Who Would've Thunk It?

As I've written, Brendan had his birthday last week.  Because we live so far away from the rest of the family, when we invite people over, we get a trickle of family members for almost a week.  People just show up when it's most convenient for them; and our door is always open.

One of the people who showed up to celebrate my sonny-boy's life thus far was his aunt, my sister-in-law.  My sister-in-law, E., is fiercely protective of "her" family -- be it her parents, her brother, Big Bren's children and even my Brendan.  For some reason, though, she seems to think that I am someone to protect them from.  No matter how nice I am and have been, she's always asking questions about me.  How do I treat the kids?  Do I treat them well?  Am I too strict?  Am I nice to her parents when they come to visit?

Last week was no exception.  She took her grandson to Brendan's birthday party and then asked whether she could take my step-daughter with her to the store.  I thought nothing of it; that's her niece, so I figured she wanted to spend some alone time with her since she rarely sees her.

When she got back with my stepdaughter, N., a few hours later, she was in an exceptionally good mood.  She said that she'd had a frank discussion with N. about me and N. had only good things to say.  She told her how I always bought her nice things, because I said that women should always dress nicely and take care of their appearance.  How I had bought N. her first Coach bag and explained that a nice bag always makes a young lady's outfit.  As she was telling me this, I inwardly rolled my eyes, figuring that she would think I was trying buy the child's affection.  We all know how materialistic teenagers can be.  But she went on.  She said that N. also told her how I tried to teach her how to cook and how I made all types of cakes and pies from scratch.  And how I did everything I did with care and love, making home-cooked meals for the family on the weekends and even taking time to arrange my salads just right, so that everything looked pretty before we ate dinner.

I didn't know what to say.  I just stood there.  To be honest, I never realized that N. noticed the things I did.  This is the child who called me "her" and "she" for the first 10 years of my 11-year relationship with her father.  Her mother still refers to me as "the Slut" even though Big Bren and I have been married for 7 years.

I have a friend who always talks about her stepmother and how she (the stepmother) had a positive influence on her life.  I always told Big Bren how sad it made me feel that I did not have that sort of relationship with his children.  Imagine my surprise to find out that -- in fact -- I actually do.  :-)

The Road Less Traveled

A few months ago, Big Bren came to me and asked whether his other son -- who is now 10 -- could move in with us. In Stepmom Diaries (below), I've written how difficult I find it at times to deal with his children. And that was just on weekends. With those few words from my husband, I was suddenly standing on a precipice. As Victorian as it sounds, I literally took to my bed. And stayed there for a few days.

I truly, truly did not know what to do. If I said "no," hubby would be angry and disappointed. But if I said "yes," I would feel as if I had let myself down. I thought about all the work involved: the cooking, the shuttling to/from school and other activities, the laundry, the homework. I was getting a headache just thinking about it. I burrowed into the sheets a little more. When I was no longer sleepy, I took a sleeping pill. I didn't want to face the world; and I most definitely did not want to make a decision.

I let it drag on for a few days. In the meantime, there were endless telephone calls to Big Bren from the child's mother (a.k.a The Psycho). He would hang up with her and the phone would ring again -- his son this time. Mother and child were not getting along. The son was getting increasingly disrespectful. He was doing poorly in school and the Psycho was not equipped to deal with it.

I spoke to my most trusted advisors and the response was unanimous: "Do not let that crazy woman's child into your home full-time." My decision had seemingly been made. I had a peaceful night's sleep for the first time since Big Bren broached the topic.

The next morning, I went to my child's room to wake him up and get him ready for school. He was asleep in his bed, with his bottom up in the air. I smiled at the perfect picture of him in his room. He had his toys in one corner, a rocking horse in another, and his little Thomas the Train bed. And I realized how lucky he was to have his own space, a peaceful home and two parents who adored him. It suddenly dawned on me that was all Big Bren was trying to provide for his other son. The child was thin from not eating many balanced meals (candy and junk food abounded in his mother's home and she simply is not someone who believes in balance, structure or effective discipline). He had a never-ending "cold" or "allergy" that lasted year-round. He had a nervous cough that was seemingly triggered by the cold/allergy, but which did not occur when he was asleep. By all accounts, a true cough did not cease upon sleeping. From what I understood, he still slept in his mother's bed and, when he was at our house and had to sleep alone, always slept with all the lights on. Despite his mother's receipt of child support, all his clothes were ragged and short and all his shoes tight. Whenever we took him anywhere, we ended up buying him new clothes. He had no pajamas and his underwear was stained. No mother in her right mind wants to see her child do poorly, so no doubt, despite her issues, the Psycho was trying her best. Maybe what she needed was a little help.

