He Duped Me!

I like to pretend that I can’t be fooled by the boys. I can almost always see right through their attempts to lie or manipulate the other brothers in situations. I always thought “I’ll be just like my mom and see through all the B.S.” Then I’m reminded of all the times that I duped my mom. There’s still stuff I’ve done that she doesn’t know about.

The best was a couple of year’s ago when my ex-highschool sweetheart’s stepmom (who loves me still) introduced her in a drunken swagger as “This is the mother of the girl that took my son’s virginity.” Oh yes, that was awesome.

Anyway, so I like to think that I can see through it.

And then there is the other night when I was tired, and cranky, and exhausted. And a whiny, tired, cranky Younger Boy came up to me holding out his toothbrush and tube of training toothpaste to me and says:

YB: Can you please put squeeze the toothpaste for me?
Me: Sure, OK, here you go.
YB: Thank you.

And as he walks away my future hubby says:

FH: So Younger Boy suddenly can’t do anything that he knows how to do?
Me: He doesn’t know how to squeeze out the toothpaste by himself.
FH: Oh yeah? He did it just fine by himself last night.
Me: Damn.

That little stinker duped me! You best bet he squeezed his own toothpaste out tonight when he tried it again. Ha!

Learning Not To Take It Too Personally

This is something that has been on my mind about sharing from our vacation. Part of our trip we spent up in Oregon at my fiancé’s parent’s house. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my almost mother-in-law. From the experience of having my dad’s mom live with us for a couple of months, and my friend’s crazy mother-in-law stories I am, In fact, ever so thankful that she is my almost mother-in-law. However, just as any mother does, she says things that really get under my skin at times.

I’m proud to say that I held my tongue on the “going all crazy on her” part and made a respectable “reason and logic” response to her in my reactions. My editorial director has a post-it note on her desk that said “Actions cause Reactions” and I have always kept that in my mind.

Incident One – You’re Too Hard On Them.
I believe we had just arrived after the long drive up to the middle of no where Oregon. Older Boy, who had gone up with FH’s sister, and their cousins were already in the pool. Middle Boy and Younger Boy of course wanted to join them. I asked FH to go get their swimming trunks. FH’s mother and sister were encouraging the boys to jump into the pool with their underwear on. Although a washer and dryer were available, I’ve been trying to teach the boys patience and insisted they wait until FH brought the swimming trunks out. I also very much wanted them to put sun block on before they got wet. Specifically Middle Boy who is about as fair as a piece of notebook paper.

“Just let them get in. You’re too hard on them,” FH’s mother said to me.

At this point I was really tired, and exhausted and a bit cranky. And frankly was in no mood to be undermined in front of the boys. However, I’m rather used to being told that I need to lighten up and I kept a stretched and tired smile on my face as I responded with, “Maybe so, but they need to learn to be patient. If I’m not consistent in what I expect of them then they’re not going to learn.”

With that said, Middle Boy and Younger Boy waited to put on their swimming trunks and sunscreen before they got in the pool. It’s frustrating to me when I ask them to do one thing and then an extended family member tells them “No it’s ok, do it like this.” They more of less look confused and don’t act until they’ve interpreted my reaction or permission.

Incident Two – You’ve Almost Taken Off A Few Times Already
I really couldn’t tell you what the conversation was about that this lovely statement occurred. I just remember the statement because it took every ounce of strength in me not to stand up and leave the room. The tone she used too was what really did it for me. I believe that the conversation was along the lines of FH’s mom telling me how happy she was that we’re a family, and that she hoped that I knew how important my presence was or something. All I really heard next was “Because you’ve almost taken off a few times already.”

The statement felt more like a red hot poker, and my temper flared. I felt the heat rising to my face. What I wanted to say was “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I instead said nothing and just looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

I know that in the very beginning last year I told FH that if he didn’t start standing up to Jane then I was going to move out because I would be damned if I bent over backward to serve her every need and want.

I also know that there has been a moment or two when I was so incredibly angry that I walked out of the house, jumped in my car and took a drive. Mainly because if I didn’t walk away I would have said something I would regret saying, and I needed time to calm down and figure out just what I was so angry about.

But both those times, I never said that I was leaving the relationship or the family. I never said that I was quitting. I never said that I was out of here. I’ve thought “What the hell am I doing?” but I’ve never thought “OMG, I can’t take this anymore. I’m out of here.”

