Step-family Talk

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.