug in the middle of a rainstorm with the top down, a fedora of clove smoke. Mad cackles at the free treasure we carried home in the backseat, gangled up, getting wet. It: Olive, "leathery", reclinable. The world on a string. <br /><br />I have known you for 18 years but I have loved you, and cliche's, my whole life. I was born to be your friend. What child is not born into this world loving fun, silliness, and an absurd sense of humor mingled with bad language? That's a hypothetical question, don't answer that.<br /><br />You are hero and heroine, father and brother, sweetheart and bitch. You are miraculous, brave, confused and lovely. The best days I have had have had you in them. The best of all of my memories include you, even if you weren't there- I insert you to improve them. You are not the borrower of others' lines but the collector of wit. You are the parentless son of a fool and a warrior, and her angel hands hold your broken heart. We all hold your broken heart. I take that back, there is nothing wrong with your heart.<br /><br />I still laugh at 20 year old you, "Step off because this bitch can box." "Allllllll right hag, where's your fag?" "Every girl has her secrets." <br /><br />You laugh with your big barrel chest and dance with your potato picker's legs. You are the surest proof that God exists. You raised your self and your sister and you know where to get a size 13 women's shoe. <br /><br />David. <br /><br />"Wipe a tear, take a step and smile."Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-30650888784218203772011-11-25T20:01:00.000-08:002011-11-26T17:11:22.483-08:00The Most Influential Man of My Childhood, Jim Henson.I saw The Muppet Movie in the theater. And I still remember the first thing I thought when I heard the opening banjo, I thought how much Kermit reminded me of my grandfather Paul. Simple, kind, silly, kinda corny but an all around good hearted creature. He also had really long legs. I was hundreds of miles away from my grandfather but I felt close when I watched The Muppet Show. <br /><br />Today when we went to The Muppets I laughed and I cried from the first frame until the musical number at the end. Jason Segel was perfect. Pitch perfect. He was also one of the writers, which was a stroke of brilliance on whomever's part. For the last week as a family we have been on FAO.com using the Whatnot Creator which you can use <a href="http://www.fao.com/shop/index.jsp?categoryId=11534102">here</a>:<br /><br />Today Mindy Gledhill's video for Winter Moon that I worked on came out. I got to do the Art Direction, so I was the one that made the twinkle trees and painted the banjo and made fake cakes and did Mindy's makeup. But I also got to puppeteer the snowman. So today, I watched The Muppets and then came home and watched a documentary On Demand about Jim Henson and then I also got to watch my first time ever as a puppeteer. And I cried like my daughter got married. And then I squeeled and clapped. And then I cried some more. But mostly squeeled. I told Brett that it was like I caught some sort of virus. A puppeteering virus. And he said it was OK. And I said, "Yeah, but I'm...40." And he said that it was never too late to find something you love to do. And this is why my husband is the coolest guy and the best husband in the entire universe. <span style="font-style:italic;">Because I told my husband I wanted to puppeteer and he said, "Cool".</span><br /><br />So here it is...Winter Moon starring Mr. Snowman. And, oh yeah, Mindy Gledhill. ;)<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sBuBjFwDj-E" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-67045035953346150582011-10-25T18:13:00.000-07:002011-10-25T18:27:16.614-07:00Shooting Mindy Gledhill and Friends for Winter Moon.Sat was hilarious. If you haven't read my status yet, I am ditching Art and becoming a Puppeteer. OK not really but I certainly have found a new hobby. Hey, it's not for the weak, it was like doing yoga for 13 hours solid. Word.<br /><br />Thanks go out to Jed Wells, Chris Clark, Mindy Gledhill and Nat Reed and his Constant Moon Puppet Co crew!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC5yREOELn4U6a0qbHQgPXj8B_WnZRkfGXey5VSLOCHjMWe7UCD91I1BqtHCTrJcs3yGWXL4IYKpLXw5GhaKqievyIMlLkEWCHMqVomtr62KOiXpctfdxkae38_V__s-WsbpWODQVktn7l/s1600/IMG_2152.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC5yREOELn4U6a0qbHQgPXj8B_WnZRkfGXey5VSLOCHjMWe7UCD91I1BqtHCTrJcs3yGWXL4IYKpLXw5GhaKqievyIMlLkEWCHMqVomtr62KOiXpctfdxkae38_V__s-WsbpWODQVktn7l/s320/IMG_2152.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667604874209464802" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtO3xoz6LCBMXdhFgrTz24WmcBDmJWMT7iJGx14KpQHf5uSgkxQXUP_pN0B3YPzR71k61crMUAGmfJVnq54zKo1mXhhcKdHYhnYNwIDkQo1s9N7HDnycVNmTsSDfy11k97aPXfGNxQNZ7/s1600/IMG_2153.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtO3xoz6LCBMXdhFgrTz24WmcBDmJWMT7iJGx14KpQHf5uSgkxQXUP_pN0B3YPzR71k61crMUAGmfJVnq54zKo1mXhhcKdHYhnYNwIDkQo1s9N7HDnycVNmTsSDfy11k97aPXfGNxQNZ7/s320/IMG_2153.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667605495143233906" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsC4ri2nAGvDdxI1DBgMarW1kOuW7wdLGjFHnuXvOOXavMBBMbDJ628qZPwxORRw5azc68GtCENrOeWboJSeLm10ixAwCGl-YZ0nkpYxM2O6GMI1FslJ-P4tOR2Cu0aJUVifEjMb0VyQLQ/s1600/IMG_2140.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsC4ri2nAGvDdxI1DBgMarW1kOuW7wdLGjFHnuXvOOXavMBBMbDJ628qZPwxORRw5azc68GtCENrOeWboJSeLm10ixAwCGl-YZ0nkpYxM2O6GMI1FslJ-P4tOR2Cu0aJUVifEjMb0VyQLQ/s320/IMG_2140.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667605143301758130" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiClKj45w53Mdt_o5glIeJJ-JncMwDTwSFxHj_tVJefjoLYTQ41kXCRvrW2_baiKXJ9BpEVvoOekOwbnCFXSkFNPRsccy-Acdvv18O71aVQk3gxirhc8iUvxc4C7wi6CLuiPgsKufWe2g/s1600/IMG_2103.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiClKj45w53Mdt_o5glIeJJ-JncMwDTwSFxHj_tVJefjoLYTQ41kXCRvrW2_baiKXJ9BpEVvoOekOwbnCFXSkFNPRsccy-Acdvv18O71aVQk3gxirhc8iUvxc4C7wi6CLuiPgsKufWe2g/s320/IMG_2103.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667606199363563394" /></a>Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-25946175425147633122011-09-30T08:25:00.000-07:002011-09-30T09:19:32.375-07:00The Bitter Tooth.I went to one of those reconstructive dental places yesterday. And I was told the SAME thing I have heard 100,000 times before, which is that I am not alone in my odd dental situation but that there is nothing they can do. I was given the name of an oral surgeon which happened to be someone I have already seen and could "do nothing" so I have officially come full circle. I have baby teeth. And I have the grown up teeth that should be where the baby teeth are impacted in the roof of my mouth and it's been just an annoying thing until recently when the bone on bone action has been making my gums recede and now I can't eat ice cream. Yes, I wrote bone on bone action, let it go.<br /><br />When I was a kid my sister had braces and retainers. I'm not incredibly sure why, with only 16 months difference between my sister and I, my parents didn't also take me in but it ended up being a fateful decision. My father then lost his dental insurance due to some kind of judgement call by a pencil pusher in the school district head office or whatever the school district calls their offices where they run things from. So I did not have dental insurance until I was in my 20's. And it was quite a surprise to hear I had baby teeth in my mouth. I thought those things kind of took care of themselves. I should have gotten braces then but in my 20's I was already supporting myself through college and the idea of taking on 5 grand in debt blew my mind. Then I got engaged and paid for my own ring, my wedding photos, my invitations, my reception and my apartment. I also was paying for my fiance because his folks didn't believe if they put him through school he should hold down a job. So I just had veneers put over my tiny eye teeth and went about my life. My mother at one point took me to the WORST hack dentist that gave me retainers that spread my teeth and I wore forever and never went anywhere. The same guy ended up pulling my wisdom teeth and didn't wait for the anesthesia to kick in and I screamed through the entire procedure. If I had been a stronger person I would have just gotten out of the chair and ran and then slapped him with a giant lawsuit. As it was I let him finish the procedure in hopes the meds would kick in any second. My mother could hear me screaming from the front and asked to come back and see me, instead of breaking down the door like I would have if my kid was SCREAMING. Later when she called to give them a piece of her mind they offered to cut our bill in half and she took it. I would have told them I wasn't paying them one red cent but there you see the difference in our parenting styles when she was my age.<br /><br />SO I have lived with the veneers, which I had to replace once when I kept having issues with chewing, and I have them still today. All in all I have to have four teeth pulled and then the roof of my mouth opened up and the two grown teeth impacted in there removed, then bone grafted. I'd then have to wear a plate with fake teeth while the bone graft heals. Then they'd go in there and bolt four new fake teeth into the gaps. But once I have those four fake teeth they can't actually put braces on so even still, my teeth will not be STRAIGHT. All of this should cost just about 10 grand. So I live with my messed up grill and I intake my ice cream in the form of shakes and enter a bunch of online contests that offer free dental makeovers. And I sit and stew in my frustration and anger over everyone and their normal parents and their perfect teeth which is pretty much all day every day seeing as how I work in film in the state of Utah, land of white straight perfect teeth. I watched Soul Surfer last night, which by the way is the dumbest title for a film pretty much ever, and I'm looking at this girl who doesn't think she's beautiful because she has lost an arm and I'm like, "Yeah but seriously, her teeth are friggin perfect."Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-24605552617824783022011-09-28T21:12:00.000-07:002011-09-28T22:01:37.831-07:00An Email to an Old FriendI would say I'm a liberal. I don't believe in corporal punishment anymore because if the state of Texas can posthumously exonerate 17 executed men via DNA evidence, that is all I need to know about that. I believe in Gay marriage because we have our temple, we get married there, so why not let them do their thing?? (That's rhetorical.) I believe women have the right to abort a baby safely if it's life threatening or in the case of rape and incest preferably if it's very VERY early term (morning after pill is the best option IMO in these abhorrent scenarios.) I do constantly think and re-think my opinions and I have a hard time saying, "This is what I believe in" and putting an eternal stamp on it because I'm willing to be wrong and I'm open to changing my mind, like I did about the death penalty, which I used to be hugely in favor of after I studied criminology. <br /><br />The one thing I do believe in is the importance of the government's welfare system and ORS. And recently when a friend respectfully commented in the contrary to something political I posted on Facebook I did take time to think about what he posted, because he made good points, points I had often pondered about myself. But here is what I wrote in the email I sent to him after. It wasn't a smack-down and it wasn't an IN YOUR FACE DUDE retort so if you're looking for that crap, go to YouTube and look at the comments on cat videos. I'm just posting it to be posting it. Here it is, almost in it's entirety:<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I know this isn't going to change your views or anything, I'm just hoping to explain why I believe so strongly what I do and lend a little "liberal" perspective. For me this debate is highly personal because during my first pregnancy I was cheated on. Oh no, wait, it gets worse. The second man who knocked me up left me *because* I got pregnant. The world is getting worse and grown people are not taking care of their own anymore, they are more interested in money, status and playing around. I was pregnant and homeless with a 4 year old and one baby daddy who wouldn't pay ANY child support. I needed ORS to go after BD #2 on my behalf because when I went to him to negotiate support he said not only would he not pay, he was suing ME for getting pregnant. True story.