With my experience in customer service, I swallowed it down. After the initial shock of it passed and it rolled down my shoulder I changed to subject of the conversation. Heck, I really don’t remember what to. I obviously didn’t completely let it go. I’ve harbored it in (until my vent now) but it was one of those things that really just got under my skin.

So learning not to take it personally, whether it is intended to be a personal or not personal statement, is my next feat that I have decided I ought to be working on. I’ve had quite a bit of experience with it from Jane and the boys. Heck, even my own mother has given me a run for my money. But it is by far, not the easiest thing. I worked at it pretty good in the office. In the office letting it roll over my shoulder and not taking it personally was cake. Now if only I could transfer that to my home life.

Adventures on the Road to Becoming an Independent Wiper

As you may recall, I’m currently working with Younger Boy to be an independent wiper. And by “independent wiper” I mean that one of these days we will not have to go through the formalities of how he currently wipes his butt after pooping. And I thought I would take a moment to share some of our adventures on the journey to Younger Boy becoming an independent wiper.

Adventure One – It looks like…
YB: I have to go poop.
Me: OK.
*a couple minutes later*
YB: I need a wipe!
Me: Then wipe! You know how.
YB: Like a square?
Me: Yup! Like a square.*Sneaks over about 30 seconds later to check on the progress of the wipe*
YB: *Standing next to the toilet, pants around his ankles, staring into the poopie toilet paper. Notices me peering around the corner and smiles a huge grin.* I have poop! It looks like chocolate!
Me: *Horror of the comparison of chocolate and horrid actions of what this could result in fills my mind* But it’s poop. Drop it in the toilet.
YB: It looks like chocolate! *Looks at poopie toilet paper again with curiosity*
Me: But it’s poop. So please drop it in the toilet.
YB: *Drops soiled poopie paper in the toilet and looks at me again.* But it looks like chocolate.

He did the same thing the next day. Except this time I didn’t wander over there. I trust that he didn’t do any taste testing; otherwise I’m sure I would have heard a disgusted outcry. But he did, again, make the comparison. Today (three days later) the shiny awesome of “It looks like chocolate” must have worn off. I haven’t heard it yet today.

Adventure Two – What about me?!?
YB: I have to go poop.
Me: OK.
*a couple minutes later*
YB: I need a wipe!
Me: Then wipe! You know how.
YB: Like a square?
Me: Yup! Like a square.
*About 30 seconds later*
YB:*shrill disbelief in his tone* Hey! What about me?!?
Me: *What the? OH DAMMIT!*

The toilet paper roll was just about out! I made it to the bathroom in a couple of swift strides. There stood Younger Boy, his pants around his ankles looking at the empty roll of toilet paper with a confused and sad and frustrated look on his face. He looked up at me with those sad, confused dark brown eyes.

YB: What about me?

It was actually kind of funny and cute, but I held onto my concerned look. I grabbed a new roll and switched it out.

Me: Don’t worry, I got you.
YB: Thank you!

So lessons learned:
1. Maybe don’t react with horror when the discovery that poops looks like chocolate. I think he enjoyed terrorizing me. However, I’m still glad that I made sure to make the distinction that poop is definitely not chocolate.
2. If it’s just you and the toddler in the house and the toilet paper roll is almost empty, just change it. It will save a lot of trouble.

Lesson Learned - Coming Clean With Myself

So there’s a sort of confession that has been on my lips lately. More of a frustration I guess. But man, Middle Boy’s has been irritating me so horridly. It’s horrible of me, isn’t it? I’ve been beating myself up for days now. The thought has disgusted me and all I can think of myself was “You’re such a horrible person for thinking that Crys!”

We’ll I’ve made a discovery today that has given me new perspective. (This is probably why I’m blogging about this today.) It has not only helped ease the pain of guilt and disgust, but it has helped me rethink the situation. And I’m hoping that by sharing this that it will be able to help ease another stepmom's mind that is in this situation. Because from reading other stepmom blogs I know that I’m not alone and that I cannot possible be the only one that has/is experiencing this.

To shed some light, Middle Boy has been oh so irritating. He bosses his brothers around, he’s been oh so rude, and as of the last two or so weeks his listening skills have been out the window. It’s like he sits there and listens, says “yeah, Whatever!” and then goes and does whatever it was he was just told not to do. It got to the point where he’s permanently been on my list for days. It’s gotten to the point where I just plain felt feelings of dislike toward him. It’s been a “where the hell is my stepmom shot glass/glass of wine” experience. And quite frankly I was so completely over it as of this week. As of this week I was pushed past my limit, I had no tolerance for it and I sure as hell wanted to create a holster belt for my wine glass and some mini wine bottles so that I could keep it on me at all times for a glass of “Oh lord please help ease my nerves” on demand.

