Wow......I never thought I would be a step-mother. This is difficult. When I had my boys, I knew they would love me. I mean, they HAVE TO love me, right? I AM their mother. They came and I held them, rocked them, loved them. They were beautiful. I loved them and they loved me.
Then, one year ago, we found out they have a sister. She's now about to turn twelve. Hard age for her. Difficult situation for us both. She is SO incredible. She's taller than I am, with beautiful wavy dark hair. She's smart, sweet, funny....she is all the things I fell in love with in her dad. She looks just like him. Well, a softer, prettier feminine version of him. She has a beautiful smile. She's everything I ever wanted in a daughter. And she belongs to someone else.
She and her dad bonded instantly. Same with the boys. They took to her like baseball and toy trucks and water guns. She is their sister. They are her brothers. But what I am?
I have nightmares of Snow White and Cinderella and pray she doesn't see me like that. Her mother is still very much in the picture -- she has custody -- and has done a wonderful job raising her. But where do I fit? Is she afraid to love me because she doesn't want to hurt her mom? Does she secretly hope her parents will get back together? Am I the interloper in her dreams of a happy family? I always feel a little lost around her. I hope she doesn't feel that way around me.
And what do I do? I can't force myself into her heart. I won't. I love her already. I want to consider her as a daughter. I want her to consider me as a second mom. I don't want to replace her mom. I wouldn't even want to try. I just want her to let me love her.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
As a Mother.....
Most of you know that I have two boys. Z is seven, and M is four. Perfectly fun ages. They are both joys and frustrations, laughs and tears, hugs and strangle-holds.
Z is my oldest. He was my first and is the sweetest natured child. He is just like his dad. Even-tempered, calm (most of the time), smart -- WOW is he smart. He is my easy child. He can get his feelings hurt easily, so we're working on that. We don't want him picked on by the other kids for his sensitivity, and, .....well, let's face it. HE'S A BOY! He's supposed to be rough-n-tumble, rowdy, running h--- for leather everywhere he goes, and mostly he does. He just happens to be a little too sensitive sometimes. He's a leader, yet he can follow. He can run with the big boys or sit and watch television. I think he's developing mine and his father's love of reading. But he won't give me hugs or kisses if anyone is watching -- even strangers. He's growing up. I can see the beginnings of the man he will become. I love him SO much. He was born just last week, I don't care WHEN his age says he arrived. He's my baby.
M is the youngest. He is my charmer. He is just like me -- bless his little heart. He is tempermental, high-maintenance, prone to temper tantrums, and just, well, like me. I have no doubt he will stay in A LOT of trouble. But he's a charmer. When he smiles, everyone smiles -- even me, though I cringe also wondering just what it is he's about to do. When he cries, everyone cringes. He won't sit still for anything. Even when he's watching Spongebob Squarepants or Scooby-Doo, he stays in motion. He still happily runs to me every day after preschool like he hasn't seen me in a week. He still gives me kisses and hugs whenever I ask, and sometimes when I don't. He still snuggles. He's my baby. He was just born yesterday, at least in my mind.
They are my treasures. My own personal miracles (okay, I admit, my husband did have something to do with them getting here.) They are my little angels, especially when they are sleeping and not destroying their room, or asking 50 questions, or sneaking out of bed to play. When I get hugs and kisses and hear, "I love you, Mama," I swear I see their halos (appropriately held up by their devil horns). One day, maybe they will know just how much I love them. How often I thank God for entrusting me with them. How fearfully I pray I can do right by them and raise them to be men like their father. One day. Maybe.
Meanwhile, I'll love them, and hug them; yell at them then apologize; spank them and cry in my bedroom; then love them more. I'll kiss them while they are sleeping and pray to God to watch over them, to make me a better mother, and to help me love them even more. I will do things right, and I will do things wrong. I just hope and pray in the end, I will have done MORE right than wrong.
Z is my oldest. He was my first and is the sweetest natured child. He is just like his dad. Even-tempered, calm (most of the time), smart -- WOW is he smart. He is my easy child. He can get his feelings hurt easily, so we're working on that. We don't want him picked on by the other kids for his sensitivity, and, .....well, let's face it. HE'S A BOY! He's supposed to be rough-n-tumble, rowdy, running h--- for leather everywhere he goes, and mostly he does. He just happens to be a little too sensitive sometimes. He's a leader, yet he can follow. He can run with the big boys or sit and watch television. I think he's developing mine and his father's love of reading. But he won't give me hugs or kisses if anyone is watching -- even strangers. He's growing up. I can see the beginnings of the man he will become. I love him SO much. He was born just last week, I don't care WHEN his age says he arrived. He's my baby.