<br /><br />The reason I tell you this is because for every crack addict who abuses welfare or subsidized daycare or whatever, there is a decent person who NEEDS it to survive a massive unforeseen personal catastrophe.<br /><br />My family believed I should learn to stand on my own two feet, never mind there were actually 6 feet standing in my shoes, and my church actually said no to assisting me financially. My bishop told me to get a cheaper apt. (I was already splitting the rent.) He also told me I should instead pay them, in the form of tithing, which was hard to hear, but I'm grateful because that happens to be a true principal that changed my life...<br /><br />People at facilities thought because I "looked" capable/middle class and seemed fine mentally I didn't need their help, so I was last priority. But it was the government that helped me, without condition, to get free DNA testing done in order to force him to pay child support and to get back support in order to feed my kids. I also received a daycare subsidy while I worked three jobs before support kicked in. If I had to do it all over again, I would have quit, accepted more assistance and stayed home with my baby. I have worked and paid taxes since I was 14, I earned that help. The government was there for me when no one else was and it made me fiercely loyal. I had case workers that became a great source of support. It HAS to be the government that meters out this kind of massive, wide spread, unconditional assistance. I don't think, I KNOW, others won't always be there for you like you think they will.</span><br /><br />I would also like to state that one person did step up and help me, and that was my ex step-sister Amanda, who not only was there for me during the pregnancy but after and even watched my baby for me while I worked, even though she struggled with the pain of chronic ear infections that kept her from being able to do the job she loved. She is what being Christian looks like. She cheerfully went about helping me through the single worst time of my life by reading scriptures with me and praying with me and holding my knees while I had contractions. No judgements, just love in action. She deserves all the miracles that have happened for her, I'm happy to know her. But since we aren't all blessed with a team of Amanda's at our disposal (everyone should be so lucky) I believe strongly in Government assistance for the needy. I believe in Welfare. I believe in ORS. This is what I believe in, *eternal stamp.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-29346270568122762192011-09-18T16:19:00.000-07:002011-09-19T08:05:43.794-07:00Reality Doesn't Bite as Much as Delusion.The 90's have been everywhere for a while but I wasn't in the full throws of 90's nostalgia until yesterday. First, I heard <span style="font-style:italic;">Smells Like Teen Spirit</span> on the radio driving to the State Fair. I found myself gripping the steering wheel and recalling with perfect clarity a night out dancing with Amy and Liz when that song exploded over the speakers at the Ivy Tower and the place just blew up. Secondly, on the way home my iPod played<span style="font-style:italic;"> August and Everything After </span>by <span style="font-style:italic;">Counting Crows</span> and I pictured the Sundance Party I was at with Adam Duritz, Darren Aronofsky, Sean Gullette and I swear Paul Rudd but it may have been Jack Plotnick, memory is a tricky thing. I shouldn't have "gone there" though because that party brought back with it the memory that after many dirty martinis David and I "Night at the Roxberry-ed" Sean Gullette while Darren Aronofsky watched on from the balcony in between fits of laughter. Once home I put the kids down and Google Imaged "The 90's". That's where it kicked me in the rear end like a really obvious combat boot simile, I had to watch Reality Bites.<br /><br />This movie was the impetuous for a lot of things for me when it came out. But me being in my early 20's and stupid it wasn't the impetuous for what it should have been, namely me trying to become like Winona's character in the right ways, say by studying film and becoming class valedictorian. I wish it had. Instead it inspired me in all the wrong, superficial ways. I already had the divorced parents and the wardrobe but I didn't smoke, have a messy short hair cut and a best-friend turned boyfriend. I set about remedying all of that. Being too egotistical to accept that in reality I needed a much more feminine face to carry off a short hair cut and that it takes a lot of hair styling talent and money to produce perfectly messy results I ended up with a bad $20.00 cut from a Hair School Sophomore. Then I tried to kiss my best friend. You can read about that <a href="http://ameliamerritt.blogspot.com/2008/05/getting-to-know-amelia-merritt.html">HERE</a>. I had never entertained the idea before, I knew there was a line in the sand, I also knew if he found me even remotely attractive he would have cared to try something. But he was going with friends to see the film, and I felt that if he were going, he needed to be thinking about me. <br /><br />I spent the 90's much of this way. Working retail, wishing I was anything and anyone other than what I was. I wanted to be Winona, I wanted to be the amazingly cool redheaded window dresser we had that came into the store once a month or so, I wanted to be my Manager at JMR. I wanted to be like everyone else, but not me. I wanted to be amazing and beautiful and I wanted attention and I wanted to be the center of the universe. And everything I did was some kind of attempt at attention, at soothing my broken heart, my broken soul, my enormous friggin ego. It was all about me me me. The best part is that every single solitary time I tried to elevate myself I crashed and burned incredibly hard. Back then, I was confused about how to get what I wanted. I thought I could make things happen just because I wished them to come to be. But the things I wished to exist were not based in reality. They were based in delusion.<br /><br />It occurred to me a couple of weeks ago that I was really happy. I don't know if in my lifetime I have ever had a moment when I thought I was really happy. But in the car driving to Ikea with Brett and BR I had the realization that we had a fun house we were decorating and I loved my job and the kids were growing up and becoming super funny/ great people and I was just really happy and blessed. The difference between then and now is 100% ego. The reason why I did any of the things I did back then was ego. It was about creating something, yes, I was trying to create my reality, but I was using delusion to do it. I was doing what my Step-Mom called "Futurizing". I would imagine in my mind a future day when my hair looked like X and my boyfriend was Y and it would = Happy. I thought I could Art Direct my life, but reality isn't a film you can Art Direct into awesomeness. <br /><br />My mom says that in all of us there is a God shaped void. And people try and put sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, food, alcohol, what have you inside of it and are confused when the results don't turn out. That was the entire 90's for me. I was taking Winona and putting her into the God shaped hole in my heart. That may be the weirdest sentence I've ever written but there it is, and I think you know what I mean by it. If you don't, I don't know what to say to you. Have you SEEN her in that movie?Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-69890233962491388062011-09-16T20:49:00.000-07:002011-09-16T22:16:11.631-07:00The $200.00 Diet Dr Pepper.I told the girls at lunch today about breaking my phone. Right now I'm not able to call out on my phone but I am able to accept incoming calls, which of course begged the question, "How did that weirdness happen?" And to answer I had two choices...sip my drink and shrug my shoulders and look away and point at something outside...or I could tell the truth. I told the truth. The truth is that I went to Target with a fever because I wanted Missoni so badly.<br /><br />Carina texted and told me that there were still a few little girl's items left. But that I had to hurry because all the Missoni was flying off the shelves. Now, it had taken me five hours to wake up, get out of bed and onto the couch where I received this text. I got the kids off to school, then went back to bed until after one. One week of little to no sleep every night and 18 hour days of hard physical labor and shooting and oddly, my body kind of gave out. This is the relationship I have with my body, I expect it to do what I want, when I want it to, Hashi's or no Hashi's. I have little sympathy I'm rocking a disease. I also think I should be able to eat and drink what I want and it should have no bearing on whether or not my body performs. In fact, I'm sort of bewildered still when I can't make it function on no sleep and maybe a grape for breakfast. In short, I am my own Russian gymnastics coach. <br /><br />Five hours it took me to get to the couch and four minutes to get dressed and into my car when I read the words, "Missoni" and "Target" in the same text. I drove over there with the air conditioning cranked and cash already in my planner. I grabbed a sick amount of stuff with the idea that I should let Boo try stuff on and tell me which ones she liked. "She can't keep it all," I told myself, "So I'll let her choose her favorites. But I'll have to buy it all first because if I don't, it will all be gone." You see how my fever mind is working...<br /><br />So I pack the cart, but in my defense, I did put back two pairs of shoes (for me), mugs, and one pair of galoshes for B so my total could have been so, so much worse than it was. I head to the register and I decide, fatefully, to buy a Diet Dr Pepper. I hadn't eaten yet that day and I felt light headed, but I was also wearing skin that was intentionally overheating to kill off foreign entities that it deemed dangerous to my person. I am basically the temperature of convenience store cocoa. I may have even had pit circles...I don't know. On the drive home I get a call from my kids who are just walking in the door and wondering where I am. I let them know I am three blocks from home. I feel awful though, from being sick, yes, but also because even if my kids beat me home by just three measly minutes I feel like the worst mother in the world. Never mind they know to lock the doors and that my oldest is four years older than I was when I babysat a family of four boys every day after school. I grabbed my bags and ran inside the house, but not before I threw the Diet DP into my purse to bring it into the house because my hands were full of friggin MISSONI BAGS. I put my purse down on the floor and gave the Missoni over the the girl who loved everything and of course gets to keep everything. I walked past my bag after showing everything to the girl and said out loud, "Why is my purse in a puddle on the floor... MY PURSE IS IN A PUDDLE ON THE FLOOR!" The DP had tipped on it's side, and I had not tightened the lid.<br /><br /> When I showed my phone to the guy at the Apple store (after primping my sorry old lady self up in a sad attempt to garner male favor) he opened it up and said that all four of the red sensors at the openings that tell them if a phone has been wet were tripped and showed me the condensation still on the inside of the plastic. He handed me back my phone and not only told me there was nothing he could do but tried to sell me on a new computer and some classes. Sadly, I don't still "got it". I bet if I had a half-hawk and good teeth I'd have a new phone right now.<br /><br />The moral of this story is...I don't have a clue. Don't go shopping with a fever? Make sure you turn your drink lid one extra twist before putting it in your purse? Wait, maybe it's before you buy a soda, ask yourself, is this Dr Pepper worth the contents of my purse and a humiliating trip to the Apple store? Cause sometimes, you know, the answer would still be yes.