And everything mentioned in the above explanation has caused me all those feelings in the very first paragraph. It’s like “How dare I think that!” “How dare I feel that?” It has been self-imposed ickyness beyond all belief. And today, I didn’t want to feel it anymore. There had to be something out there that could help me. And I found it.

I read the article “Parenting and step parenting: Is there a difference?” by Lylah M. Alphonse. What made the difference is this passage:

"On the one hand, I see where that particular tidbit of single-mom advice is coming from: Society, for the most part, tends to assume that no one who comes along later could possibly love a child the way the biological parent must, that a genetic link is required in order to be a "real" parent. (Adoptive parents have a whole other set of issues to contend with, but since the biological parent often is not in the picture, that makes parenting different -- "easier" or "more real" -- for some, or so I've been told/warned).

On the other hand, I think it's a case of semantics. Just because the love isn't the same doesn't mean the feelings and the level of commitment isn't as deep."

I’ve been secretly beating myself up for feeling these things because of Jane’s actions. I always find myself thinking “How could a mother cause this pain to her own children and continue to cause all this pain to her own children?” I know that I can’t possibly love them the same way that Jane and my fiancé love them. That specific maternal instinct and bond just isn't there. But I do love them. And my latest frustrations and thoughts on Middle Boy’s behaviors have been in conflict with my love for him as my stepchild. And with that I began to doubt myself. I practically put myself right up there on the shelf next to Jane as most disappointing and disgusting mother ever.

I couldn’t grasp how I could genuinely love and care for a child, and yet have this disgust and dislike for the same child. The conflict of love and dislike was so mind numbing. It’s all so confusing, this instant mom thing. And none of the books can ever prepare you for the emotional roller coaster you’re going to ride on.

Back on topic, I realized that I had been viewing it all wrong. You see the mantras that I had been trying to console and reason with myself was “He’s just a child. He needs love. Just have patience” and “He’ll outgrow this. He was never expected to be polite and to courteous of others before. This is testing and backlash from what has happened to him.” I’ll tell you what – I think my mantra is quite possibly correct … however it’s not the correct way to view it.

My new mantra has both soothed my soul and helped me step out of the box and rethink. My new mantra is “It is the behavior that I dislike … It is not the child that I dislike.”

That is the light bulb that just went on in my head. It is the calming and healing feeling that has consumed me, and I don’t feel like such a horrible disgusting person anymore. And now I think that I’m more ready to deal with Middle Boy when he acts out (or any of the boys) with this new perspective.

And the main lesson that I’ve learned form this experience is that in this new lifestyle I have to be honest with myself. Even if that honestly makes me feel icky and horrible I have to be honest with myself and look at it straight in the eye. Because if I am honest then I’ll be able to address the issue and better find a solution or a new way of approaching it. Because by not being honest with myself and my feelings I’m only hiding it under false excuses and avoiding what’s really going on. And that doesn’t help anyone.

A Story Of Heartache

Between Younger Boy and Jane I think I could write a novel for my blog. First off ... I’ve been totally MIA due to the fact that my job description has been updated again. Or perhaps I should say is in transition/guinea pig mode. I also have started a blog for work and that has by far sucked up my Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I’m hoping to get the routine down sooner than later though because being without my stepmom blogs and feeling like I just don’t have the energy to turn a computer on after work sucks. Anyway, here I am and I have missed you all. I actually have two things to share with you, although I think I’ll share one with you now and the other with you later this week. And then I’ll follow each entry up with a Younger Boy funny.

Thing One – The Heartbreaking Story
I might as well just start with this. My mother has always worked with children. She started off working with autistic children, moved to pre-school and then into child development. Needless to say, not only have I always had a good resource on hand to bounce ideas off of, but I’ve been able to get a good experience working with different types of children. I was hanging out with my mother one afternoon when she told me a story about one of the children at her work.

This little girl is about 8 years old. Her parents have been divorced since she was 2 years old. From what I gathered she sees her mother on Thursdays. On this particular day she didn’t want to do her homework in the after school program like she’s encouraged to. She kept telling my mom and the other teachers that she would do her homework at her mom’s. She eventually had a very bad meltdown and started crying that she didn’t want to do her homework there so that her mom would help her with it.

My mom let her calm down a bit and pulled her aside and said: “I think I know what you’re doing. You’re hoping that if you bring homework to your mom’s house that she’ll sit down and work on it with you and spend some time with you.”

