Why hate the word Step (parent)?

Several times lately I have heard the term stepmother or stepfather used in the negative, as in "there are no 'steps' in our house" or "it really bothers me when someone identifies themselves as a 'step' parent" or "why does a step parent always have to point out that the child isn't theirs"?  I am a step mother.  I am also a mother.  I love all of my children...my step children and my natural children and the 'step' daughter who was old enough to be getting married and having her own children when I married her father that we have decided I can be her kids grama and her friend because otherwise would have been just silly. 

I am not ashamed to identify myself as a step mother.  I will admit there have been times when some nameless bureaucrat has asked me if I am the mother and I said yes (even once in the case of the eldest).  It is 1.  easier and 2.  none of their business.  But the rest of the time I am happy to explain my complex family if someone really has the time to figure it all out. 

There are times when it is absolutely appropriate for a step parent to use the parent moniker.  If the child is very young, maybe.  If the other natural parent is not present, maybe.  If all of the parents are in agreement that is how it will be done, maybe.  If the child wants you to, probably.  Every situation is absolutely unique.  I am only addressing those who have made me feel like I should be ashamed to acknowledge my status as a step mother or that I should somehow be something other.

When a parent marries another parent and the children are not adults, there is always going to be some family blending issues.  I can't imagine a situation where there is not, but I suppose it happens.  For the step parent, there are so many issues that are out of your control that are going to effect your relationship with the children:  How old they are,  how recent the split was, how accepting the other parent is of you, the parenting style of your new spouse, the parenting style of their other parent, what happens when they are not in your home, and of course, money.  All of those issues can work for you or against you. 

Trying to be the parent, instead of the step parent, when the natural parent is still involved is a bad idea in most cases, I think, even if the child lives with you.  In fact, the more things that work against you, the harder it is.  You have to accept that you will always be the least important 'parent'.  Not that you won't do as much as the 'real' parents, you will do that and more.  You will try harder, listen more, get more frustrated, and get your feelings hurt the most.  You will be ignored, tested, and pushed to your limits.  You will be excluded and then asked to be inclusive, almost in the next breath.  You will be grateful for the little things and understanding of the big ones.  You will share your spouse with the parent of his/her child(ren), forever, because that is just the way it is and if you don't like it don't sign up.

I am a step mother, I love my family, and I am see nothing wrong with that.  

Five Years

Wow.  Five years.  Things change so much in five years.  But yet they don't.  Eventually this world will be unrecognizable to you, but for now, we are all still using Facebook, laptops are still viable, smartphones haven't evolved much and Del's Freeze is still standing.  The world is much like it was when you left.  I have an app that brings up "this day in your life" 1-5 years ago.  I like it, but I worry.  The days in my life 5 years ago are going to go from fantastic to horrific very soon.  I'm ready, I think.  But I'm not.  I'll be at the beach on Sunday.  I'll be watching for you.  I understand that you think I don't need you so much any more...maybe that is true.  Maybe it isn't.  I'm grateful for all you could give when I needed the rainbows and signs.  I miss them though, I'm not going to lie.  I still watch for them and I'm disappointed when they don't happen.

Anyway, I was rereading what I wrote at two years.  Every word of that is still true.  It still is an instant for me when I think I think of those things.  Every memory of that day and that time is still crystal in my mind.  But overall I'm doing better.  I guess that is to be expected.  I thought I might write today about the difference between 2 years and 5 years for me.  First, obviously, I don't write as much.  It is impossible to write "I'm sad" every day for 5 years.  There are people who do it...real bloggers who make a life out of it.  That's not me.  You know that.  So the last time I wrote was around New Years.  I reread all that, so as not to repeat myself.  No worries there, that isn't what this is about. 

Truth be told, I don't hurt as much as I used to.  Wow, that sounds harsh to say.  I think of you every day.  I miss you every day.  I miss what should have been every day.  But I don't live in pain every minute of every day any longer.  I hope you are glad about that.   I think mostly it is because a lot of the things that made me think of you are no longer here...Bear is with you, we moved, the music you loved seldom plays any more, new music that you never heard is now the norm.   I have numbed to the songs that make me cry...usually I can tough it out.  The anger is less now, but still present, I'm not going to lie.  I still get angry more than I get sad. 

Before you died, I never had a true tragedy in my life.  I had no idea what that even meant.  I would love to say that I am now a perfect person, but of course that isn't true.  The best I can say is that now I see other people's tragedies...perhaps I am getting older and they are happening more often, but I think it is more likely, that before I wasn't the type of person that people would share their problems with.  I hope I am doing better and helping people.  I hope someday to do much better...someday I would like to make helping people a true priority.  For now I try to help my friends and those I see in immediate need, but the world needs more than that.