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-57755980091190925412011-07-20T10:01:00.000-07:002011-07-20T20:00:12.239-07:00What It Looked Like.I was married once before. It's true. I never talk about it. Some of my best friends don't even know anything about it. My ex-husband recently found me on FB and I have been thinking a lot about our marriage since then. I usually try not to. I was 21. I didn't know my own mind, I was sad and terribly heartbroken. I was "inactive" in my church, I had no support system, no job, no money, no Kurt Cobain. I was trying to stop drinking and I was trying to leave my party friends. I was in an apartment near BYU and so I started walking to Annie's Video and renting 3-4 videos a day in an attempt to not drink or see my friends. I decided that I was broken and I would never be in love again, that I should just find someone who could accept me, someone I could be friends with, and I should settle down. Yes, that must be the answer to all of my problems. I should get married. <br /><br />He was a friend of my roommates. And we had fun together. We'd play tennis and he got my weird humor. We were good at partnering up and taking care of each other's problems, which mostly seemed to be getting by financially. He said we had to be married in the temple, which I didn't really want but I went along with. I was off the church at the time because of a few factors. First, when I was 18, exactly 20 years ago, I had been in a serious physical relationship with a young man we'll call "Bill". He was funny and affectionate and sincere and adored me and Bill was a return missionary. Now, I had not been raised in the church, and I had activated myself when I was a teenager. I had a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon, which I had read many times, but I didn't know doctrine. I knew nothing about the Temple either. I just knew that Bill had been through it before and that it was somehow more serious for him to mess up. So we tried not to. But have you all seen <span style="font-style:italic;">The Notebook</span>? Read <span style="font-style:italic;">Twilight</span>? Daniele Steele? I actually had that. In real life. For one year. And then Bill left me for another girl he felt impressed to marry and I was devastated. I never wanted to take another breath ever again. I laid in the fetal position and cried for three days. To make matters worse, he got remarried in the Temple before I was even allowed to take the Sacrament. You read that right. Most people said, "Oh, he must have lied to his church leaders." He didn't. They let him. Even though he had made temple covenants and I wasn't even raised in the church and I activated my own self. Now, for some reason, from then on, every ward I moved into the Bishop would ask to meet with me. And in 100% of those meetings they would say, "So tell me about this young man." And I was like, "WTH, do these dudes have a friggin FILE with this stuff in it??" And why isn't this just going away for me like it went away for Bill. I bet he doesn't still have anyone asking HIM questions about what happened. It felt humiliating and it felt unfair and it made me feel like it was <span style="font-style:italic;">all my fault</span>. Like somehow I was the one that was designated to pay for that situation and he was given a free pass. It felt like the message was that men can just move on without consequence. And this made me SOOO angry. And I thought I was no longer the kind of girl that anyone that I would really want would really want. And this made me feel hopeless. And none of these sweet caring Bishops knew what to say to me in any small way. And it went on like this for years. <br /><br />Second factor, My mother was in a homosexual relationship. Which was a trendy concept in the 90s but only if you were in your 20s and on the CW. I had supportive people, confused people, consoling people, angry people, and condescending people come up to me and tell me how I should handle the situation. The more I tried to figure out what to do, the more confused I got. I knew this woman, I knew she was not gay. The relationship happened because Helen said she loved my mom, and my mom loved people to love her. I knew I should just wait it out until it was over. And I knew it <span style="font-style:italic;">would</span> be over. But something about it just broke my spirit. Knowing that whatever it was that made other people's parents understand the importance of being respectable and normal and having boundaries and standards, my parents would never have that. I was mourning the childhood I never had, the parent I would never have and the man I would never have. Who would want to marry someone like me, with a family like mine? And for all of these reasons I began drinking a large amount of alcohol at frequent intervals.<br /><br />So you can see why I was happy to find a nice boy who wanted to marry me. We got engaged in a comedy of errors kind of way and then we began weekly meetings with our Bishop, because it's what I did professionally at that point, meet with Bishops, and he tells us we have one-on-ones with the Stake President before we can get married. Sigh. But I decided to go through with it even though I was frustrated with the entire process. I walk in and the S.P. says to me, (all together now), "Tell me about this young man, Bill." My jaw hit the floor. I explained my story to him and then, he did what no one else did. He pulled out a notebook, asked me where Bill was and asked for his information. I asked him why he wanted to know. He said he wanted to find out what had happened with Bill's Bishop to erroneously allow him to be married in the Temple when he was clearly not worthy. Now I was really confused. I mean, it was over, Bill was married. What were they going to do? Pull him into meetings with his current Bishop and make him answer for it all these years later? Were they gonna put him through Church Court because of me, if I "turn him in"? Is that even what he is asking me to do? I secretly kinda wanna turn him in but I can see this will just not do, to be vindictive about this. I tell him I don't know where Bill is or how to begin to find him, which was true. I am laughing out of nervousness and also the absurdity of it all and because I am becoming super duper uncomfortable. And the man then tells me <span style="font-style:italic;">to my face</span> that I am clearly "...too <span style="font-style:italic;">immature</span> to get married". And he won't sign the recommend. He says we have to wait six months. I have family members flying in from out of the state. They already have their tickets. I leave even more apathetic towards the church than ever before. <br /><br />I try and talk my future spouse into not getting married in the temple. He says his little brothers and sisters will be looking up to him and he can't get married anywhere else. Fine. My bishop hears about what the Stake President said and he is mad. He doesn't agree with him at all so he calls him to tell him he thinks he's making a mistake and they GET IN A FIGHT. So here is my last straw testimony breaker right here...why would two men, with this kind of stewardship over me, disagree over something they both receive revelation over? Why would they both get two different answers about something as huge as my future? I thought that if the spirit was real, they both should have gotten the same answer.<br /><br />Part of coming back into the church required me reconciling the things that happened during this time of my life. And one day after prayer it just downloaded into my head that I kept being asked about "that guy" because God wanted me to come back. I wasn't being hounded because it was all my fault, I was being hounded so I could repent fully for the situation and get it off my back because it was ruining my life. I made about 100,000 bad decisions as a result of this one bad relationship, where he was able to turn around and marry the right girl and move on with no long term consequence, other than the guilt and the weighty conscience that I hoped that he had. I still hope he had. It just didn't effect him long term the way it effected me. And only God would know that. About Bishop v. Stake President, after 15 years I can see that they both were right. The wedding should have been called off, we should never have gotten married, neither of us were ready, and I certainly didn't love him the way I should have. (Sorry Dev.) But my Bishop knew the Stake President didn't handle it right and he could feel we weren't being supported and helped in the right way. And my Stake Pres. was right that it was wrong but he was wrong about why it wasn't right. Well maybe he was a little right, I was pretty immature. In the end this actually built up my testimony. I was trying to be inactive, trying my darnedest, and God was calling me in and making me talk about my problems because he didn't want to let me go. Gods a pretty cool guy.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-91548431520795803472011-06-26T13:47:00.000-07:002011-07-20T08:23:10.886-07:00Two Short Stories That May Just Change Your Life.Today a gentleman stood up and told two stories. To me, these stories are the crystallization of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Whether the people in the second story were Christian or not, I do not know, but they certainly acted as if they were the very definition.<br /><br />In the first story, a farmer, we'll call him Dale, noticed an issue with his irrigation. The water began to wane in one area. So he checked it out and found that a neighbor, a fellow crop farmer, had dammed up the irrigation ditch and was usurping the water. So Dale took out a shovel and went with his boys to the area of the blockage and began to dig it out, so the water would return to his land. The man who had created the dam was so angry he actually took out an axe and went after Dale, who used his shovel to staunchly defend his right to the water. The altercation ended with incredibly bad feelings. The man who had dammed the water began to openly hate Dale's family. It came time to harvest. And Dale loaded up his kids in the truck to go to work harvesting his lands. But as he drove along, he took an unexpected turn into the other neighbor's property. The children thought he had lost his mind. But he explained that he had heard that the man was sick, too sick to harvest his own fruit, and he knew it had to be done immediately. So the man and his children, before even harvesting a single bit from their own farm, went and worked one full day for this man and placed the produce carefully at the back porch. One of the children remembered keeping one eye on their work, and one eye on the back door in case he came out with the axe again. The man was so grateful at the end of it all that he told Dale how sorry he was and at Dale's funeral years later he said how much of an example Dale had been and that he had become his best friend.