The little girl was amazed that her plan of action had been sought out, but agreed that was what she was doing. My mom then told her that she really hopes that her mom would sit down to work on it with her, but that in the chance that she doesn’t she hopes that she would still be able to get her homework done. And she offered this little girl to at least look over it with her in case she had any questions later.

The little girl’s mother is always on the computer. She goes over to visit her and her mom is on the computer doing who knows what. Now this not only made my heart ache, but made me really think.

I work on a computer all morning. But I really do try to take time to get off of it to go see how Younger Boy is doing. I make sure to sit down and eat lunch with him. I, of course, must stick to my work and make sure that I get my stuff done, but at the same time I need Younger Boy to know that I am here to listen to him and that I am here for him if he needs me.

This then made me think of Jane. I always get so frustrated to find out that the boys did nothing but watch TV and play video games when they visit her. I’ve asked my fiancé so many times if she spends time with them or talks with them or does stuff with them. Apparently she doesn’t. Older Boy always tells him the update. She plays online games all day. She apparently doesn’t pay much attention to her baby either. If you remember that one entry, her baby’s babysitter and best friend is the movie “Kung Fu Panda.”

Anyway, this story made me wonder if any of the boys will ever have a meltdown like this little girl did. It would tear my heart into pieces if they had to find gimmicks and ways to make Jane pay attention to them. Although, from past posts about Younger Boy’s behavior you’ve probably come to the same conclusion that I have that his outbursts and set backs in his behavior are ways to get attention from her. And he then carries them over to me. I truly know in my heart that I can’t prevent this from happening. I know that all I can do is be here for them and try my best to help them know that they are loved.

After my mom told me this I decided that I was going to spend some time with Younger Boy. My best friend was in town and we were going to go shopping at the outlets. So I brought Younger Boy with me and we had a really good time. He danced in the stores, got to eat Jelly Belly jellybeans, and even got half of a cookie from the Rocky Mountain Fudge Factory.

The funny that cracked mus both up was that every time we passed a mirror in a store he would stop and look at it.

YB: Crys! Look! It’s a picture of me!
Me: That is you, isn’t it?
YB: Look! Now it’s a picture of me as a monkey! *As he pulls out his ears and puffs up his cheeks*

It made me very happy, and amused, to see him really have a good time and laugh like that.

Younger Boy Funny
Yesterday I realized that Younger Boy is definitely going to be a guy’s guy. And by that I mean that he’s really starting to embrace the stereotypical things that make a guy a guy ... the embrace of gas.

YB: Pfffft. Eww, something farted in my mouth!
Me: Ewww that must be stinky.
YB: I love being a man

That kid might push my patience – daily – but he sure can get me cracking up.

Assuming, Instinct & Learning More Lessons

My mother always told me to trust my gut instinct, and there have been times when I trusted it but I denied it thinking “Have some faith, there must be some good in this person.”

Denying it has always proved me a fool. And per a person, I’ve tried not to be a fool more than once … maybe twice.

My mother always told me “Your Grandpa always said that assuming makes and ass out of you and me.” But I still find myself assuming at times. And slowly, but surely, I’m learning that I should trust my instinct and ask instead of assume.

Lately, and often, it’s been assuming along the lines of things with my boyfriend and the boys.

I assumed that they carved pumpkins the way my family did. Every October we’d get pumpkins and my sister and I would scoop out the junk (pumpkin guts) from the insides. Then my dad would carve out the faces and we’d get a couple of minutes to watch with the candles inside. (This is on video every year up until the middle of high school.) I found out this year that the boyfriend does all the dirty work. (I didn’t ask, but I assume the boys either watched or played some where else.) But this year, the boys got to scoop out the pumpkin guts, and they had a grand time doing it. And the boyfriend was glad that he didn’t have to do it.

Other things I assumed was the elementary school knew and had on record that he has sole physical custody of the boys. (One of my greater fears is that I’ll go to pick up one of the boys from school and they won’t be there because they’re mother [Let’s just call her Jane from now on] decided to just pull one of them out, or worse – take off with them.)

We’ll, I had quite a fear installed in me when Older Boy brought home a Parent Conference Sheet with Jane’s name on it. There is no reason, in my mind, why her name should be on it. I consulted with the boyfriend and he had no idea why her name would be on it either. I ended up calling the school to have a chat with the secretary. Turns out when Jane’s mother [we’ll call her Janice] registered the boys, she put Jane’s name down, with her phone number. (For those out of the loop – Jane decided not to have any physical custody of the boys. Pays no child support, takes no responsibility or puts out much effort in raising them, and just had a new baby with her new boyfriend.)