So, five years.  Where am I?  Well, this is the first summer that I haven't slowed to part time for this part of the year, so that is progress.  We do have company coming over the 4th of July and that scares me.  Please send tolerance.  My box of Michaela, that I carry with me in my thoughts, never leaves my side, but I don't have to pull it out and examine it quite so often.  My rainbows have gone and that hurts.  I still watch the babies for signs that they might 'know' you.  I love that Ava drew an almost exact replica of your oil painting and that one day Miley got up and kissed it for no good reason.  I no longer try to assign meaning to such little things, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying them. 

I have books on grief sitting in the other room.  Books that I intend to read...but for now I'd rather lose myself in a novel in the few spare minutes I have.  I know grief now, I'm not sure someone else telling me what to do is still helpful.  Even my counselor, who I quit seeing years ago, told me "I'm obviously the Capt of my own ship" and pushed me out of the nest.  So I accept that sometimes I just want to curl up in the nest and be alone with you and myself and my anger.  It doesn't happen so often and that is good. 

I no longer have to sit with my back to the wall and have a quick exit strategy.  I seldom have to close my office door to be left alone.  I don't stalk your friends any longer to see where you might be today, slowly I am unfriending them as their lives move on and their posts no longer are relevant to me.  I haven't missed a day of work because my eyes were too swollen from a crying jag yet this year (that I remember).  I still don't do crowds well, though, not like I used to be able to work a room.  I still prefer small groups to big ones and close friends to new friends.  I still gravitate towards those who I already know and love and make little effort to open to new people.  I still don't have patience for those who want to make drama where drama is silly.  And occasionally I still lose my temper or control of my thoughts (mouth) and have to apologize later.

Most noticeably, I don't expect it to be you when the phone rings.  I don't look for your comments on Facebook.  I don't worry where you are late at night.  I don't constantly think that I need to remember to tell you something interesting.  I don't wonder how you are feeling or what you are thinking about current events.  I don't feel the need to tell you about my day, my new challenges, or explain why I haven't done what I said I would do.  I quit thinking about what you would like to eat when I am grocery shopping and what you would like when I happen to see things that you would like (ok, that one might be a lie).  I quit judging my decisions with any thought as to what Michaela would think about it (another lie).  In fact, I'm quite fine and don't miss you at all....(the eternal lie). 

So that, is the difference for me between 2 years and 5.  I wish I knew how it is for you.  I will write again soon.  Just a newsy letter to tell you what is going on down here.  I know you are busy keeping up with everyone, so I can help you out, lol.  Fly with those wings baby girl, fly like the wind.  But stop by and see me once in awhile.  I miss you.

the blond must be yours

At work I have a cork board full of pictures on my wall.  I change them out every few months.  Mostly keeping pictures of the grandkids relatively current.  Sometimes updating the kids pics  or new pics of something we have done recently.  Stuff like that. 

Today a young man (25-30) from another office was working in my office.  Somehow the conversation got onto parents and how since his parents have retired, they are more pushy with him.  I was sort of half listening, half working, but I remember him saying they (his sister and him) had gotten their parents dogs so they would stop bothering them about grandchildren and marriage.  He mentioned that every time he dated someone they would get excited hoping she was 'the one'.

I laughed and said I understood that, but I was lucky, because I had lots of grandkids already.  He pointed at my board and said 'I see that, but I wasn't sure which was which, how many kids do you  have?' I laughed and said the adults are ours and the kids are grandkids (not a strange answer because two women in my office, near my age have kids younger than my older grandkids). 

I gave my standard answer that my husband and I have 5, we're a blended family and we have 5 grandkids.  He kept asking questions, which even at the time I thought was a little odd (I have actually known this young man for awhile), but I just figured small talk, whatever, we're stuck in a small office together for the morning. 

Then he said, 'the blonde looks like you, she must be yours'.  It stopped me in my tracks.  Nobody says that.  Not from a picture.  I recognize that indeed, if you analyze our features, she has a few of mine, but mostly we don't even look like we are from the same country.  Usually people looking at the five kids pictures would pick Brandon and Mistina as mine (because I had said two were mine).  I was so confused that I pointed at the picture closest to me, one of Mich and Heather, and said this one?  And he said, the one in the yellow shirt...a different picture of Mich.  Then he looked at the one I pointed at and said yeah, that one.  I said, yes this one is mine and the other one is my husband's. 

Then I said, she died in a car accident several years ago.  He said he was sorry and the conversation turned to something else.  Diving, I think.  And on my day went...busy, strangely unique, and frustrating.  I didn't think about the conversation again until bedtime.  And as I pondered the thought that someone thought my daughter looked like me, I realized the truth.

He didn't think she looked like me.  He simply wanted more information about her...like is she single?  I am always so desperate for a chance to talk about her, think about her, have somebody recognize her existence that it didn't even cross my mind at the time.  Young, good looking, personable, polite, well employed, just the type of person I would have dreamed of for my daughter. 

If she was alive, I most certainly would have recognized his words for what they were, a quest for information.  Funny how we hear things through the filter of our own experience.