<br /><br />The second story was about a man who had a bad year of auto accidents, and to make matters worse, they kept happening in other people's cars. He knew he had a jack and a spare, etc. in his own car, but in other people's cars you are the mercy of their idea of preparedness and they seemed to always be lacking. So this particular year that he kept having issues he noticed that no one in America stops to help a fellow traveler in trouble anymore. Whether it's because we are all wary about safety or in too big of a hurry, whatever the reason, the only people that kept coming to his aid were immigrant workers. One time he was in a friend's Jeep and got a flat but didn't have the tools, only a spare. And again, no one would stop. So he put out a sign, NEED JACK, WILL PAY $$. Shortly after, a group of immigrant workers from Mexico stopped to help. It was a family. The father got out and came over with his English speaking daughter to help translate. They were here in America to pick produce for two weeks before returning home. So they got out their jack but the Jeep was too high and so they actually found some wood and cut it down to act as a brace for the jack. Now I personally have never heard of this but I guess he had a folding tire iron and the thing broke. The head came clean off. But the man explained to his wife in Spanish what he needed and sent her away in the van and she returned with a different iron and the men went back to work. It must have been something of a feat because to hear the way the speaker told it the men were muddy sweaty, smelly, messes by the end of it all. But the family had a jug of water and so the men were able to clean themselves up after and refresh themselves. The traveler tried to give this family money but the man wouldn't take it. So he went over to the mother and snuck a 20 dollar bill to her as quietly as he could. As he was getting back into his Jeep the daughter asked if the man had eaten yet. He said no, and was in fact starving after all of this time and effort. The girl handed out the window a tamale wrapped up in tin foil. The traveler took it back to his friend's Jeep and opened it up, and there inside with the tamale was the 20 dollars. He glanced back at the van but the father just looked at him and shook his head. The traveler tried one more time to give it to him, because this man had not only stopped to helped him but had surely lost a day's wages to do so and then ended up having to spent his own money on a new jack. The man just said, with a lot of effort, "Today...you. Tomorrow...me."<br /><br />There I go again, I'm totally crying. I love this story. These people were probably as poor as people can possibly get and yet they gave their time, their money, their hard work, their food and their love to a total stranger. Because they were humble and good. I believe in God. I believe that if these people keep going around being amazing like this, then yes...today that traveler but tomorrow...them. I learned from a kind Bishop of mine while I was a broke single mom that if I gave, I would actually receive and he was absolutely correct. Jesus knew what he was talking about, you will receive. This is the gospel and it works. Amen. <br />Amen? Ok sure why not...Amen.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-44309917536952758322011-04-20T17:31:00.000-07:002011-04-20T22:31:43.790-07:00Judging Amy.I am a judgmental person. Rather, I have become one. I have travelled so far in the polar opposite direction from the liberal way I was raised that I may in fact circle around a full 360 and find myself back in some free love, no rules, flexible morality kind of space, judging no one. I'm not sure, where I'm going is uncharted.<br /><br />I was raised not to judge anyone. Which is good. I was raised that there was no right or wrong. Which is bad. I was also taught there was no good or bad which is also bad. According to my upbringing, using those kinds of words would be "labeling" and is a part of judging which is only for stupid and closed-minded people. Now, these free-thinking concepts are only effective things to tell yourself and others if what you are seeking is license to do whatever you want no matter what. Say, for example, you want to go out and sleep with a whole bunch of people. You do not want to suffer the consequences of this action, i.e. people thinking you are a horrible mother and a slut. Or even YOU thinking you are a horrible mother or a slut. You will then need to tell yourself that by sleeping with a whole bunch of people you were not doing anything "bad" or "wrong", you were in fact "learning about your sexuality" because human reproduction is healthy and good and it wasn't wrong of you, it was just a part of your journey and was essential to your learning process. Never mind all of the people that were hurt or how many families were destroyed as a consequence of these actions because if people think that what you are doing is bad, they are being "judgmental" and need to find your "positive intent".<br /><br />Because I never judged people, especially those people in my own family, I allowed them to treat me horribly. I was told that I could control my reactions to everyone and everything around me. If someone acted horribly to me, instead of calling them out to change their behavior, I just needed to look at their "positive intent" and possibly also, go to my "great good place". Everyone's actions had a positive intent, we just had to look hard enough. Sometimes I had to look really, really hard. This meant I was asked to look at things one might realistically label as sad or bad and I was to tell myself they were not bad or sad but actually good and acceptable instead. If someone like my older sister took my head and slammed it into the bathtub tile surround for taking a bath when she wanted to, I only simply need go to my great good place in order to see her positive intent and I would no longer be angry and I would find love for her. I would close my eyes and soon I could imagine that her positive intent was to toughen up my head. Armed with this knowledge I no longer wanted my sister to die slowly at my own hand, but to keep on showing me the mysteries of her many complex actions. So now, because everyone in our family, nay the world, had a positive intent and no one was ever wrong or bad, no one ever need suffer any consequences or punishment for their actions. In our household especially, never at any time, no matter how bad the offense might possibly have been, was anyone actually ever punished. No one even brought up in casual conversation the amount of times I had my butt handed to me with a bow on it by my big sister. I guess her positive intent was for me to really become familiar with where my pain threshold is. If you're wondering, it's somewhere around my External Occipital Protuberance.<br /><br />In regards to relationships it should come as no surprise to read that I did not employ any powers of perception whatsoever in choosing a mate. I met someone, I saw a whole handfull of positive intent in everything they did and so I loved them dearly for handing me my hindquarters. Wasn't that thoughtful of them? I was wondering where my hindquarters had gone. Oh? It's right there? Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you. Don't leave me. <br /><br />Somewhere in the middle of a Christmas party in 2005 I came to my senses. Bio dad had left me the year before. He left me pregnant with no explanation. He had gone from, "I love you more than you will ever know and I want to be with the one I love forever" to "we only casually dated" to "I'm suing you for getting pregnant". He could only have handled the situation worse if he had shot the lot of us. After a year of hell for me and and a three day coma for him (long story) he came to his senses and wanted to apologize for how he handled things. And he wanted to re-handle those things. My things. After a year in the church and my full temple worthiness re-instated, it just wasn't happening. But we were maintaining a "friendship". So here is where we find ourselves and it's December. And he's going to a Christmas party and I've just been invited to the same one and isn't that a coinkiedink. And so I get spiffied up in a YSL knockoff black velvet suit, straighten my hair and show up. And it was like I walked into a Rock of Love audition. The girls...the girls. But I musn't judge, I tell myself. But are you serious, ladies? The lip liner...and the eyebrows... And then he shows up. And these girls squeal his name like it's 7th grade, and then tip toe trot themselves over to the man for optimal chest bounce-age and then rub their Spalding's up against his Lucky Brand button down. And it clicks for me. He is that guy. He is probably hiding a roll of fifty ones in his back pocket encircled with a red rubber band. He is "hangs with strippers" guy. If he had an indian name it would probably be "Hangs with Strippers". And I flash back in my head. Yep, all the signs were there. How did I miss them? Sure, he tried to be something he wasn't for my benefit. Sure he dressed differently for me and acted differently for me. But there is no way for someone to really hide their whole true self. Unless they're a serial killer. I had signs and red flags and towards the end there was even a huge bat signal or two. But now...now I was getting a hand typed, double spaced personalized letter reading, "Dear Amelia, I like slutty, ugly, tarty girls with big boobs who drink to excess and do things with guys they barely know." It was being tapped out on my head in Morse Code. "- - - . . . - - . . - - . . .- - . . .- . - . -. . -- ...-.......-- ..-" * <br /><br />*He's that guy. <br /><br />I had stepped over the line and I was now in judgmental country.<br /><br />My first thought was, "You are that guy??" My second was, "How did you ever find ME attractive EVER if what you wanted all along is what she's got going on over there and up there and BACK THERE?!?" And my third one was, "I'm outtie." I left that party after having judged those girls and having judged my ex and having judged the situation and you know what? It felt great. And I've been doing it ever since. People sometimes ask me if having come from the kind of past I come from makes it easy to not judge people for their actions and I have to say the answer is no. You know those bitter, tight lipped angry women? You know how they all have a secret past and then become unmoving and rigid? It starts like this. I make judgment calls all day every day and you know what? I can't stop. The more I strive to live my life with standards the easier it is to see when people don't have any. And the easier it is to judge whether or not I want to have anything to do with those people. And I usually choose not to. Because they hurt you, those people. And it's safer to make the judgment call and protect yourself and your kids right from the git go. It's OK to judge what's bad and wrong. Sometimes people can be bad and wrong. Even if they may have a super-duper really great good positive intent. <br /><br />"By their fruits you shall know them." Matthew 7:16.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-19796794518920844272011-03-24T11:33:00.000-07:002011-03-24T11:34:20.452-07:00Hallelujah Indeed.If you have not seen this kid yet, hold onto your hat. Or something nailed down.<br /><br /><iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/m75dQ7D3QcM?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowFullScreen=""></iframe>Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-18311874637451207932011-03-05T22:12:00.000-08:002011-03-05T23:32:17.259-08:00I Give.As in "up". I give up. We put the "For Sale by Owner" sign in the front lawn so the house is officially up for sale. It's a lovely 5 bedroom 3 bath fixer-upper in the tony Edgemont area of Provo. Many people are asking many questions so I figured a blog post was in order. Think of this as a, "Wait, the Merritt's are selling their house? FAQ"<br /><br />1. Where are the Merritt's moving off to? <br /><br />We have no idea where we are going. I have found a great house in Orem that I love more than anything but I know what the odds are that we will be able to sell this house and move into it. We are going to take a bath on this house. So that means we will have to make do for a few years while we dig out of a huge financial hole. Once we do and save some money for a down payment we will probably find a house. This is what I am calling my Reasonable Expectations Scenario. I do have faith that God will be able to work a miracle I can not foresee and so, who knows what will happen. I am keeping the faith that a miracle can occur but I am also keeping my expectations at a realistic level. I'm fasting and praying but I'm also staying rational.