So we changed the information. Luckily, the secretary is compassionate and smart and calls the boyfriend to let him know that they need paperwork on file. So today, the boyfriend will be making copies of custody papers (for the school and for him to carry on himself).

Another thing I assumed was that after the incident where he told Jane that she could have the boys for the weekend (without consulting with me [See “And Then I Exploded] for details) that he would know not to do so. Well, I’ll tell you what, if I had not grown to be a bigger person by now, I would have walked out yesterday.

I had to drive down to Southern California this weekend to pick up some stuff from my storage unit down there. At some point this week (possibly Monday, I can’t remember when) the boyfriend dropped the idea “What if we drop the boys off at Janice’s house on Thursday for a couple of hours?” I kind of looked at him dumb founded. “But we’re carving pumpkins on Thursday, remember?” I answered. “Oh yeah,” he says. And that was that, so I thought.

Yesterday, he drops it again – in front of the boys. The boys, of course, got all excited. How could I be the evil, mean stepmother and say no to that excitement? Instead I kind of stayed quiet and looked at him. He came over:

Me: Did you tell Janice that she could have them, and not consult with me?
BF: *silently looks me in the eyes*
Me: You did, didn’t you.
BF: *more silence*

I am rather proud to say that I controlled the anger that swelled up inside of me. And, as I felt my pillar of trust in him momentarily shake, I held it up and told him that: It’s not ok that he does that.

Me: We’re either in this together or we’re not. And if we’re not then this isn’t going to work.

It would be a lie to say that I didn't feel a bit betrayed ... that my trust in him momentarily wavered like a flag in the wind. But I let it go at some point that evening after I pep talked my way down from being angry.

Now, I assume a lot of things with the boyfriend because I don’t want him to think that I don’t have faith in him. That I think any less of him. But I’m starting to realize that maybe some of the women in my office and my mother were right. Men are essentially jus that, Men. And you have to tell them detailed, exactly what’s going on.

My favorite line is, “I’m not a mind reader, so you’re going to have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Another thing I assumed was that he understood how rather delicate the situation is when it comes to me and Jane. I was rather irritated that Jane had kept some clothes, particularly an outfit I bought Younger Boy. They don’t live there and really, it would be so nice (and convenient) to have more clothes for the boys here. I made mention of it to the boyfriend and asked that he make sure Younger Boy comes back with it. So he says to her: “Would you put Younger Boy in the outfit he came over with last week on Sunday. Crys bought it for him.”

Can I tell you how much I cringed when I heard that last part. “Great” I thought, “That’s surely going to stir the pot.”

Later, after he dropped the boys off at Janice’s, I told him I would really like it if he would refer to “me” as “we” on some occasions. The thought was first installed when the boyfriend’s sister asked how Jane was reacting to me.

Me: She’s been calling for them more often lately.
BFS: Well yeah, she doesn’t want them calling you Mom. She's jealous of you.

I tried to tell myself that it’s because maybe she’s changed. Maybe it’s because she’s on maternity leave. Jane wouldn’t try to make it a competition, would she? I came home from Southern California on Sunday. I had a lot of time to think. And in that time I’d turned my back on my instinct about Jane and convinced myself that she’s not going to be like that. She’s not going to be competitive with me. This is going to be a good relationship.

Well, I got home on Sunday and noticed that the boys had on “obviously just bought, straight from the rack” shirts on. “Hrm” I thought. And after the boys mentioned “Mommy bought me this shirt” it all came painfully, to my stubborn pride, too clear.

I consulted with the boyfriend.

Me: Did she buy them those shirts.
BF: Yeah.
Me: Funny, she buys them nothing new until now.
BF: Is that because what I said to her?
Me: *Nods head* Possibly
BF: And she made sure to send them home in them on Sunday so you could see it?
Me: Every time I give her benefit of the doubt, she always disappoints me. Why does she always have to disappoint me?

Man, was I a fool. A voice of good inside tells me to think “It’s just a coincidence” and another voice inside tells me “Trust your instinct. That Jane is a sneaky, tricky lady. Stay on your toes.”

I’ll tell you what though, I will be trying my best to ask instead of assume from now on. Trying to defuse as many fiery situations before it happens, if I can. I’m not delusional and I know I can’t defuse them all, but I can work on avoiding them from happening if I can, on my side at least.

