Step-family Talk

We had a great weekend. We took the kids out to the mountain and let them all run around and play. They had a ball finding animals, catching grasshoppers, playing in the stream, etc. And we had a few brief moments of silence while they weren’t running up to show us their latest catch.

His ex called us late Thursday night to arrange a pickup time for the kids and she was even there on time and fairly pleasant to deal with.

I keep hoping but not aloud that she will turn over a new leaf and just do things the way they should be done without fighting and arguing and making everything about a million times more difficult than it really needs to be but at the same time I’m not about to hold my breath or anything because it just doesn’t seem like she really will even though I’d love for it to happen.

I’d also love to avoid anymore charges from the lawyer who we already owe a TON of money to.

When it comes to a new step family adjusting to each other it really is the little things that show you that you really and truly are making a bit of progress. When Love and I first got married my kids, my oldest in particular, wanted not a lot to do with him. I hated it because I knew it made him feel somewhat bad and it lead to hurt feelings, him trying to avoid the kids, etc.
Well last night I realized we were making a bit of progress. After dinner he went upstairs to relax as he’d had a long day. Usually he hangs out with the kids and I until their bedroom so they noticed his absence. First my youngest asked where he was. Then when it came time to put on jammies he needed to get a shirt out of my room. I told him to go ahead, but knock first. I heard him run upstairs and knock and go into my room where he stayed for a good five minutes teasing around with Love.
Earlier in the day my oldest had drawn some pictures he was quite proud of and he asked if he could go up and show them to Love. That about shocked my socks right off and I think it had the same effect on Love as he mentioned it later after the kiddos had gone off to bed.
It is nice when things start to come together. Of course things aren’t perfect but it is wonderful when they start to look like it all might actually work out someday.

Okay so that may sound a bit on the vain side but yesterday I have to admit I was pretty dang impressed with myself. My husband was up all night Saturday night sick. UGH. So Sunday morning he was exhausted and he looked exhausted. I let him sleep in while I got all seven kids ready for church, which is exactly as big of a chore as it seems. Especially since we got in late Saturday night and it was too late for anyone to shower (way past bedtime) so all seven kids, plus myself had to shower. My poor water heater.

Anyway, I got the kids ready and woke him up about a half hour before we needed to leave and I could tell he was still feeling pretty awful so I told him to go back to bed and I, just little ole me, took all seven kids to church.

Let me tell you it was nothing short of a miracle that we all made it through. Actually they were very well behaved. Of course, I think the Lord may have cut me a little slack since I even made the attempt to take them all on my own. But they were great and aside from having to make a lot of trips to the bathroom, I was very impressed with their behavior

I’m so exhausted. Sadly it wasn’t the holiday that kicked my trash as much as it was the working after the holiday. I work retail so I had to be up and at work (which is thirty minutes away) by 5 am the day after Thanksgiving. Ick. Let me tell you what, I was a tired tired woman after working Friday and Saturday with all the holiday shoppers (who are soooooo rude by the by).

Anyway, I had to work early and my babysitter/sister was out of town at my folks house for the dinner so I was left without a sitter for the boys. I was asking anyone I could think of and was about to the end of my rope when my husband’s boss told them they wouldn’t be working that day.

Up until now, he hasn’t stayed a full day alone with the kids, mostly because I am always here, so I was kinda nervous that they would all drive each other crazy and I’d come home and the kids would have him tied up in the closet or something, hehe. But when I walked through the door they were all hanging out on the couch watching movies. The kids were so excited because he had taken them to find petrified wood and then (and I think this was the kicker) he took them to McDonalds and even let them go inside and play at the Playplace. Which their mean old mom never does.

It was great to see them all getting along so well. Makes it all feel like it’s going to be okay for a second.

I am naturally maternal. I nuture and boss everyone’s children. I cannot help myself. So, of course, I bonded very quickly with my husband’s kids. I treat them just like I treat my own children, except that I let my husband take care of disciplining them. I’m not quite comfortable with that yet.