<br /><br />2. Do The Merritt's want to stay in the 4th Ward boundaries? <br /><br />We have loved being in this ward and this area. We'd love to stay. If we were to fall in love with a house that was perfect in every way and would still allow us to stay in the area...MIRACLE. At this point I'd settle for a darling little house in Utah County that we love and is finished prettily and we can afford and can possibly rent to own. This of course is IF by some miracle we are able to sell our house for what we owe so we don't have to move into an apartment for a few years. It really boils down to the house. You see, we bought this big house with the expectation that I would be well. More like, the assumption. We were going to have more kids. I was going to fix up this house. That was the plan. Now neither is feasible. I may get sicker as many people with Hashi's do. We need at least a 4 bedroom house with a bedroom, kitchen, bathroom and laundry on the main level and next to no yard work because my disease can sometimes spawn other worse diseases, things like:<br /><br />Vitiligo — a disease that destroys the cells that give your skin its color<br />Rheumatoid arthritis — a disease that affects the lining of the joints throughout the body<br />Addison’s disease — a disease that affects the adrenal glands, which make hormones that help your body respond to stress and regulate your blood pressure and water and salt balance<br />Type 1 diabetes — a disease that causes blood sugar levels to be too high<br />Graves’ disease — a disease that causes the thyroid to make too much thyroid hormone<br />Pernicious anemia — a disease that keeps your body from absorbing vitamin B12 and making enough healthy red blood cells<br />Lupus — a disease that can damage many parts of the body, such as the joints, skin, blood vessels, and other organs.<br /><br />So if it ever gets to that point, or heaven forbid morphs into Hashimotos Encephalopathy or even Lymphoma of the Thyroid, then I am not going to be dragging myself up flights of stairs all day. Bye-bye split level. I never liked you anyways.<br /><br />3 Why are The Merritt's moving now...why can't The Merritt's wait until the market swings around? (Or in the sentiments of some acquaintances and my father the coach, why can't The Merritt's just keep working on it one project at a time. Take it in bite sized chunks...)<br /><br />Get bent. Or go get sick and then see how well you like being told to "just do" something. Just "take my time and do one little project every month" until it's done? Just go stick your head in the toilet you dirty "just-er". Seriously, this makes me insane. So I'm to be a wife and mother and work 18 hour days and serve the church and God and be a good friend and neighbor and do my Visiting Teaching and see the doctors and pay my medical bills and then, on my RARE days off, I'm to tile a bathroom when I have no idea how to tile a bathroom? When do I get to spend time dealing with:<br /><br />Fatigue<br />Weight gain<br />Pale, puffy face<br />Feeling cold<br />Intolerance to hot and cold temperatures<br />Joint and muscle pain<br />Constipation<br />Dry, thinning hair<br />Heavy menstrual flow or irregular periods<br />Depression<br />A slowed heart rate<br />Problems getting pregnant<br /><br />I guess I am "just" to take all of the above in bite sized chunks, too. Oh, yeah, I can't. I don't control my disease. <br /><br />We bought a house. And I worked really hard on it. And now I have to walk away from it. And I don't know where we are going and I don't know how this will turn out. I have a disease. I have an incurable disease. And I might not "look sick" to you and you may never notice it but the people I live with do. And the people I work with do and they thankfully keep hiring me. And I manage to plug along in my calling. But Brett and the kids take to finishing my sentences for me and I will probably not ever have another child of my own. And it's by the grace of God and my own stubborn Germanness that I am able to finish 6 days of 12+ hours of shooting without falling apart let alone everything else. It's too much. And I know it and my family knows it and my friends know it and now all of you know it and I believe that God knows it, too. And I believe he will take care of me. Because he doesn't want me to come home to a house that makes me cry before I even get out of my car, just thinking about what an albatross it is.<br /><br />So if you know how to drywall and want a house in Edgemont...leave your name and number. You are the answer to my prayers.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-84834881894971742362011-02-03T10:40:00.000-08:002011-02-07T09:46:07.389-08:00Something for Everyone.Problogger had this article called <a href="http://www.problogger.net/archives/2011/02/04/29-ways-to-keep-me-coming-back-to-your-blog-again-and-again/">29 Ways to Keep Me Coming Back to Your Blog</a>. In an attempt to inspire "me" and by that I mean "you" to keep coming back to my blog I will now do the impossible. I will accomplish all 29.<br /><br />1.Teach me how to do something.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OnPJmDc0b_M" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />2. Entertain me.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/zBb9hTyLjfM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />3. Stimulate me to think.<br /><br />Dentists have recommended that a toothbrush be kept at least 6 feet away from a toilet to avoid airborne particles resulting from the flush.<br /><br />4. Tell me a story.<br /><br />Some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. The little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy." The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box empty. He yelled at her, stating, "Don't you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside? The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They're all for you, Daddy."<br /><br />5. Present me with some interesting research results.<br /><br />American Airlines saved $40,000 in 1987 by eliminating 1 olive from each salad served in first-class.<br /><br />1 in every 4 Americans have been on TV.<br /><br />6. Make me laugh.<br /><br />A man and a friend are playing golf one day at their local golf course. One of the guys is about to chip onto the green when he sees a long funeral procession on the road next to the course. He stops in mid-swing, takes off his golf cap, closes his eyes, and bows down in prayer. <br /><br />His friend says: “Wow, that is the most thoughtful and touching thing I have ever seen. You truly are a kind man.” <br /><br />The man then replies: “Yeah, well we were married 35 years.” <br /><br />7. Review a product or service to help me make a decision.<br /><br />I like my Dyson vacuum and it does a good job on Pug hair and Costco has them for a good price.<br /><br />8. Tell me why and how something applies to me.<br /><br />#7 applies to you because it's true and eventually everyone needs a new Vacuum.<br /><br />9. Show me a case study of something you’ve (or someone else has) done.<br /><br />Co Author: Jeffri C. Bohlscheid<br />School of Food Science<br />University of Idaho <br />jeffb@uidaho.edu<br /> <br />Co Author: Frank J. Dinan<br />Department of Chemistry & Biochemistry<br />Canisius College <br />dinan@canisius.edu<br /><br />Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD) has claimed approximately one-third of the commercial honeybee population in recent years. A number of causes have been suggested for this phenomenon, including the consumption of high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) by the bees. This directed case investigates the issues and chemistry that might be involved in CCD related to HFCS. The case was developed for use in an undergraduate organic chemistry or food chemistry course.<br /><br />10.Make me feel like I’m not the only one who….<br /><br />I have no idea what I'm doing as a parent. None. I think the stuff I try out works about 35% of the time. I mostly just hang out with my kids and try and keep them from eating poisonous stuff.<br /><br />11. Predict what will happen next.<br /><br />Someone will try and kill that Mubarak guy.<br /><br />12. Collate what other people say about….<br /><br />Communal. Go there. It's fantastic.<br /><br />13. Inspire me.<br /><br />"I believe life is to be lived, not worked, enjoyed, not agonized, loved, not hated."<br /> Leland Bartlett<br /><br />14. Give me a project to go away and do.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SX41UTiRee4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />15. Give me a sense of belonging.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7KtAgAMzaeg" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />16. Explain what something means.<br /><br />dougie <br /><br />The term "dougie" derives from the name of 80's early 90's Hip Hopper Doug-E- Fresh. The term "dougie" means to have a cool or hip stlye.<br />"If we are going to go out tonight I need to go home and get dougie before we go."<br /><br />fresh clean attractive style cool swagga; the way you carry yourself <br />also a dance<br /><br />"Giiiiirl, his dougie is fresh."<br /><br />17. Summarize a topic or issue.<br /><br />In Cairo, Egypt, the people are revolting against the dictator Hosni Mubarak who has been running Egypt for the past thirty years. The idea of uprising began in Tunisia when people started planning a revolution through social media like Twitter and Facebook. Hosni Mubarak then proceeded to shut down not just cell phone service but all Internet connection in Egypt so they lost contact with the rest of the world until Wednesday, when it was turned back on. For the last year Egyptians have been unhappy due to poverty, low employment, increased food prices. The people of Egypt are now rebelling against the Government for not meeting their basic needs. Many protesters are being killed, some by Mubarak supporters who are shooting into the crowds of people who have ensconced themselves and will not leave until Mubarak steps down. As of February 2, 2011, Hosni Mubarak announced that he will not be running for a new term in the September elections, but he would like to finish his remaining term which will last another seven months. The people of Egypt want him to step down immediately.<br /><br />18. Intrigue me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_zK4TZpcu_tZYtPu_LDADM1TPZ72wGB8d6XUx2ydIBrjlZmCfykqApcikI35vKKuRxPapcBy2AOeDlTqFi0xhL_trf7AdIBLmC1h6w_m5FwtyYbTPQ9kWT9aK0hPPeOhDmL8JgnZXhHa/s1600/jesus_illusion.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_zK4TZpcu_tZYtPu_LDADM1TPZ72wGB8d6XUx2ydIBrjlZmCfykqApcikI35vKKuRxPapcBy2AOeDlTqFi0xhL_trf7AdIBLmC1h6w_m5FwtyYbTPQ9kWT9aK0hPPeOhDmL8JgnZXhHa/s200/jesus_illusion.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569716019181702914" /></a><br /><br />19. Introduce me to someone of interest.<br /><br /><a href="http://bmerritt.tumblr.com/">http://bmerritt.tumblr.com/</a><br /><br />20.Tell me your opinion.<br /><br />I think someone should shoot this Mubarak guy.<br /><br />21. Link to something that I need to see or read.<br /><br /><a href="http://video.nytimes.com/video/2011/01/21/style/1248069580659/on-the-street-a-stretch-of-leg.html">http://video.nytimes.com/video/2011/01/21/style/1248069580659/on-the-street-a-stretch-of-leg.html</a><br /><br />22. Share something I can relate to.<br /><br />I find boogers on my kids' bed sheets. I wrap them up like burritos and have to carefully unwrap them at wash time. <br /><br />23. Provide me with a list of resources.<br /><br />A List of Resources for Studying Benjamin Franklin:<br /><br />"Ben Franklin Stilled The Waves" Charles Tanford, Duke University Press, Durham, North Carolina, and London, England, 1989.<br /><br />"Benjamin Franklin: His Life As He Wrote It" Edited by Esmond Wright, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1989.<br /><br />"Benjamin Franklin's Science" I. Bernard Cohen, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, and London, England, 1990.<br /><br />For Kids<br /><br />"The Many Lives of Benjamin Franklin" Aliki, Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers, New York, New York, 1988.<br /><br />"What's The Big Idea, Ben Franklin?" Jean Fritz, Coward-McCann, New York, New York, 1976.<br /><br />24. Stimulate me to enter into a dialogue or debate.<br /><br />Hitler's mother considered an abortion. Did she make a mistake?<br /><br />25. Give me a point of view that is different from the rest.<br /><br />I am not anti-Gay marriage. I figure we have the blessings of Temple Marriage, so let them get married civilly and have their equal rights. <br /><br />26. Encourage me to keep going through something I’m finding tough.<br /><br />Isaiah 40:31<br />But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.