And I Felt Relief

I’ve hardly had a moment to myself the last week or so. I really need to learn to find some time each day for me, because I think I’m going to lose my head sometimes.

I bought a book recently, and it is amazing. It’s A Career Girl’s Guide To Becoming A Stepmom: Expert Advice from Other Stepmoms on How to Juggle Your Job, Your Marriage, and Your New Stepkids by Jacquelyn B. Fletcher. I love this book. I’m only in the first chapter, but it has already helped a lot already.

It’s an interactive book, and asks you to get a notebook because they have a few questions in each chapter, and it asks you to be quite honest in doing the exercises. It even suggest that you discuss the things you discover with your husband/fiancé/boyfriend.

I cried tears of relief after just reading the intro. I’ve read another book on being a step mother … it wasn’t bad. But it didn’t really reach me. But this book … this book spoke to me. I’ve already marked it up and wrote in the margins.

I’m only partway through the first chapter (Cinderella’s Man Didn’t Have Any Kids; Why Does Mine?), but it took me about an hour and half to really get through the first 10 questions. (Which I answered during a bout of insomnia Monday night.) I wanted to post them here for you in case any of you wanted to try the exercise. The first section of Chapter One (The Fall of the Fantasy) was about confronting what your fantasy future was (Something I’ve already admitted having problems coping with), and trying to learn where you can compromise and what you need to let go of.

1. What did you imagine your married life would be like?
2. In what ways is your current situation like what you imagined?
3. In what ways is it different?
4. Is it OK for you to express sadness about the ways in which it is not what you expected? If not, why not? Write down the emotions this brings up for you. Write down all the negative feelings it dredges up even if you’d never admit them to anyone else.
5. When you think of the phrase “It’s not fair!” what comes to mind? Throw a tantrum on the page and get it out.
6. What is your definition of family? Write down “My family is…” ten times and see how many ways you answer that question.
7. What is your vision of yourself at 85 years old? Where are you? Who is with you?
8. What is your family supposed to do for you?
9. Describe what you want your new family to be like.
10. What’s your definition of home?
    

I must admit that Question 5 was most therapeutic. In fact, after I had answered Question 10 I had another one for Question 5. I think it helped the most because I was able to get out all that frustration and anger and bitterness, and make some organization out of the feelings and thoughts, instead of having them jumbled and shoved deep down inside where they all get mixed up together. I can start to heal that now that I've really stopped to take a look at what was causing all that anger in this current situation.

So now, I just have to work on finding time to sit down to finish the chapter out, because there are more question at the end of the chapter that I need to sit down and do (without kids awake) because man – getting all that out brings quite a few tears and causes quite a few meltdown moments of head down on table.

I Feel A Little Bit Like I Failed

It was around 11:30pm and it was insomnia … brought on by too much going on in my head and preventing my tired brain from enjoying precious sleep. It wasn’t even that I was worrying about anything specific. I was just awake – Uneasy, emotionally uncomfortable and awake. I decided catching up on One Tree Hill was the best way to deal with it. And one little line made sense of everything.

“I feel a little bit like I failed.” Brooke Davis’ character said to her therapist.

And the minute I heard that line, the light bulb went on in my mind. The clarity of it all came on in a wave, and a weight felt lifted as I figured out what it was that was bothering me.

I’ve mentioned before that I am way too hard on myself. That my standards of myself, for myself, expected of myself are always set higher than the average level of acceptance for any task. On MySpace surveys I’ve always listed that my worst fear is Failure.

Failure is terrifying to me. I work too hard to fail. I’ve always been that girl who gets everything that she wants because she works sooo hard to get it. And if I don’t get it, then it’s because I’ve decided along the way that I just didn’t want it anymore. Competitive in personality I’m the girl that takes on the challenge of being told “You can’t do that” because it’s such wonderful satisfaction in being able to show them wrong.

Except that I feel a little bit like I failed, and it’s been eating me up from the inside.

I feel a little bit like I failed myself when I quit my job. I worked so hard to get my degree, to get my job. My dream job has always been to be an editor at a magazine. Now, I realize that my life now doesn’t mean that I still can’t be that. But the job I had was my dream job in itself. In fact, once I started it, it became the dream job come true. And after all that hard work, and all the effort and love that I put into my education to get my job and my job once I had it, I walked out on it. I feel a bit empty inside. I feel a bit like I’m missing a part of me. I feel a little like there is a hole in my heart when I wake up in the mornings to start off the work day. And in a way, I feel a little bit like I failed myself.

