The joys of home

 I am home body. I LOVE to be at home. Our home is neither big, nor extravagant (in fact, it's an apartment) but it is cozy and warm and relaxing and we love it. My step-daughter has a beautiful room of her own that is filled from floor to ceiling with all the things she loves, and photos of all the people she loves (including her BM). My home is my sanctuary. It is where I long to be most of the time. 

So, our home is about 30-45 minutes away from where my husband's ex lives. The main reason for this is because we choose to live close to where we both work. The secondary reason is that BM lives in a, and there is no other way to put this, crummy town. It's just not a good place to live if you can help it, and it keeps going further downhill every year. We wish that she would move toward us. We have begged for her to move toward us so Bailey can be in a better school. But, in many ways this physical distance is the best thing that could have ever happened to us, as I never have to worry about running into BM at the grocery store or anywhere else. This calms me. I have learned that the less I actually see her, the happier I am. When she is just a voice over a telephone or the person on the other end of a text message it is so much easier for me to disconnect and not, well, hate her guts. And this is SO good for everyone! Happy Stepmommy = happy family!

BUT. And this is a big but; it pains my husband that we don't live closer. In many ways it hurts me too, and our family. My husband fought in court to get an extra evening every week with his daughter, which means we pick her up two nights a week every week (M,W), and three nights on the weeks we have her for the weekend (M, W, F-Su). I think it's wonderful that he gets that extra time with her. It's a beautiful thing! But what it means for us is that we don't have a lot of time at home in the evenings. We only have her from 6-8pm on the school nights during the week, which is not long enough for us to drive her all the way to our house, have dinner, and get her back to her BM's by 8pm. So, we are stuck "out" at least 2 nights a week.

It is expensive, it is exhausting, and it is discouraging.

Trying to find an inexpensive and healthy place for dinner in the small and run-down town where she lives is nearly impossible. And dinner with a 6 year old doesn't last two hours. So afterward we have to find somewhere else to go for an hour that isn't too far from where we just ate. I scour the internet almost daily to try to find new ideas for things to do in this town, but there is just NOTHING. Over the past two years, we have been to every restaurant, every park, every library, every book-store, every pet-shop, every mall, every chuck-e-cheese, and every pool in the entire town. Dozens of times.

I long to be able to pick her up from school, bring her home, and have dinner together at our table. And afterward maybe play a board game or read books to each other. Maybe one day!

The Ringmaster of Lies

 Oh, you’re not the real mom?

For our family, it’s a confusing situation for a host of reasons. First of all, (and luckily for me) my step daughter is an extremely affectionate child. I myself am a very physically affectionate person also. So it’s not unusual for her to hold my hand, give me kisses, sit in my lap, or hug me in public for no reason other than to say “I love you.” Since she is still very young, she also has a tendency to cling to me sometimes if she’s feeling nervous or shy. This close proximity and intimacy between us immediately puts people in mind to assume she is my biological daughter. I cannot fault them for this assumption. Secondly, we look a lot alike. I mean, A LOT. We have the same skin tone, the same blonde hair, the same brown eyes, even the same heart shaped face. Couple that with our obvious love for each other and it actually causes strangers drop their jaws when we let slip that we are not blood related, that I am in fact the dreaded Step Mother.

I have several conflicting view points on this phenomenon. I have to admit, at first I thought it was pretty cool that the three of us looked like an instant family. Bailey looks like our daughter together; no doubt about it. She seemingly has some of his features and some of mine. Whenever someone assumes this, which they almost always do, they immediately refer to me as “Mom.” As in “Is that okay with your Mom?” or “Maybe your Mommy would like to do that with you.” To which Bailey gives me that unmistakable look; wordlessly asking me to explain to this total stranger that I am married to her Dad and I am actually her step-mother, and her real mom is at home right now. It sounds like it would be an easy thing to do – and in theory it should be. But it’s one of the hardest things to explain, especially to a stranger. No less because, in most cases, they really don’t care and aren’t interested in hearing the long story of your family history and how you’re working to develop your family dynamic. Little did I realize that looking just like Bailey would turn out to be somewhat of a curse for us. 

Waiters and Waitresses are among the top offenders; which I think mostly stems from their endeavors to be friendly and personable (and their desire to get a tip). But the minute I tell people that I’m actually the Step-mom, it’s as if I’ve just uttered a dirty word in their (and our child’s) presence. And I should feel ashamed, very ashamed for putting up such a sham. More disturbingly, sometimes they actually take offense to this and assume that I’ve been trying to ‘get one over on them.’ As if just by going along with our life and acting the way we always do together (as a loving family) the three of us have somehow duped them into believing a lie, and then rudely interrupted that fantasy with a full-frontal-reality check. It’s like my family is an evil, deceitful, circus act and I am the ringmaster of lies.

And it makes me want to shout out that “I AM NOT THE RINGMASTER OF LIES!” Because I really DO love my step-daughter, it is not an act, and we are perfectly happy without their dirty looks. And of course I am going to mother her when she is with me! She is a little girl and I am the adult female who's there when she spends time with her Dad. It's natural! It's normal! You are the weird one! But this is not something one should shout at a restaurant. And so we all just smile and allow it to be sufficiently awkward. And my poor, sweet, loving husband has no idea what to say.

It doesn’t help that Bailey is an extremely beautiful, sweet, and kind little girl. She is noticeably cute and funny and she pretty much attracts attention wherever she goes. I never know what to do when strangers compliment ME on how pretty or sweet or funny SHE is. This was especially difficult for me in the very beginning, when I had no bearing or influence what-so-ever on her appearance OR her personality. But there really isn’t an opening to explain this fact to a nice stranger giving a quick compliment. At least now, I can take the compliment to heart because I really do believe that I’ve had an influence on her manners and personality; and although not on the creation of her body, certainly the cuteness of her clothes and neatness of her hair. Besides, I’ve discovered the easiest response to those types of compliments are to just agree with the person. So I just say, “She sure IS beautiful!” And then tell her to “Say thank you, Bailey!” And she does.

Robot Step-Mom

When I was a little girl, there was a time I believed that when I was a grown up I would wear pretty dresses and cook dinner for my husband and children in high heels with a fancy apron on. I kind of wanted to be like a Stepford Wife, long before I really understood what that meant. They were beautiful. Thin. Perky. Perfect. Always smiling, always working, never complaining. I must have overlooked that small little detail that they were freakish ROBOTS without feelings! When it occurred to me that this was actually NOT what I wanted for myself at all, it never crossed my mind that years later I would find myself in a situation where I was expected to act like a happy, beautiful, productive robot.

Then I got married and became a step-mom.

And it hit me one day, that this was EXACTLY what I was expected to do. Society expected me to do this. My husband's parents expected me to do this. Certainly my husband's ex-wife expected me to do this. Even, at times, my own family and friends expected me to do this. Smile, look pretty, and work harder. And if I couldn't? Fake it. After all, it wasn't like I was becoming a real mom. What was the big deal? 

But the love I felt for my step-daughter felt real. My maternal instinct felt real. My new family felt real. And the laundry, dishes, and stress felt very real. So I started searching for other people in my situation, and I was shocked to find that not only were their feelings similar, they were exactly the same. It was as if others had watched these events unfolding outside my window and then wrote blogs about my life.

I haven’t been a step-mom long enough to be called a veteran, but I think I’ve at least made it through boot camp alive. This blog is for the rest of my journey.