<br /><br />27. Keep me up to date with the latest news or developments in a field of interest.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NVc_6pevsbM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />28. Guide me through a process.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1FaR0m40Wgs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />29. Solve a problem that I have.<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JFCOXFnucpU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />You didn't think I could do it did you? See you real soon...<span style="font-style:italic;">new subscribers</span>!Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-10055012640454412782011-01-20T10:58:00.001-08:002011-01-20T23:59:31.457-08:00Breaking the Cycle: Day 2.Disclaimer: This is an insanely long post.<br /><br />At the end of Day One my dear husband came to me and told me that our girl child was being totally defiant. This is her thing. As a toddler she would kick and hit and spit and bite and scratch and do the exact thing you just told her not to do. When she was 3ish we got a tub refinished and I took her into the bathroom and I showed it to her and said, "See, it's white now but it's a bad chemical and we must not touch it because it won't come off our hands. It's not like paint. Don't touch!" And I walked her out of the room and shut the door and she did an immediate 180 and put her hand on the tub. We ask her to do something and she whines or cries or throws a temper tantrum or all three. Since she is no longer a toddler and I'm pretty sure this kind of behavior should be a random occurrence and not a common occurrence, we worry. Some people say it's just girls or it's certain kids in general but it doesn't feel right to me. She also doesn't usually act that way in front of anyone but her parents.<br /><br />Some things are making a difference already. I try and listen to her and repeat back what she says to me. Instead of going, "Uhhuh...uhhuh." I'm making eye contact and getting down on her level more when she talks. I'm praying really hard that I will know what they need, and give them that instead of what I think they need. I think they need what I needed. I needed clothes that fit and weren't old and dirty and had holes, I needed our heat and electricity and phone paid for. I needed my mother to be at events and not say inappropriate things when my friends were over. I needed her to not talk about sex all the time. I needed her to not flirt with neighborhood young adult males. I needed her to get off the phone with people that weren't her kids or husband and needed her to not work all the time if we weren't going to benefit as a family from her being gone. And I figured as a Mother if I wasn't doing any of these things, I was doing my job. <br /><br />But I need some new ideas. So I called Jules and talked to her. Her father did some cute things with her that made her feel like she was special. He set up dates with her, to go and be with just her. They'd walk through the mall or go to the park. The point was just to get out and spend time together and talk. I loved that idea. She and I had a good conversation and at one point she said that at least I wasn't afraid I loved my girl less because of her dad. That at least I wasn't holding what he did against her. But I am terrified that I am. When she was born she came out looking like her biological father. And I can't explain the sadness. She was beautiful, it wasn't that. It was that there was nothing but deep, deep heartache left over from that experience and I didn't know how to separate those feelings. <br /><br />Her Bio dad and I met at The Owl Bar. And I was in the middle of the experience I had written about previously. I had no desire to smoke or drink any more, and I was praying, but I don't think I had gone to church yet. A friend had gotten a baby sitter and no one wanted to go up to the bar with her. She called me like 4 times so I finally agreed to go. I didn't drink and I sat there vacantly while she talked about the cute guy at the table behind us. After a bit, he came and sat down next to me. But then he did nothing. He just sat there. For a long time. I felt so bad for the guy I struck up a conversation with him. <br /><br />We had our first date on Father's Day. The irony. I asked then if he had kids and he said he had 5. I choked. I remember thinking it was a lot for someone his age but looking back I think he may have lied about that, too, his age. He asked me about my kids and I said I just had the one. He was surprised but I told him that I had been told by my OBGYN that I would have a hard time conceiving so I was lucky to have the one. I asked if he had called his dad yet and he said he had not. I urged him to call his dad before it got too late. He looked kind of ill. Like I had asked him to go ahead and drink poison since it was Drink a Poison Day. He called and left him an awkward message and he got choked up when he told his dad that he loved him and wished him a Happy Father's Day.<br /><br />We broke up and got back together a bunch of times because I started feeling like I wanted someone who wanted to be in the church and he had just started living outside it. He told me I was wrong, that he had always wanted a testimony and that he was learning a lot from what I was going through. I told him I wanted to be married in the temple one day and he told me he wanted nothing more than to have a love that would last forever. He met with my bishop a few times and my dear neighbor Tom who both told him that if his intentions were not pure that he had better get lost or they would find him. My bishop was an ex marine and super scary. My neighbor has since passed away, and I'd be afraid if I were Bio.<br /><br />He talked me out of accepting a small apartment Tom was letting me live in insisting that my son and I would be cramped space. He said that when my house sold I should move all of my stuff into his garage at his house he had up for sale since it was huge and empty and he had 6 weeks of traveling coming up. He wouldn't even be at home. So I accepted. On my way to a job interview I got a call from him telling me to not go, that we'd figure out something and he'd help me out. I told him I didn't want to accept that kind of arrangement unless I was married. He told me I didn't understand, that he lived to help people. He was just that way and I didn't understand also that he was serious about me. He had told people he worked with I was the one. He said it wasn't best for my son for me to work as many hours as this job would require and I should just hang out and keep looking and be more selective. I called and canceled my interview. He had a trip to take to New York and asked if I wanted to go. My favorite place on earth. I went and when I got there, there was only one bed and not even a pull out or a full sized couch. <br /><br />We came home and things were awkward. He kept making little promises and not backing them up. He became angry. He started to resent my being there even though he had fought so hard for it. I knew this would happen. He packed in a sour mood and left. I went on a job interview while he was gone and I also took a pregnancy test. I don't even know why I took it, I really didn't think I would or could be pregnant. I was. He was with his kids in California when I called and told him. I was thinking I might get a 'wow' or an 'oh my gosh' but I got complete silence. Not a word and then, click. And it got worse from there. When he came home he was surly and rude. He was talking about suicide and he said over and over that he couldn't be a dad. Which at the time confused me because he already WAS a dad. What did that even mean? I told him we didn't have to be together if that was the issue. He wasn't obligated to date me just because I was pregnant. I also told him he wasn't obligated to pay through the government. That we could work out a dollar amount, since he was paying so much still for his other kids and since his ex had allegedly stolen his life savings and maxes all his credit cards. (A little over half a million to hear him tell it.) He told me that not only was he not going to pay me a dime he was going to sue me for getting pregnant. He felt I had lied to him and ensnared him )I believe the word he used was duped) because I told him on our first date that I couldn't get pregnant. I reminded him that I do have another child, he's met him. I never said it was impossible. And it was in a normal context that I shared that information. I told him that I would be interested in what his lawyer would have to say about bringing that lawsuit up. He would arrange talks where he would press me to give up the baby for adoption. He would email me and call me and tell me I was a disgusting person and that watching me keep a baby with out considering his feelings was the single most selfish thing he had ever witnessed in his life.<br /><br />I started seeing a councilor at LDS services. Which was fun, being the only pregnant woman in the waiting room over 18. I talked with a family from Michigan I think, The Brubakers, about adoption and they were really nice. The reasons I didn't were these: I didn't want my son to learn that people were expendable. My father told me about a personal friend that had done it and regretted it and he knew I would also. It wasn't something I would have ever wanted if I hadn't been guilted into it. I saw her face in a sonogram and she looked like she had my chin. I stupidly thought that since she was a girl she'd probably look like me. And then one day I saw the Brubakers on the highway, they have a vanity plate with their family name. And I thought, what are the odds? And as we all waved at one another it occurred to me that we are the same. They are no better than I am. This child would not be trading up into a better existence. I knew I would be able to remarry and she would have everything with me she would with them. And she'd be with her Mom.<br /><br />I was told one night on the phone that no only did no one from his family want to be there when she was born but they didn't want to have anything to do with me. He had told them what I had done and they agreed that the best thing he could do was to have nothing to do with me and the baby and that they supported him in his wishes. They also hated me, thought I was a slut and wanted nothing to do with me. Not long after I went into labor and delivered a baby girl. The day I gave birth is an unreal story of it's own but I'll spare you that. Or we'll be here until March.<br /><br />The nurses wanted to know if he would come down and sign the paternity papers. So we called him. He talked to my sister, Amanda, who had helped me deliver. And he said he wouldn't sign them, that his lawyer instructed him not to sign anything unless he looked it over first. We explained how it was just one sheet of paper and it just read that he was the father. He said he didn't know for sure that he was the father. And anyway he was in California. He knew I was having the baby that week so he had run away. Either that or again, he was lying. My sister told him he should at least talk to me and he said he'd call me in a little bit, when he wasn't around his kids. I laid in my hospital bed with the phone on my deflated belly for four hours before I set it back on the dresser.<br /><br />So when I had my little girl and she came out the spitting image of her father, it stung. I was afraid I was selfish in keeping her and I hurt and I was tired and scared. All of these emotions didn't leave much room for mother daughter bonding. It was never about just the two of us, it was about the two of us and the one that wasn't there. This story goes on and yes, it gets better but not by much. It's been a drawn out process and it's been full of sadness. As more time passes, I remember it less but there is a fear that, yes, we didn't bond like I wished. Like I did with my son. <br /><br />So last night, after my husband informed me of her emotional state, I went into her room and didn't talk. I didn't ask her what was wrong or why she wasn't listening to dad. I didn't try and teach her anything like I usually would but it wasn't a conscious choice. I just found that I wanted to hold her and snuggle her, in part because of the emotional day I had after what I wrote. So I went in and wrapped her up in my arms and snuggled down into her bed with her. And she wrapped her arms around me back. We talked about random stuff. And she calmed down. We all said prayers and went to bed. She had a tiny fever so we stayed home all day yesterday. And we watched a movie in her bed on my phone. And we had lunch with dad and watched shows and she had a good nap. And then last night I put her to bed an hour early. Not a single tantrum since. It's a new day here.