M is the youngest. He is my charmer. He is just like me -- bless his little heart. He is tempermental, high-maintenance, prone to temper tantrums, and just, well, like me. I have no doubt he will stay in A LOT of trouble. But he's a charmer. When he smiles, everyone smiles -- even me, though I cringe also wondering just what it is he's about to do. When he cries, everyone cringes. He won't sit still for anything. Even when he's watching Spongebob Squarepants or Scooby-Doo, he stays in motion. He still happily runs to me every day after preschool like he hasn't seen me in a week. He still gives me kisses and hugs whenever I ask, and sometimes when I don't. He still snuggles. He's my baby. He was just born yesterday, at least in my mind.
They are my treasures. My own personal miracles (okay, I admit, my husband did have something to do with them getting here.) They are my little angels, especially when they are sleeping and not destroying their room, or asking 50 questions, or sneaking out of bed to play. When I get hugs and kisses and hear, "I love you, Mama," I swear I see their halos (appropriately held up by their devil horns). One day, maybe they will know just how much I love them. How often I thank God for entrusting me with them. How fearfully I pray I can do right by them and raise them to be men like their father. One day. Maybe.
Meanwhile, I'll love them, and hug them; yell at them then apologize; spank them and cry in my bedroom; then love them more. I'll kiss them while they are sleeping and pray to God to watch over them, to make me a better mother, and to help me love them even more. I will do things right, and I will do things wrong. I just hope and pray in the end, I will have done MORE right than wrong.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
As a Wife.....
Today's blog is from the perspective of "Wife." A friend, Hello Rosie posted her blog this morning about the 5 Love Languages. (if you don't know what they are, please look them up. You'll be glad you did.) This, of course, got me thinking. My husband and I don't speak the same Love Language. Mine is Words of Affirmation with a close second being Physical Touch. His, on the other hand, is Acts of Service. This can lead to miscommunication.
For example, the other night, my husband and I had.........well, an unpleasant conversation. Not a fight, but there was certainly no laughter in the room. Sometimes it's the language we speak, the language we hear, or sometimes, it's just the timing. The conversation left what I'm going to call a marriage bruise. You know what those are. Feelings were hurt, you're both scared to touch the subject again because it's still sore (like a bruise), but it will go away (like a bruise). Eventually. How long it takes depends on the size of the bruise. Hopefully, this one is just a small one and will disappear quickly. Not one of those that turns all the beautiful colors of the rainbow and HURTS for a looooooooong time.
But as my friend reminded me with her post, maybe I should look back over the last little while (translation: months) and remember everything he has done FOR me and try to forget what he hasn't verbalized. Like a man, he can stick his foot in his mouth. And like a woman (see? I can be fair), sometimes I don't hear what is said. I hear a different version that may not match what he meant. Then, maybe, I should try to speak HIS language instead of always expecting him to speak mine.
So, this blog is about a wife. But about a wife apologizing to her husband for not being the wife she should be. He really is a great guy. I don't always give him the credit due him, and for that I am also sorry. He isn't perfect, but he's mine, and I love him. More than he can possibly understand, and more than he will ever know. I know it's cliched, but he really is my soul-mate. And it hurts horribly when things are....discordant...between us.
For example, the other night, my husband and I had.........well, an unpleasant conversation. Not a fight, but there was certainly no laughter in the room. Sometimes it's the language we speak, the language we hear, or sometimes, it's just the timing. The conversation left what I'm going to call a marriage bruise. You know what those are. Feelings were hurt, you're both scared to touch the subject again because it's still sore (like a bruise), but it will go away (like a bruise). Eventually. How long it takes depends on the size of the bruise. Hopefully, this one is just a small one and will disappear quickly. Not one of those that turns all the beautiful colors of the rainbow and HURTS for a looooooooong time.
But as my friend reminded me with her post, maybe I should look back over the last little while (translation: months) and remember everything he has done FOR me and try to forget what he hasn't verbalized. Like a man, he can stick his foot in his mouth. And like a woman (see? I can be fair), sometimes I don't hear what is said. I hear a different version that may not match what he meant. Then, maybe, I should try to speak HIS language instead of always expecting him to speak mine.
So, this blog is about a wife. But about a wife apologizing to her husband for not being the wife she should be. He really is a great guy. I don't always give him the credit due him, and for that I am also sorry. He isn't perfect, but he's mine, and I love him. More than he can possibly understand, and more than he will ever know. I know it's cliched, but he really is my soul-mate. And it hurts horribly when things are....discordant...between us.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
High School Reunions
It's been 23 years since I graduated high school (I know, that makes me older than dirt). An old friend is trying to put together a reunion. I may not have graduated from this high school, but I attended school there most of my life and I consider it home. But in trying to help her find old classmates, I have begun thinking about old friends, new friends, and what it's like to have a friend.
Old friends are great. You've known them FOREVER (or so it seems), yet after 23 years, marriage, divorce (sometimes), kids, career changes, moves, and all of those other life-changes that happen, are they really still "friends" or just people we used to know. They know how some old scars happened - first loves, first kisses, first car wrecks, the night you lost your virginity (and to who and whether or not it was any good), but what do they know about you lately? Are you still friends?