After I got to work that day, I called Big Bren and told him that I could live with it if he decided to have his son move in. (Not the most enthusiastic of endorsements, but the only one I could muster at the time.)

It has been five months since he moved in. As a self-admitted introvert, I find it uncomfortable to have many people within my personal sphere, so I am probably not the best stepmother there is to have and every fear I had about the amount of work it would take has proven true. The "crazy woman" part proved prophetic as well (because this is a "feel good" post, I won't delve into her antics.) What I can report is that the child is healthy now. No cough; no cold; not even a sniffle. Every evening, he eats all his dinner and sometimes asks for seconds. He takes healthy snacks to school. When he moved in, Big Bren bought him a new wardrobe that was age-appropriate and fit properly. He got shoes and winter wear as needed. And his face lights up when goes to his very own room -- which is decorated as a sports fan's dream, with a basketball hoop, sports figures, balls and memorabilia plastered all over the walls. He joined Cub Scouts and won a trophy for some event. He is even excelling in school now.

For Big Bren's and the child's sake, I am glad I kicked off the covers and decided to take the road less traveled.

The Stepmom Diaries

I was never the type of person who liked kids.  Even as a child, I preferred the company of adults.  So imagine my surprise when I found myself in love with someone who already had children.  When I met Big Bren at 28, the most experience I'd had with children was babysitting my nephews.  Although I adored them, I literally threw up every time I had to change a poopy diaper (yes, every single time).  I often couldn't wait to deposit the noisy, pooping, snot-nosed little buggers back in their mother's arms.

When Big Bren and I were dating, my exposure to his children was limited.  He had them on weekends, but being a successful modern woman, I often had other things to do and seldomly shared the same space with them for a prolonged period of time.  Whether by design or coincidence, any time I spent with the kids was crammed full of activity and all meals were taken outside.  

Somehow, in the excitement of being in love, I never actually realized that the children were part and parcel of the Big Bren package.  Oh, it sounds silly now, but it's true.  It seemed that as soon as we got married, the children were around all the time.  For someone who had been living the single life for so long, it came as a culture shock to suddenly have no privacy, no time for myself and -- most importantly -- no peace and quiet.  And although some children are fairly self-sufficient, my step-children had to be waited on hand and foot.  They didn't (and still don't) feed themselves; whatever room they inhabit, they leave a mess in their wake.  They pour huge glasses of juice/water/milk, take a sip and leave it there.  At the end of the weekend, every room is riddled with half-empty glasses.  I thought I'd be smart and buy juice boxes. Now, it's the juice boxes that appear under the bed, on the dressers, on the counters and in the hampers.  Although they are good children, they are horribly undisciplined.  No matter what activity Big Bren had planned for them, they'd head straight for the television and stay there until they fell asleep -- with the lights on and still in their street clothes.  Weekdays were/are devoted to work and on weekends, the children commanded (and got) most of Big Bren's attention.  I felt like I was getting the dregs of my husband's time and love; not to mention the fact that I had been relegated to not just stepmother status, but to servitude.  Add to the mix the children's psychotic, money-hungry mother and, needless to say, I was not a happy camper. 

Big Bren and I have been together for almost 10 years now.  I would love to say that everything worked itself out and that we are now one big happy family; but I'd be lying to you.  Some things are easier now, but every day is still a challenge.  

The children's mother is still psychotic; she is the only woman I know who will leave crying, screaming, angry voicemails if you treat her children well.  Yes, you read that correctly.  She gets more upset if I take the children to the mall or to the movies and we have a good time, than if I am nagging at them the whole weekend.

For Big Bren, one of the biggest difficulties has been balancing the relationship he has with Brendan -- who has him day in and day out -- with the relationship he has with his other children.  Another difficulty has been realizing that although I am his wife, I am not his children's mother.  I do not have the infinite well of patience that their mother would.  Yet another thing he cannot comprehend is that I am not the maid; I have other things to do beside wash dishes the whole day or cook or pick up half-empty glasses or do laundry or clean the bathroom.

As for me, I still struggle.  I struggle with territoriality and allowing them into my personal space.  I value time alone and get cranky when I feel like people are crowding me.  Space, time and quiet are precious commodities that are hard to come by around here.  I value my own sense of order.  I put things in particular places so I can find them when I look for them -- a lost cause with three children.  I value equality; I don't understand why the Psycho gets so much in child support, which, in essence, takes away from Brendan and puts a hefty burden on me.  

I admire Big Bren for doing what he's doing.  There are so many absentee fathers out there; it would be easy for him to send a check and check out emotionally.  Yet, he makes a conscious decision every day to be a part of his children's lives.  Regardless of how things turn out on the relationship front, that is something he can be proud of.