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-54354509145835921992011-01-18T10:12:00.000-08:002011-01-18T11:33:07.535-08:00Project "Break the Cycle". Day one.I was tucking in my daughter last night and for about the 10th time she insisted that I spent more time in my son's room than in hers. She's been doing this lately. I ask my son, who's 11, to go get the mail and she pushes him out of the way to grab it first. There are serious competition issues going on. So she's keeping track of how much time alone he gets versus what she gets at bed time. So I go into the same old speech about how she is not in competition with her brother. She begins to get whiney and complainy and it begins to make me insane. I get stabby when she gets temper-tantrumy. So I tell her that I don't spend more time with him and that I try hard to be sure that I spend equal amounts of time and that the times I leave her room early are usually the nights when I can't stay because she starts to get cranky and mean and I don't stick around for that. I tell her that she's saying I'm being a bad Mom by spending more time with him than her and I don't need to hear that when I try so hard to make their time equal. And then she said the worst thing she could ever have said to me. "You love him more than me."<br /><br />I sort of stumbled into my bedroom where my husband was folding laundry and I said, "Did you hear her? She just said I love him more than her. Can you believe it? I don't act that way!" And he sort of shrugged his shoulders. I said, "Wait, you're saying I do act like that?" And I don't recall what he said but it was the equivalent of "If the shoes fits."<br /><br />Wow.<br /><br />I grew up the child of a High School Track coach and a crazy person. She was nuts. At the time I thought she was normal but now I know better. I have many stories but I'll illustrate what was normal for her with the highlights. <br /><br />I was in 1st grade and one day my mother was brushing my hair which she didn't do often. And I was whining and crying because it was waist length and I had not been introduced to conditioner and she'd start at the root and rip through it. She told me to stop. So I explained loudly that she was hurting me and she just picked up a pair of scissors and cut it off in one swoop. Just snip, snip, snip. Off. To my chin. <br /><br />My mother took me to doctors to have EKGs and other tests done because she believed I had narcolepsy since I could fall asleep anywhere, but my parents never made me go to bed before midnight. My tests came back normal but she was certain they must be wrong and so she illegally obtained something called Desoxyn, which is called speed on the street, and gave it to me, every day for about 2 years. I was in 2nd grade. <br /><br />My parents got tickets to the Track events for the 1984 Olympics. We drove out there in my grandparents' Itasca. We all went together to the stadium most days but one day in particular they could only get two tickets not four. Normal people would decide which parent would take which child. My mother and father go together, hand us a bus schedule for the greater Los Angeles area and tell us to visit South Coast Mall. We got lost and had to ask strangers how to get back to our hotel. I actually remember walking along a chain link fence doing an impersonation of Tina Turner singing, "What's Love Got to Do With It." since where we were looked just like the video. That's not a good thing.<br /><br />In 4th grade she sat down with my teacher to discuss my issues with school. She sat there and lied her face off to my teacher. She said they tried and tried with me and they didn't know what to do, I just wouldn't do my work. I cried my eyes out. My teacher, Ms Christiansen, asked me what was wrong and I couldn't tell her. I couldn't say that my mother was lying.<br /><br />I reminded my mother 100 times about my upcoming 5th grade Maturation Clinic. It was a huge deal. Parents had to go with their kids. But on the day of, she didn't show up. My teacher and a few other parents kept asking me where my mother was. I didn't know. I was given permission to go to the office and call home. I let it ring all the way through, twice. When she finally picked up she said she couldn't come, she was taking a nap. I stopped telling her about or asking her to come to any of my events. And my dad was just...I don't know...working?<br /><br />I stole the white drop waisted dress with a pink sash that my mother made for my sister's 6th grade graduation to wear to my own 6th grade graduation and no one knew because I walked there by myself, got my certificate, and walked home by myself.<br /><br />In 7th grade I hosted the school talent show. I bought myself a 1950s formal dress at a thrift shop, got myself ready, drove myself there (on our scooter) and home again without a word. I don't think anyone in my family ever even knew I did that, and it never occurred to me that was weird. It was just the norm at that point.<br /><br />In 8th grade I missed the bus a few times, but the 3rd time it happened my mother screamed at me that I wasn't her daughter and hung up on me. I walked with a friend to her Dad's office where we Xeroxed our boobs.<br /><br />The Summer before my freshman year my mother started a running bet with her best friend that I would get pregnant by the time I was 15. I had never even held hands with- let alone kissed- a boy. Her best friend, may she RIP, wisely betted against my early and unwedded pregnancy. I saved that for my 30s.<br /><br />On her off days she would slap my face and shake me and leave me notes telling me I was a little @#$%. She had hundreds of different jobs and friends and spent money on clothes at the expense of us having heat, electricity, a phone. My sister and mother would come home together laughing with shopping bags and when I would ask where they had gone they'd answer that they had gone out for Ice Cream. And then my sister would show me the clothes that she got. So when I heard what my daughter said, it was a dagger to my heart, bamboo under my nails, hot pokers in my eyes. Because it was what I had been told my whole life by my older sister. That my mother loved her more than me. And she was right. She did. Love being a verb, she loved my sister more than me. I was being accused of the worst possible crime I could be accused. That I was just like my mother.<br /><br />Oh man. This can not be. I'm breaking the cycle and I'm doing it now. I need to start figuring out what I need to do differently and I need to execute. Like yesterday. 2011. Breaking the cycle. Here we go.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-29097816242217732842011-01-17T11:42:00.000-08:002011-01-17T16:58:55.462-08:00Let Me Tell You a Story. (A Looooong Story.)I must be getting old because I feel like telling the same stories over and over again. Right now I seem to be looking back a lot to the time in my life when I was in the middle of a whole lot of drama. So I feel like re-telling that story. If you know this one, move on. For the rest of you, "When the chimes ring...turn the page." *Chime*<br /><br />My son was 3 and I was splitting from his dad. We were in a whole tangle of "Well you did____ to me" and "Well I only did_______ because you did _______." It was a slew of back and forth, and the back and forth took place at high volumes. I was in the middle of a particularly good fight with my significant other one day when I took up a baseball bat and smashed all the terracotta planters in the back yard. A chard split off of one and cut open my leg.<br /><br />So I called my Mom to come get me. My significant other followed me as I limped from the bakyard to the front porch, screaming at me the whole way. I sat there on the steps bleeding all over and unable to move. I had to sit there and listen to him tell me what a liar I was and what a dirty whore I was and how disgusted I made him. And instead of running away I literally had to take it. You may be thinking, "Oh my gosh, what a JERK!" and I did, too at first. But I finally surrendered and listened to what he said, even though it was awful and mean and hard to hear. And while it wasn't 100% appropriate to do it the way he did it, there were points that he was making that I couldn't deny were accurate. I had lied to him. That was true. Putting aside all of my justifications, point blank, I <span style="font-style:italic;">had </span>lied to him. I had made a lot of mistakes and for the first time in my life I just said..."Yes. I did that." I was tired of wanting to make him see what he did wrong. It was NEVER going to happen. I realized he might not ever in my life time fully accept responsibility for the things he had done that had "made" me do what I did. I had to drop it and just accept my part. And I needed to change.<br /><br />I sat in a wheelchair in the ER with a rag on my ankle watching TV. I was processing everything and just sat in near total silence. I prayed officially to God for the first time in a long time and I just pleaded, <span style="font-weight:bold;">pleaded</span> for peace in my life. I begged for this drama to be done and over. I immediately felt relief. I suddenly knew I needed to drop the fight on my end and focus on what I could control. Me. I couldn't control him or make him see anything he needed to see but I could control me. Sure I was hoping that if I started the process of accepting responsibility he'd follow suit, but it didn't happen. I made sure that in my heart I didn't expect him to (even if I really, really wanted him to) and I had to recognize that he might not accept any responsibility...ever. But I appologized profusely over and over for my part and I went about trying to make it right. <br /><br />Part of controlling what I could was to look at what I needed to change about myself. So I asked God. I asked what my problems were and what I needed to change. I wondered why nothing ever felt like it was easy and why nothing felt like it fell into place but instead just the opposite occurred. It happened so often we blamed "The Mess Up Gene." My sister, mother and I joked all the time that we must be genetically designed for failure. So I prayed to know whatever it was that I needed to know. It came to me that I should pray for humility and understanding. I <span style="font-weight:bold;">begged</span> God for humility and understanding. And the change in my life that took place because of this single prayer is the most miraculous thing I have ever experienced and I have given birth. Twice.<br /><br />I began to see that I was ungracious, ungrateful, unhappy and bitter. I was critical and intolerant. I was focusing on the negative all the time and I was not cheerful and fun to be around. I cared about things that didn't matter and I was spending money I didn't have on things I didn't need. I was making permanent decisions based on temporary feelings. The list went on and on. I wanted to stop drinking and smoking, they never did anything for me and plenty against me. I wanted to stop hanging out with people that wanted different things than I did. I started praying more and I had renewed faith that God was hearing and answering me. I began to go to church. I started reading the Book of Mormon and talking to my Bishop. I made a commitment to God that I would live the rest of my life inside the church. I had botched my life in a really incredible way when I tried to live it on my terms and I was willing to try living the Gospel. I realized why I felt like I was always swimming upstream. My way didn't work. I wanted my way to be right, but it wasn't. I wanted to be able to do what ever I wanted and have the consequences that I wanted and I couldn't understand why this wasn't the way it went. I finally admitted I could not run my own life. And that was OK. It didn't mean I was a loser. I had to be humble. <br /><br />I was focused and determined to be worthy to attend the Temple. I knew that there was a God and I knew he heard me when I promised I would take this all the way and I had to live my word. The day finally arrived for me to go to the Temple, it was great. I wasn't freaked out, I wasn't uncomfortable, I was happy to be someplace that challenged me to be more humble and teachable. I loved seeing how perfectly everything there was designed for us to learn and grow and designed to repel those that are just not ready to receive it. And that is also a kindness. I could see that God loves His children. I could also see that if we do things to help others, especially those who can not 'do' for themselves, we receive help from the other side.