However, even though my kids and my husband get along really well, there hasn’t been much in the way of bonding. The kids aren’t making the first move and neither is he. Now don’t get me wrong, he really likes my kids, it’s just he is a guy and he’s spent years building up all these barriers that he needed to be alone and we are tearing those puppies down, hehe.

Last night I saw a real glimmer of what is to come and it was awesome! We rented Ratatouille . We had popped popcorn and drinks and junior mints and we all sat down to watch the movie. My husband and my kids were joking around with each other. Teasing and smiling. It was really fantastic. I know it might not sound like a major moment but it really was for me.

My husband and I don’t actually have twins though some days it definitely feels like that. His oldest son is eight days older than my oldest son. Therefore… the twins.

I get stressed out sometimes when they are together because they have such contrasting personalities. Add that to the small little detail that both of them are used to being the oldest and it causes all sorts of ‘You can’t tell me what to do’ issues.

Our usual schedule is my kids go to see their dad every weekend. (While the visitation schedule is techniqually only every other weekend, we’ve found this works best for us. The boys and their father enjoy seeing each other and so unless we have an event on the weekend, I let them have their time together). We get my husband’s children every other weekend.

This past weekend I had my kids until Saturday morning. So the family had a night together. After the kids had been together for about an hour, our oldest two boys were actually playing together. I was kinda shocked. Absolutely tickled but keeping my fingers crossed that it would stay friendly. Which it did. Making quite a nice night with all of us watching a movie together.

I try to keep a firm hold on the memories of days like this because with so many children it isn’t often when everyone gets along.

Yesterday my stepdaughter called me to wish me a happy anniversary. I have to admit at first I didn’t even recognize her voice and then I was stunned. My wife and I celebrated our anniversary two weeks early while we were on vacation. With everything else going on, the actual day had slipped up the both of us, if it hadn’t been for the phone call from my stepdaughter we both would have forgotten about it yesterday. Thanks to her phone call, we had an excuse to go out for dinner.

Another thing happened. We talked about the move. Of course, most of the talk consisted of her asking for things. I didn’t shoot down her idea to paint her room, even though it looks as if it is going to wind up pink and purple. I was just happy that she was looking for a way to make the room her own. It shows she is accepting the move. At the end of the phone call, I realized that it was the longest phone conversation we ever had. Usually if I am on the phone with her the call sounds like this:

“I want to go home. Can you come pick me up?”
“What? Right now?”
“Yes.”
“I’m at work. It’s an hour a way.”
“So.”
“You could walk home in ten minutes.”
“I don’t want to walk.”
“Sorry. You know I can’t leave work.”
“Whatever, bye.” CLICK….

My brain is either metamorphosing into it’s next stage of development and it’s apparently a very painful process or Sam Kinison accidentally astral projected into my head, whatever the real cause of the headache I can barely keep my eyes straight. Mom’s not home yet and my son is eager to run about the house and play so I need to stay down here until she arrives. So, I turn on the TV to subdue whatever brain activity is still left and nothing numbs the brain better than television. I flip through stations and I get angrier and angrier, Paris Hilton has been ‘reassigned” to imprisonment in her million-dollar home. This isn’t helping the headache so I jump up to the movie selections and God Bless him, there he is, Pauley Shore. Nothing numbs the brain like the Weasel weasin’ the jui-uice, buddy.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” My stepdaughter is walking the down the stairs and hears me talking to myself.
“Doing what?” she asks.
“Watching Encino Man,” I answer.

She plops a seat in the recliner and Pauley works his magic. She becomes nearly catatonic as she stares at he screen. I barely notice my son standing at the edge of my chair. He is looking me straight in the eyes, I can feel them calling to me, “Come back father, come back.” So powerful is his will that my eyes are ripped from the images on the screen and are drawn straight into his. When he knows I am looking he drops his head and shoulders back in his most anguished “woe is me” pose and cries real tears. Then he throws his head in my lap and I know he is hungry.