New friends are wonderful, too. They know all about your life now. They know whether you're kids are driving you crazy today and you're willing to give them away to the first sucker you find; or being sweet little angels you wouldn't consider selling for a million dollars. They know if you're rich or having financial trouble, if you are hormonal or even-tempered, if you're fantasizing about jumping your husband tonight or smothering him in his sleep. They know it all. Except what made you who you are today.
The rarest friends and the best friends are both. They were there in the beginning, through everything in the middle, and came out the other side with you. Still standing beside you, supporting you and being supported by you. Laughing with you, laughing at you, crying on you, crying with you. They've celebrated every joy and grieved over every loss.
True friends are rare and precious. They are the ones you can call at any time and they'll be there. Not with judgement or condemnation, just support and fellowship and love. Questions can wait til you feel like answering, IF you feel like answering. Secrets are kept. Details don't matter. Helping does. Like the little boy who had a neighbor whose wife had died. He went over and visited. His mom asked him later what he did. The little boy said, "Nothing, mama. I just helped him cry." That is a friend. How many of us have one of those? How many of us ARE one of those?
I hope each of you can count me as a friend like that. I will be there for each and every one of you. I'll keep your secrets. I'll hold your tears in my heart. I'll keep you in my prayers. Please know that if YOU ever need a friend, you can call me. I'll be there. No questions asked.
Old friends are great. You've known them FOREVER (or so it seems), yet after 23 years, marriage, divorce (sometimes), kids, career changes, moves, and all of those other life-changes that happen, are they really still "friends" or just people we used to know. They know how some old scars happened - first loves, first kisses, first car wrecks, the night you lost your virginity (and to who and whether or not it was any good), but what do they know about you lately? Are you still friends?
New friends are wonderful, too. They know all about your life now. They know whether you're kids are driving you crazy today and you're willing to give them away to the first sucker you find; or being sweet little angels you wouldn't consider selling for a million dollars. They know if you're rich or having financial trouble, if you are hormonal or even-tempered, if you're fantasizing about jumping your husband tonight or smothering him in his sleep. They know it all. Except what made you who you are today.
The rarest friends and the best friends are both. They were there in the beginning, through everything in the middle, and came out the other side with you. Still standing beside you, supporting you and being supported by you. Laughing with you, laughing at you, crying on you, crying with you. They've celebrated every joy and grieved over every loss.
True friends are rare and precious. They are the ones you can call at any time and they'll be there. Not with judgement or condemnation, just support and fellowship and love. Questions can wait til you feel like answering, IF you feel like answering. Secrets are kept. Details don't matter. Helping does. Like the little boy who had a neighbor whose wife had died. He went over and visited. His mom asked him later what he did. The little boy said, "Nothing, mama. I just helped him cry." That is a friend. How many of us have one of those? How many of us ARE one of those?
I hope each of you can count me as a friend like that. I will be there for each and every one of you. I'll keep your secrets. I'll hold your tears in my heart. I'll keep you in my prayers. Please know that if YOU ever need a friend, you can call me. I'll be there. No questions asked.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Beginning
This is my first post, so please bear with me. I don't really know what I'm doing, but I have no doubt I will end up treating this as a "Dear Diary" letter. Though I do hope to remember that someone might actually read something I post.
First of all, if someone IS reading this, well, Thank You. I never really expected anyone to be interested enough in my life to check out a blog I might write. If you change your mind now about reading this, I understand completely, though I hope you'll read on a little longer.
Second of all, be warned. I will probably brag on my children, invite you to laugh at my children and me, or (on my more insightful days) make you think. Sometimes I have philosophical days. Sometimes I just want someone to laugh with me (even if it's AT me). Sometimes I want someone to cry with me.
Lastly, please be nice. If you disagree with something I post, you are entitled to your opinion. I'm not right all the time, but my opinions are mine and I am entitled to them. Don't make nasty comments to me, or to other commentators. This forum is rather public, and everyone should have manners.
Thank you in advance.
First of all, if someone IS reading this, well, Thank You. I never really expected anyone to be interested enough in my life to check out a blog I might write. If you change your mind now about reading this, I understand completely, though I hope you'll read on a little longer.
Second of all, be warned. I will probably brag on my children, invite you to laugh at my children and me, or (on my more insightful days) make you think. Sometimes I have philosophical days. Sometimes I just want someone to laugh with me (even if it's AT me). Sometimes I want someone to cry with me.
Lastly, please be nice. If you disagree with something I post, you are entitled to your opinion. I'm not right all the time, but my opinions are mine and I am entitled to them. Don't make nasty comments to me, or to other commentators. This forum is rather public, and everyone should have manners.
Thank you in advance.
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