<br /><br />My life now feels a thousand times better than it was before. It works. And it's because of God, not me. I botch things. God makes them work. I control what I can by doing my best to follow His commandments. I apologize and repent when I do stupid things, and I do do stupid things. I try and be humble and accept when I'm immature and need to get over myself. Because the point isn't about making people think I'm awesome. The point is about how awesome other people are. The point is to put other people first. I'm happy when I try and make God and others happy. It's the only way.<br /><br />"The greatest among you will be your servant." Matthew 23:11.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-1248396518969624622010-12-28T12:32:00.000-08:002010-12-28T18:35:10.796-08:002010I have enjoyed having half the day off today and reading all of the 2010 updates our friends and family included in their Christmas cards. I feel inspired to write my own. Here it is. Right now. Let's go.<br /><br />Bella Rose is a silly, funny, wonderful little person. She loves her big brother so much she can hardly stand that he is a whole 4 years older, thus rendering her unable to be more exactly like him in every way. She is very creative. Her room is full of little toy dioramas she has created out of food boxes, candy wrappers, anything she can find. She can create a game out of a stick and a bar of soap. She says she loves Kitty, Mommy, Aidan and Daddy. She also loves styling outfits for school, reading, counting in French (she's in French immersion) and watching The Wizards of Waverly Place. But her favorite thing ever is to play video games with Aidan. She learned to ride a bike this year and loved riding to school. She does not like hearing she looks like Scarlett Johansson, yams, cat scratches, being asked if her curls are real, raisins or bees. She has to play at someones house EVERY day. It's a sad day for Bella when her friend Aubrey can't play. She hates the word, "no" more than any living human I've ever met.<br /><br />Aidan is a kind hearted, tender old soul. He enjoyed "ski school" a lot and Aunt Jen said she could forgive him for learning snowboarding instead of skiing. He has upgraded from playing the recorder to playing the clarinet. He has read everything. Seriously, everything. He reads four or five books a month and loves The Far Side in the interm. His future consists of him living alone in a small apartment with no furniture and books everywhere like Will Hunting. He loves video games to an unhealthy degree and I would be more concerned but he wants to be a game programmer one day and is taking an auxiliary programming class three times a week. He also loves Cheezits, Kitty Jane and balloons. He is very good at expressing himself. A lot. All day long. He finds the unexpected shouting of random silly words to be the height of hilarity. His favorites are "Cheese", "Peanut-butter" and "Eyelid." He does not like Mommy working, our dog Nigel most times, being too broke to go to the pharmacy for candy and the smell of coffee.<br /><br />At the beginning of the year Brett was Freddy in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (the part Steve Martin played in the film) and he loved every minute of it. Well, except for the minutes he held live goldfish in his mouth. And those few minutes in rehearsal that he broke his ribs prat falling over a fence. He did love the chiropracty sessions that came after to align the broken ribs, though. He is still happily employed at Solution X and working with his brother Rodger making Internet magic for MLM clients. Brett enjoyed all of the amazing improv shows he performed in, being home with the kids while I worked (I like to pretend he did), playing his MORPGs or whatever they are called and being a social networker. He is challenged by, but enjoys, teaching his Sunday school class. He hates, but is a good sport about, how close he came to taking everyone at work in their fantasy football league, cleaning our dog's ears, having the kids touch his face, the cat meowing at the crack of dawn and his sister Kristen being sick. <br /><br />At the beginning of 2010 I was diagnosed with an auto-immune disease called Hashimotos. It was a huge relief to find I had a real medical issue making me feel the way I was. It's an ongoing process to get feeling normal, and some shoots are a lot harder than others, but it's an amazing realization to make about yourself. That much of who you are is not just spiritual but physical and somewhat out of your control. I was able to Art Direct a film this Summer called Wes and Ella and it was an amazing experience. I did miss my 20th class reunion due to rescheduling the shooting days, but I see almost everyone on Facebook anyway. I am grateful to the guys at Rivetal and Sorenson who were understanding about me taking a month and a half off to do the film. I'm grateful they still hired me back when the process was all over considering how capable my replacement, Dawn, is. I have loved the days I do get to be with the kids and walk them to school. I enjoy my church calling and the amazing people in our ward. We live in a wonderful neighborhood. So wonderful I keep convincing people to move here. I'm super grateful for the friendships we have made. I love our kids will grow up with these amazing people around them. (See: Ivie/Gardner and Clark families.) I love watching the kids be so much better at school work than I was. They're speaking languages and playing instruments like I wished I could. I enjoyed volunteering at Bella's class and meeting her friends. I didn't love having moles scraped from all over my body on two separate occasions this year and having minor surgery to remove "suspicious" skin on my knee. (Still have the stitches. They haven't melted just grown out through the skin, one knot at a time.) I also didn't love getting dressed in the dark most working days. But after getting an iPhone with a flashlight app, I'm set. I also didn't love gaining weight but it's par for the Hashimotos course and it could have been worse, some people in my condition gain far more than I have. Since the only mirrors in our house are situated over sinks, it makes it a lot easier not to care.<br /><br />Our whole family loves swimming at the Lindon Pool, looking up talking cats on YouTube, Merritt Wellness Days, the trip we took to Disneyland (the first for the kids), Adventure Time on Cartoon Network, reading Harry Potter before bedtime, hitting 5 Guys or SmashBurger before a movie, the Freedom Festival and our new Honda Element (it happily replaced Brett's old white car that smells of gas and exhaust) and doing a family jig every time we paid off a debt. We collectively did not enjoy being sick, our lawn, the condition of our house, Charmin's "Enjoy the Go" commercials, the rain on Halloween and seeing multiple big huge hairy butt cracks while eating (or not) at the State Fair. <br /><br />We look forward to paying off more debt, fixing up the house and having new family pictures taken. We pray we get to enjoy more of the little things that make us happy like being with family, riding bikes, dancing in Aidan's room after dinner, Brett singing his own words to "A Whole New World" while flying the kids to their beds and summer days spent playing in the sprinkler. We also pray for big, miraculous things like another little Merritt around and Kristin's total wellness. But as I get older I realize what a gift every day is and to be grateful for whatever comes. But I'd sure be grateful if what came was a truck full of tools.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2496469714230649188.post-42811583029249094692010-12-15T10:40:00.000-08:002010-12-15T14:39:33.875-08:00Hooked on Social Networking Does Not Work for Me.My bestie and I used to call one another and talk about a mutual friend's blog. I am sure we all know a blog like it. Her house looked perfect and her kids looked perfect and she looked perfect and she had this mock humility like, "It's not much, but it's home!" And here it's a professionally decorated mansion. I know. So I quit reading blogs because in the words of my dear old college friend Allyse, "People with big houses just make people with little houses feel bad." Which is funny because she lives in a big gorgeous house now. <br /><br />So after a few weeks of long shooting days I found myself back on some social networking sites looking to reconnect with my friends. I read what was going on and just asked myself, what was I hoping to find? What was I doing on here? What was I hoping to contribute? I felt like what I was looking for was not going to be had on these networking sites. I have felt that way before but never mixed with such a huge sadness. Maybe it was the memory of the wonderfully fun dinner parties we have been able to attend this year. Maybe I was feeling like that was what I needed and I was hoping for that kind of connection to occur upon my return via computer. But you know, that's impossible. I realized today that what I wrote about it on Twitter was not 100 percent what I was feeling but it's hard to pour out your heart in 140 characters, even though we certainly all do try to, don't we Twihards?<br /><br />So here is what I am feeling. I want more human interaction. With you. I want to get into people's hearts and find out what they really need and what I really can do for them and for crying out loud let's connect on a human level. I'm tired of the quality of communication that takes place. I am tired of wading through the unending unhappiness people feel being spewed out in the comments they make on friend's blogs and FB status updates. Even in the comments on the silliest of little cat videos on Youtube there is just a butt load of this...mental graffiti. I'm tired of having "conversations" that are disjointed and misunderstood and most of all, conversations that would never take place in real life. I am appalled at the things we say to one another through the filter of the computer. And I'm tired of the collective goal feeling like it's 100% about self promotion and who ever promotes his or her self the best wins. What do we win? <br /><br />Now whether or not you are guilty of this is for you to judge. I have been guilty of it. Totally. And especially at first when I thought it was cheeky. Kind of naughty and clever to be bold and outspoken. I feel stupid about it now. Much like how I feel about myself from about 21 years of age to 33 years of age, when most of what I did and most of my interactions with adults took place with a buzz on. Drinking never did anything for me and plenty against me. I would say the same is true for my experience social networking. I did meet some good people. It's true. But who's to say we would not share a better quality of friendship were we to meet outside the interwebs? I think we would. My bestie Jules and I met face to face at a Thrillionaires show. We very rarely read each other's blogs, even though we do talk to one another about them. We rarely comment on each other's Facebook status. We talk on the phone nearly every day, and we see each other in person. I love her and right after my husband she's my best friend. <br /><br />IRL.Amelia Merritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320167282836539754noreply@blogger.com9