Momma, Momma

Happy Mother’s Day!

Mothers are my heroes.

You are to be put on a pedestal every day of the year. And, may your official day be full of what makes you happy.

Stepmothering 101

When I met my future husband, he came with a dog and a son. The dog left us. My stepson wanted to many times, and I am so very glad he didn’t.

I entered his life at a vulnerable time. His parents were going through a fairly contentious break-up. My priorities did not align with his; as in not in the same stratosphere.

I was beyond green when it came to married life, and then throw in a seven-year-old who blew in and out of our lives twice a week and every other weekend. I didn’t even know what I didn’t know. I was a hot mess before the mess knew it was hot.

Most of my adult life included me and only me. As a new wife, it never occurred to me that I would be adding stepmother to my title. I now had to:

• Share a bathroom
• Be expected to grocery shop each week
• Attend school conferences
• Check homework
• Act like the grown-up that clearly I wasn’t

“Momma, Momma!” I frequently heard myself calling out loud for my own mother’s wisdom and perspective on this new frontier that lies before me. Time to put your big girl petticoat on, Laura Ingalls.

As I have mentioned in other blogs, my husband is typically a kind and patient man. I know that I tested those traits quite regularly when my stepson was growing up. Little did I realize that I was growing up right alongside him.

For those of you who are part of a family dynamic that involves a broken marriage with children, I believe you understand. You cannot make this s$%t up, I promise.

Mother Always Knows Best

I needed to talk to someone, pronto. Who better than your mother?

She was brutally honest. She told me that I had to somehow figure out where I fit in in a situation where I may not be wanted. What? Who wouldn’t want me? Unfathomable.

I was not my step-son’s mother. Yet, I was responsible for his well-being during the scheduled blow-ins. And, the powerless feeling that we couldn’t control or gauge when we weren’t together was very tough. It was full of fits and stops, and I was having a hard time with the lack of consistency.

My mom was brutally honest with me. I didn’t like it. She continued. It’s what mothers do. I resisted. I cried. I was the worst stepmother.

This was not what I envisioned happily-ever-after to be. I’m quite sure my step-son concurred, as did my husband.

Eureka!

I don’t know how it happened. I got hit in the head with the smart stick. Some never need it, while others need a tap, and in my case a big whack. I figured it out!!! This step-mother gig was not about me.

Nothing is bigger than your kids. Nothing.

The irony is that my mother knew this. She couldn’t tell me; she knew I had to come to this epiphany on my own.

Amazing how the dynamics change when the cast members not only know their role but play the part they were meant to play.

Mothers, keep doing what you do. Thank you.

#Fiercely50ish!