Today, as we honor mothers, I raise a glass to my stepmother sisters. We mother, but we know we aren’t their mother. We love, but that love may not be returned, or it may be conditional. We support our partners on their parenthood path, knowing that we are the low hanging fruit.

Know that I see you and I get you. The road has many ups and downs, but we are in this together. Sisters, we got this! Xo

To all of my sister stepmothers, I see you. Happy Mother’s Day to you. We mother but are not mothers. We parent, but are not parents. We love, but may not be loved, and we support but may not be supported.

Keep loving hard.

Soldier on my stepmother sisters, you matter.

Almost done with the first draft of the Unofficial Stepmom book. Just a few more chapters to go. This long weekend has impeccable timing.

#Writing

#Stepmom

#ThatBookWontWriteItself

#UnofficialStepmom

#WritingMyTruth

We mother, but are not mothers, we parent, but are not a parent, we love, but may not be loved, and we support, but may not be supported.

For all of my sisters in stepmother-hood, you are not alone. You are making a difference, whether noticed or not, you are an important person in the lives your step kids, whether they realize it or not, you are valuable, strong, and the rock of your family, whether you feel it or not.

So I say, “Soldier on, sisters, cheers to you, and happy Mother’s Day.”

#mothersday #happymothersday #stepmom #stepmother

The winds of change aren’t just brought on by an El Niño-infused Pacific Northwest winter, but they can also be brought on when the weather patterns of our feelings shift.

After Christmas, and the shit show that was, I was given a card by the boy child during a “Gift-and-Run” on New Year’s Day. If the “Gift-and-Run” is unfamiliar to you, it’s like a hit and run by a car or a doorbell ditch, it’s like that. So, the boy child did a “Gift-and-Run” of a card. He basically tossed the card to me as he was walking upstairs. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I left it on the table next to me for about an hour while I thought about what I should do. Do I call him down to open it, or do I open it without him? I couldn’t believe I was strategizing over the opening of an envelope. It’s not like I was presenting at the Academy Awards and opening the Price Waterhouse Cooper envelope. …And the winner is…an overthinking adult.

After way too much thought, I opened it without him.

Here’s what I found inside the envelope:

 

I’m not kidding, this was the card with a $25 Amazon card inside. BOTH kids signed it! I called upstairs and thanked him. Then I thought about it more. I obsessed. After receiving nothing (or a candy bar) for Christmas’ past, I was shocked. I asked the Captain, “What did you tell them to get them to do this.” He said, “nothing,” and that when he was going to talk to him a few weeks ago, the boy child brought it up to him that he wanted to get me something. Wha?

I thanked the boy child and nonchalantly asked the boy child if this was for me and his dad? He said, “nope.”

The kids gave me something for Christmas?

The writing was definitely the girl child’s. Then, being me, the Unofficial Stepmom, I looked at the date on the gift receipt, I’m sure he picked it up on the way over on New Year’s Day, because Christmas was so awful.

Holy shit, the date on the gift receipt was from Christmas Eve.

I can’t believe it. The kids cared enough to send the very best.

 

 

I made it through Christmas 2018.

Thankful for my parents, sister and her family, and the Captain’s father, sister and her family for getting us through another mine field of a holiday.

This Jewish gal is done celebrating Christmas.

On the positive side, we made it disappear one day later than last year. Mazel.

Last year’s Christmas experience had a lasting impact on me. It forced me to hit my expectations reset button. I began the long road to reset on the evening of December 25, 2017. That was when I said to the Captain that he needed to make Christmas go away. I didn’t want to see it again. Probably not rational, but I needed it to go away. So, they erased it. They took down all of the decorations, lights, cards, dishes, everything. We usually keep the decorations up until New Year’s Day, but not last year.

The next morning, the boy child also apologized to me. He blamed his sister, but I didn’t care. He, maybe for the first time, saw that I was human and that I had feelings. That apology meant more to me than he will probably ever know. Granted, I’m sure the Captain told him that he needed to, but I appreciated that he did it. I know how uncomfortable he must have felt.