I know the task now it to let it go. I actually got to live my dream job … my dream career … And, it is still attainable. So it hasn’t passed me by. The opportunity isn't gone.

And now, I just have to accept and know in my heart that this is all true.

And now, I just need to make new goals and new expectations. I guess it goes along with the change and the Mantra (see last entry for the Mantra).

And now, I need to understand that even though I feel a little bit like I failed – I really didn’t.

And Then I Cried

Day two was a lot more of an emotional struggle than I could have ever imagined. There should be a packet or something that you can sign up for that will tell you tips and hints to becoming a step mom – or perhaps just a booklet full of tips and hints from other step moms.

On the way home from school on Monday, Middle Boy said to me, “This isn’t my last house. When I get older I’m going to live with my mommy.”

I sat there a little stunned … what do you say to that? I tried, “We’ll you’ll have to talk to your daddy about that, but right now you’re living with your daddy and me.”

He responded with, “I think mommy will like me living with her.”

My heart ached. How do you tell a 5-year-old child that his mommy didn’t want him? That she didn’t care to have any sort of custody or responsibility for him. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

I told the boyfriend later that night, I’m really not sure if he’s talked with him about it or not. But the look on his face seemed to be of the same pained, aching expression of “How do I tell him this?”

My heart continued to ache though. I pushed it down like I do with most uncomfortable emotions that I feel – that was, I learned later that night, the wrong thing to do. Day Two was most definitely an emotional roller coaster.

Not an overwhelming “I can’t do this” sort of thing. Not even really an “Am I crazy? What am I doing here?” sort of thing. It was most definitely an “I’m really scared …No one told me how unnatural and painful this could be” sort of thing.

I’ve handled change. I’ve handled change of all kinds, but, the change was generally my own. It wasn’t shared with three children and a boyfriend. It was like my sensory was turned to extra sensitive. I seemed to feel everything. I even felt for the cats yesterday.

And then I watched my favorite all time little guilty pleasure (One Tree Hill). And it was one of those heart-wrenching shows … the kind that you know is going to probably going to make you cry so you grab a box of Kleenex. And then you watch it, and you really cry. But once the show was over, the tears didn’t stop – they just kept falling. Once they start, it unleashes the floodgates of bottled up emotions. And oh wow, there was a lot built up in there.

The bath didn’t seem to help, and neither did the shower and neither did lying on my bed in the dark trying to calm myself down. And of course, when the boyfriend and the boys got home from his sisters house, I tried really hard to suck it all in. There was no fooling the boyfriend. And I felt them, the walls going up. Trying to push him away, literally trying to will him to move back and leave me. “Don’t do it!” I pleaded with myself. “But this is what I’ve always done!” I replied. “Well, not anymore!” I said back. “It’s time to change.”

That is the most annoying thing I’ve ever been told “It’s what I’ve always done.” I refuse to let this bring me down. I can make it through this, even if it’s always going to be like this. I will find a way to live this life, because I want it badly enough. I wish that I had a better clue of how to handle it, but I know that I’m not alone. I know that other women have done this before me, and I can and will do this too.

This has always been my philosophy and the way I’ve lived my life: "Risk more than others think is safe. Care more than others think is wise. Dream more than others think is practical. Expect more than others think is possible."
-Claude Thomas Bissell

Gray With Smudges Versus Defined Black And White

"See I thought love was black and white, That it was wrong or it was right"
~ Missy Higgins, Where I Stood

I’m starting to think that I need these boys about as much as I think they need me. In their own ways they’ve been reminding me that enjoying life is important. And that sometimes it’s not about coloring inside the defined lines.

On Saturday morning Older Boy and I were making pancakes for breakfast. He had first asked if he could help, and I told him I would let him know when I was ready for him. Then I thought better of it, and let him pour in the ingredients as I mixed them up in the bowl. Then, there we were. He was pouring the batter in the pan and I was flipping them.

He looked at me and said that Middle Boy and Younger Boy were missing out on delicious pancakes. “They sure are,” was what I said smiling.

OB: I heard that you were sad because they didn’t come.
Me: I was sad. *Pause* But I’ll be able to see them next weekend. But we’re having fun now, aren’t we?
OB: Yes we are. I’m going to try that sausage.

It was a little frightening that I could feel so vulnerable and exposed like that. I’m not one to share my inner most emotions, much less if I am feeling anything other than “I’m going to take over the world today.” And yet, with the words coming out of an 8-year-old’s mouth … it kind of made me change the way I handled myself in the situation.