The kitchen is less than a dozen steps away but with my headache I might as well be heading to the back 40 to find and milk Old Bessie. I get up anyway and grab a bottle of milk and my son and together we return to the comfy chair and Encino, California. I arrive just in time for a makeover montage as Pauley and Sean Astin clean-up Brenden Fraser and give him a new wardrobe. My pupils begin to constrict and I’m nearly out when—

“I like those shorts. Is that really how you guys dressed in high school.?”
I crawl back to a more conscious state and a pounding head, “What?”
“Did you dress like that in school?” my stepdaughter asks.
“No.”
“Was it just because your school wasn’t cool?”
“Are you for real?” I ask, “He looks like a golfer and a camera man collided, do you think that’s cool?”
“No, but wasn’t that how everyone dressed?”

She’s really going to make me do this. She’s making me think about the past. Mental visions of my high school days flicker and sort through the various stored images of friends, rivals, and the girls I fawned over. No, I can’t recall people dressing like that. Granted it was a small school, but those clothes had to have come from a slightly earlier era. I check the info button. Encino Man comes from 1992. I was a junior.

“No,” I say, “You have to understand, nobody dresses like Pauley Shore. He does his own thing.”
“But what about the rest of them?”

I’m really starting to doubt my own memories, perhaps we really did dress like that. “Think of it this way,” I say, “The people making this film have been out of high school for years. They are dressing up their characters in what they think high school kids at that time wore. Do you think that these people were any more knowledgeable about what is cool than an adult is now ?”

My stepdaughter laughs. She’s sees how true this is. But just to drive home the point I remind her that we never, ever, dressed like that…I think.

One day after the all out war with her mother, my stepdaughter greets me and her baby brother at the door. She is always excited to see her brother. Seeing us, not so much. But, she is in a good mood and I know it is safe to come in and joke about the outfit she has chosen to wear around the house. The shorts and t-shirt are normal, but where the striped socks come in to play I have no idea. I thought they went out of fashion when Pippi Long Stocking decided to stay in Villa Villekulla. I shake my head and remember that my fashion choices as a child were a bit eccentric as well—such is the privilege of youth.

Before I am able to allude to a Pippi Long Stocking joke she has gobbled up her little brother in a hug. He is doing his best to escape from her clutches. The time for the sock joke has passed, I decide she wouldn’t get it anyway. So, I turn to rescuing her brother. Usually, this is a big ordeal, because she can’t understand why her brother comes running to me to be held all the time and won’t tolerate her holding him. Today, she sets him on his feet and dashes up stairs. “It’s a big project.”

My son’s eyes caught a glimpse of the sleeping dog and he rushes across the room to wake his playmate. Its 5’oclock and I actually have five minutes to myself. I grab a pen and create a grocery list, because as soon as Mom walks in the door I have to scramble. There’s lettuce to be picked. I’m excited. Tonight I will make my first meal using food from my first garden. But, I haven’t even penned the second item on my grocery list, before a blur of sock and high pitched excitement comes scrambling down the stairs.

“My room is so awesome,” shouts my daughter. “I wish I had a couch in it though.” I suggest she takes the lounge chair from the living room. No time for punctuation, she said, “ReallycanItakeitnowIcancarryitonmyown.” And the chair was halfway up the stairs. This from the girl who finds carrying a plate from the family room to the kitchen is too much work. I hear the thud and slide of the chair move down the hall and then the excited slam of her bedroom door.

I chuckle, check on my son and realize the dog food is still on the floor and he has found it. Fortunately the dog finished of the food, so my son had contented himself with splashing his hand in the water bowl. I move the bowls out of his reach and let him get back to chasing the dog. Back at the table I get one more item on the list and then once again I hear the thump of blue stripes racing down the stairs. “My room is so awesome,” shouts my daughter. “I need a different lamp, can I have that one?” I tell her it okay by me if her mother doesn’t mind. I know her mother won’t mind, but I want Mom to get a chance to give something to her daughter. “Okay,” she says, and then dashes back up the stairs. I hear, “My room is so awesome,” trail behind her.

I shake my head and laugh once more, because the striped bundle of energy that can’t seem to keep her enthusiasm over her room to herself is grounded and her room is all she really has and she’s making the most out of it. Her hero, Paris Hilton (I groan at the thought), could learn a lesson from her. A lamp and a chair and suddenly you’ve got an awesome place to stay.