WAYT: Can John Edwards turn over a new leaf?

I hope that Elizabeth Edwards has been taking an extended, exclusive, secret vacation in Heaven.  After reading this story and following John Edwards’ trial in the news, I wish her all the peace in Heaven that she surely never found during her last few years on this Earth. 

If the cancer hadn’t killed her, being married to John Edwards would have.  I want to say that I feel sorry for Elizabeth, or say that I pity her for being saddled with such a sorry piece of work as John Edwards.  But I don’t want to say either of those things about her.  She would hate that, and I respect her too much to feel anything for her that would lower her in my esteem.  She only deserves to be raised up and applauded for living that painful remainder of her life with dignity and grace. 

John Edwards is the perfect example of the rule of law.  Rule of law, for the unfamiliar, is rule by law, which means that government officials, even though they make the laws, are not above the laws.  In fact, they are equally subject under the law as any ordinary citizen.  John Edwards, in his ego-maniacal fantasy land, believed that he could get away with not only carrying on an affair with a staff member, but also believed that he could secretly father a child and then pass it off on someone else through public grandstanding and private lies.  Oh, and he allegedly thought that he could use campaign money to pay for the whole sordid mess. 

What a joke!  What was he thinking?  Honestly, did he think he could get away with that mountain of lies?  You can only pile that crap up so far and it crumbles down in a landslide.  Idiot. 

Today is John Edwards’ judgment day.  In his life, he’s faced many judgment days – when he ran for office, when he admitted to his wife how he’d betrayed their marriage vows, when his wife filed for legal separation from his pathetic behind.  But this will be the final nail in his coffin.  Though perhaps the jury will not find him guilty, or maybe they’ll only find him partially guilty.  Either way, after the jury renders its decision, the public’s perception of John Edwards will change once again. 

I used to like John Edwards.  He was popular in national politics at a point in my life when I probably based “liking” him on his sweeping hair line and sparkly blue-eyed smile.  Now I look at that face and all I see is smarm.  It makes my stomach turn a little. 

The problem with John Edwards is that his wife became a saint.  Elizabeth endured her initial battle with cancer out on the campaign trail, and then when the cancer got worse, she endured a public scandal and complete humiliation at the hands of her supposedly loving husband.  The guy actually renewed his vows with her all while carrying the affair in his back pocket. 

Anyway, John Edwards’ sleaze-bag reputation might not seem quite so sleazy if Elizabeth hadn’t been such a classy lady.  Maybe if she was tough as nails like Hillary Clinton, we wouldn’t be tempted to pity Elizabeth. 

In any event, after this verdict is decided, John Edwards will surely retreat into a private life, one that is defined by media silence and little to no public exposure.  There must be nothing more that he can say or do, right?  If he knew what was good for him, he would dig into his own psyche with a good therapist, learn how to be a good father to his remaining young ones – including the one he tried to deny – and hope that someday, he can be loved by his children for the man he could become, if he set his mind to it. 

I don’t want to hate someone like John Edwards who has so much potential.  In fact, in life, it’s better to continually try to find the silver lining in everyone and everything.  It makes every day easier, if you can find one way to enjoy it, some bright light that improves the bad stuff. 

I truly hope that John Edwards can find it within himself to clear away the past and start over.  That may be the only way that he can redeem himself with his Maker, the Big Guy who undoubtedly had nothing but warm, welcoming arms for John’s wife Elizabeth.  In the end, John was still married to her.  He owes it to Elizabeth to do better, from this day forward. 

Mulligan

Today, I’m forgoing the regular theme to honor my husband. 

St. Patrick’s Day is a really special day.  Not for any obvious reason though – not because of green-colored alcoholic beverages or themed parades or anything related to Ireland.  For me, it’s super special because it’s my wedding anniversary. 

On Saturday, March 17, 2007, I married Frank Arnolts III.  Saying “I do” to him on that day was the best decision I ever made. 

From the very first time I laid eyes on Frank from across our college cafeteria, I knew he was perfect.  I told my friend as much.  I made a reference to the men of Greek mythology.  Then I got to know him.  I had never before in my life known someone who was so extraordinary, inside and out.  I still haven’t met anyone better, body and soul, than my husband.  Not even close. 