Later that morning, I cautiously made my way downstairs and decided then that I needed to start taking care of myself. I needed to do this in a different way. I wasn’t sure where it would lead me or how it would manifest, but I knew I never wanted to feel the hurt I felt on Christmas ever again.

I decided that 2018 needed to be my “Year of Happiness.” 2017 was supposed to be my self- professed “Year of Joy,” but that didn’t work. I’m sure you see a pattern here.

So, I bought Gretchen Rubin’s “Happiness Project, One Sentence Journal,” where you write down one thing that makes you happy each day. I love the concept of this journal. Love it.

I made it to January 28th.

The journal sits on my bedside table and squarely looks me in the eyes each day. It’s okay. I don’t feel guilty. Just knowing that it’s there helps me stay focused on the energy it takes to be happy rather than the energy it takes to be sad.

Life continued to throw us unexpected curve balls over the spring and summer, and now I’m here again, it’s almost the middle of December.

For now the decorations are up, and they are making me happy.

Here’s to keeping them up until the Rose Bowl!

Wish me luck!

The holidays are not my favorite anymore. They used to be. Now, I’m dodging blows. Last Christmas, I swore I’d never celebrate again. It almost broke me. So, I’m looking back now, so I can look forward this year.

Let me fill you in.

I put my heart into holidays. I love them. I love family and friends being together. I love traditional food and pretty tables, and I love being so full you need to unbutton your pants. This, for me, is what the holidays are about. They are about togetherness.

Let me start by saying that this was only my 4th or 5th time celebrating Christmas. I’m Jewish so Christmas has always been fun for me. It’s no pressure, pretty things, getting together with friends, and food. Lots of food. It’s joyful.

Last Christmas, started out magically. It snowed!

It rarely snows in the Seattle area, but we were in for a white Christmas. I was giddy. I got up at the crack of dawn to start cooking. I had Christmas music blasting. The Captain left to pick up the kids and grandpa, because of the snow. When they got home, girl child came in and didn’t acknowledge me (not a new scenario), the boy child gave me a big hug, as did grandpa. They all got settled and hung out while I was happily cooking away in the kitchen.

We gathered in the living room, and presents and stockings were exchanged. The Captain and I weren’t giving gifts to each other since our anniversary was days away, and we didn’t expect grandpa to give us gifts, those are for the kids. Presents started getting exchanged and I slowly realized that everyone was opening gifts, except for me. The kids didn’t give me a card, say Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays. Nothing. Even the boy child, who I have such a good relationship with, was like a different person. It seemed as if he and the girl child had decided not to acknowledge me. They showered their dad and grandpa with gifts, but nothing for me. I was invisible. It was like I wasn’t even there.

I shouldn’t have been surprised because they’ve never really acknowledged my birthday, or anything else. And in years past, they typically would give me a candy bar for Christmas. #thankyouhersheys.

So I got breakfast ready, and the Captain came into the kitchen knowing how hurt I was. He saw it on my face. I kept thinking to myself, “How am I here again?” I could barely hold back my tears. He knew. He kept apologizing, and I said I just need to make it through breakfast.

Everyone sat down, and I tried to make it through the meal, but I couldn’t. I was hurt beyond hurt, again. So I excused myself in the middle of the meal, and went upstairs.

How did I become the bad guy in all of this? I thought I did everything right. We dated for a year before they knew about me, so the Captain and I were sure we were serious about each other before they met me. And, that was two years after their parents divorced. The Captain and I dated several more years so they could truly get to know me. I moved from the city to the suburbs, and along with their father, we found a house that would work best for them, I paid for their events, without them knowing, I supported them at every turn. I loved them. Now, here I was, crying alone in the bedroom on what should have been an amazingly beautiful and snowy Christmas morning.

And, that was all before 10:00am…