It’s not just about turning something sad into a positive. It’s making sure that the boys know that even if I am sad or upset, it’s OK. And that I like being with them and that I’ll still be here. I know that my feelings are important, but so are theirs.

And of course, as usual, that got me thinking. And that innocent little sentence … well that little thing makes a lot of sense (even if just for a minute).

By “makes a lot of sense” I mean that maybe my perception was out of focus and for a slight minute it’s suddenly been brought back into focus. And I had better grasp on before it slides back out of focus.

My perception had been so focused on how love ought to be. Perhaps it was because of how I was brought up. Perhaps it was because of Disney’s Princess complex. (Your true love will come into your world and sweep you off your feet.) Or maybe it was all of the lovey dovey sugar and spice dreams a young girl has that sticks with her despite the moments that she realizes the perfect romance is a load of crap.

I realized that in my mind, Love was black and white. It was either there or it wasn’t. The lines defining it of what I wanted it and expected it to be were so crisp, so hard, so defined … there was no room for error or smudges. And man, my love right now, I realize, is lined with a lot of gray from all the smudges.

And I don’t say that because I’m confused, or because I’m not sure. I’m very sure. It just wasn’t exactly what my “Ideal Romance” consisted of. And if this is going to work, I need to allow myself to smudge up my perception a bit. To allow room to color outside the lines, because nothing in my lifetime is going to follow my “Ideal Romance.” And although my love story is somewhat of a wonderful fairy tale come true, I need to remember that it’s not perfect. It’s just life. And life is full of changes and lessons and more changes.

All that perception, out of one sentence from an 8-year-old boy and some not-so-golden pancakes, who would have thought…

Finding Happiness Between Point A And Point B

The event from my last entry has really been on my mind all day. Not really stewing on it, but how can I better myself from this experience. How can I make this a better situation? Well, I have today off from work, I’m supposed to be packing, but instead I’ve been cleaning up the wonderful mess left behind from roommates and my cats’ messyness so that when Older Boy and the boyfriend get here tonight, it will be clean. And while doing the dishes, I had a thought. Significant enough that I had to come here and write it down before it slipped away into the other thoughts of the day.

In college as a Sigma Chi Sweetheart, I learned that you can always better yourself, no matter how close you think you are to being your best. I also firmly believe that everything that happens to you in life is a lesson to be learned, and that your life is a result of the choices you make, and the way you live your life between your lessons (getting from point A to point B).

Well, while washing the dishes, I came across the thought that maybe the lessons I thought I had already learned…perhaps as I get older and wiser some of those lessons need to be revisited, revised and relearned.

Specifically, the lesson of “Not allowing the choices that other people make affect my life.”

This was a lesson that I first was told in college my sophomore year. A friend of mine killed himself, and I was at the edge of a very dark place. The Spring semester had literally just started three days earlier. On my second class session, after this had all happened, my Shakespeare professor pulled me out of class and told me, “I know that this is hard right now for you. But you can’t allow the choices that other people make affect your life. You need to learn to walk away from this a stronger person.”

At the time, I was too distraught to absorb this. In fact, this didn’t even find its way through the fog of depression well until I had already withdrawn for the semester to sort things out. But from then on, I lived my independent life making sure that my choices were my own, and not allowing other people’s choices to have an effect on my life. And if it became an issue, I simply walked away. I didn’t need other people’s bad choices to drag me down.

Of course, in college other people’s bad choices generally revolved around drinking, smoking, drugs and whoring themselves out. On another level, there were also the annoying irritating girls they often slept with and insisted on bringing over to the house. But they were easy to ignore.

Well, now I find that this lesson and solution don’t apply in the same way. I can’t escape my boyfriend’s choices. There is no easy get away plan. And it’s really frustrating…and as my own worst critic…I’ve really been coming down on myself to figure it out. So what’s a girl to do?

I think that I need to relearn this. I need to revise my solution of walking away because, although it’s an option, it’s not an option that I want to choose. I’ve already decided that it’s not an option. Instead of telling myself to grow up and get over it, I need to figure out something else. Because “Grow up and Get Over It” just isn’t working.

I have enough faith in myself that I’ll figure it out…or at least figure out a temporary solution outside of pushing the icky feeling down and letting it bottle up inside, because eventually that’s not going to work any more either.

Interestingly enough, I’ve experienced more horrors in a lifetime than any woman should. But this, this is the thing that has me all hung up. And really, I refuse to let myself make myself miserable between this point of figuring out that I need to relearn this lesson and the day that I finally find the solution. I will figure this out, and this thing that has me all hung up, this will make me a better person.