This Saturday marks our five year wedding anniversary.  We’ve done a lot in five years.  We bought our first home, several cars, lost a baby, had a baby, lost a job (for a little while) and we’ve taken a few vacations.  The best part of all of that was that we were able to do it together.  And we survived. 

That’s not to say every moment of those five years has been perfect.  We don’t always get along.  I’m not always the most likable person.  We’re pretty famous for our back-and-forth (good-natured!) bickering. 

But I always know, in my heart of hearts, that Frank is the one and only choice for me.  I dated plenty of people before I met Frank.  None of them compare.  Any boy who refused to make it “official,” dumped me by email or AOL IM or tried to get away with bad behavior behind my back wasn’t worth my everlasting love.  Frank has proven again and again that he is worthy, if for no other reason than because he’s exceedingly patient with me. 

The returns I gained in this partnership are manifest in our son Auggie.  He is adorable and perfect and special.  He is the best of both of us, truly.  There’s nothing more that I can do to show my gratitude to Frank for the gift of our son than to try my hardest to raise him right, to do well, give my best. 

And I take our marriage seriously.  I want the two of us to walk away together from any situation and be able to say that we make a great team.  It’s very important to me that Frank and I are on the same page in all things. 

I hope that when it’s all said and done, these five years are just small fraction of the time we accumulate as a couple.  I hope that our son always admires us; I hope that we provide him with a shining example to live by.  I hope that we can look back and be happy about everything that has passed, have no regrets. 

I hope that Frank knows that I love him more than I ever knew that I could love another person.  And if he ever doubted it, at least there will always be this – these eternal words saved on the internet, and hopefully, branded into his heart and memory. 

I love you, Frank!  Thank you for choosing me. 

WAYT: Valentine's Day Fanatics

Frank and I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day.  In the past, even as recently as two years ago, we always made a point to mark the occasion in a particular way.  He is (and I will still say is, even though we don’t celebrate anymore) the king of creative ideas. 

One year, he bought me one of those giant cards and wrote me a poem on cut out hearts that he glued onto the giant card.  One year, when I was living in DC, he bought a pack of kid’s Valentine’s, personalized and numbered them, and sent them to me in a box, so I had to open them in numerical order to read his message to me.  Another year, when I was really into that season of The Bachelor, he laid out rose petals leading into the house and at the end, asked me if I would accept the rose. 

He’s a peach!  Remembering those gifts makes me smile and catch my breath, even years later. 

But now we realize that as a married couple, our relationship isn’t about marking a day with frivolous gifts just because the rest of the world does.  It’s about knowing we have something special every day, and making time to recognize that spontaneously or on any date of our choosing. 

We could be better at that.  I could be better at that. 

The thing about my memories of Frank’s gifts is that I never asked him to do any of that.  I was so wowed because he got creative, and all on his own!  I wonder what are you thinking, people who place insane pressure on your significant others to celebrate Valentine’s Day?  Don’t you think that you’d rather have a significant other who wanted to show you what you mean to him/her all the time?  Rather than be bullied into it by your incessant hint-dropping?  Or your neurotic need to tell everyone about what your person did for you on Valentine’s Day? 

I’m not just saying this because everyone else says it, I’m saying it because it’s true: Valentine’s Day is a commercial holiday.  It used to mean something, eons ago.  It used to mark something having to do with history.  I don’t even feel like Googling it to find out the real reason for the holiday; it’s pointless now.  Because that real reason is now hopelessly lost in Consumerism. 

Of course, there are couples who use the date as a special occasion.  No one drops hints, no one throws a fit to get their way.  Personally, I am always more impressed by the couples who have sweet stories to tell all the time.  That shows dedication.  If Walgreens tells me to buy candy and that’s the only time I wake up enough to think of Frank, then I’m missing my life as it flashes by, unmarked and unsweetened. 

I’m lucky because I know that Frank would do those Valentine’s Day things for me any day.  He used to make the effort to mark Valentine’s Day, but nothing would stop him now if he felt like sending me a sweet note on a random Wednesday.  He is known to make a shopping trip and come home with pretty flowers, just to show me he was thinking of me. 

I’m going to celebrate Valentine’s Day this year by digging out my memories box to look back on those past gifts.  Memories are a gift too, you know?  And not just newly created, prompted, scripted or otherwise expected memories.