urbanstepmom.com

I woke up on the day I was going away for the weekend feeling downright giddy. In fact, I hadn’t felt this giddy since I bought my first pair of Prada shoes. And frankly, I was surprised by it.  I wasn’t going to some big swish party where you are served pink drinks by hot waiters. I wasn’t flying in to a friend’s remote cabin to enjoy an adult only weekend of gourmet food and wine. No, I rode a two hour  ferry to Vancouver Island with my stepsons and husband and dog and spent the weekend with my sister’s family and my parents. 

 If you told me I would be excited about a weekend like this a few years ago, I would have told you I’m going to take a pass on the Holt Renfrew shoe sale. Same likelihood.

It is bizarre. I don’t recognize myself. Not long ago, I would have been dreading a full weekend with our kids and my sister’s kids, my parents, all in close confines.  I never used to be into family. I never used to get excited to see the boys and spend time with them. But we had a great weekend planned. We had a family golf tournament, my sister had the dinners organized, and all I had to do was enjoy myself with my family.

Then it occured to me that I might be giddy because I actually have a family to take to a family function. Not only that, but I like them all. I have a husband, kids, animals, brother, parents, sister, neices and nephews, brother in law. This may sound strange, but given that I didn’t marry until my early fourties, I have had a hard time embracing this whole situation. And now here I was giddy about spending time with everyone.

The weekend was extremely fun with lots of laughs and good times. The only thing that affected my giddiness was my parents reaction to my step sons and their reaction to my parents. Which can only be described as nil. Both ways, nil. Nil. Nothing. Nada.

It wasn’t like it was their first meeting or anything, but I had high hopes that the four of them would bond over the weekend, and my parents and stepsons would agree that things were “Grand”. I hoped that the kids would feel connected to my parents and that my parents would feel connected to the kids. But no. Perhaps I was the only one who held that intention.

The boys have always (as instructed) called them “Gaggy” and “Granddad” as their “cousins” do,  but there was definitely no connection beyond that. The kids all played with their “cousins” but there was no attention paid to their “grandparents”. And the “grandparents” made sparse effort to engage with the twins. In my parents defense, they are definitely aging and not exactly agile. One golfed, the other rode in a cart, and beyond that they couldn’t participate in the other kids’ activities of football and video games. 

 But still, I had hopes of an exchange of mutual love. Recently, I overheard my mother comment to someone that she has three grand children. I corrected her, saying she had five grandchildren and she looked confused. 

I  got to thinking about this and realized my expectations for instant love and bonding between them was unrealistic. Heck, it took me years to love and bond with the twins, and that was spending a lot of time together. Then I realized it is now because I love them like my own, that I expect everyone around me to feel that same love for them. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that this is one of those weird,  parallel universe things that can only be truly understood if you are a childless stepmom.

Not having my own kids, I consider the boys “mine” on some level and I assumed my parents felt the same way. Nope. Though they may celebrate all my sister’s kids’ milestones and birthdays, they do not think to celebrate the boys’ events and accomplishments. Same goes for the behavior of my close friends. While I may give their kids gifts for Christmas and birthdays, it does not go both ways.

But perhaps this is my fault. After all, it took me years to accept that I have a family of my own and to love the boys like my own. And certainly if I had issues or reservations about it, the people close to me would as well. So it is unrealistic to expect that they are on the same plane as me now.  Like my love for the boys, it will take time and can’t be forced or assumed.

None the less, my giddiness prevailed on the weekend. Acknowledging that I have a family of my own, loving their company and enjoying life together seems like enough to keep me very happy these days. And the feeling will probably last longer than my Prada shoes.

Yes, we are. I know I said that my last post on Mother’s Day was my last post for the year but I can’t help myself. I had said that I sent a Mother’s Day card to the boys’ mother this year and I hadn’t heard back from her. This didn’t mean anything negative to me, as I assumed she would thank me in person the next time she saw me. 

For some reason, she didn’t get the card until a few days ago, so yesterday she wrote me an email. Last Thanksgiving she wrote me an email to thank me for being in the boys’ life which blew me away, but this email was even more remarkable.

In this email she told me a story about how one of her sons was telling a neighbor a story  and referred to me as his “mom”. The neighbor was perplexed while standing there with his mother and questioned him. He corrected himself and said, “My stepmom, I mean. I have two moms”. She also went on to say how the boys’ expressed to her how important it was to get me flowers on Mother’s Day and how they love to do things for me.

The gist of the email was how some mothers might find their children’s love for another woman threatening, for her, she feels joy and gratitude that there is so much love in their lives.

She also asked in the email how she could support having a “Lisa Day”, which she felt I deserved.

I mean, this woman should be giving seminars to other women in this situation. She could go on tour! Talk about evolved!

Later in the day, I walked up to the soccer field to watch the boys play, and I bumped into her. We talked non stop for the full game. In a very gentle manner, she suggested that I should “claim the boys’ love” for me because it is there and it is pure and unquestioning. I shared with her that it has been difficult for me to claim their love because I have tried very hard to respect everyone’s feelings in this scenario which led to me trying to protect myself from getting hurt.

But recently, out of the mouths of babes and exs, I have been given the green light to walk through a door that I have been afraid to walk through in the past. The door takes me to a place where I am accepted and important; where it is okay to love unconditionally and; where I have a happy, albeit “not normal”  family. The boys have been showing their love for me which makes it impossible for me to deny that I am important in their lives and now I have been given the blessing of their mother to love them with all my heart and my spirit. What a gift.

As I re read this, I wonder, does this sound strange? Why did I think I wasn’t allowed to love the boys? Or at least why did I think I wasn’t allowed to show it? And why on some level didn’t I accept that they love me?

I think the fear of rejection is one of the fundamental challenges of being a stepmom. We are afraid the children might reject our love, or their mother might not be comfortable with us or them showing love for each other.

I would like to know if anyone else has felt afraid to show or feel their love to their step children out of fear of their rejection or out of respect for their mother.

This is my third (and last for the year) blog on Mother’s Day…(might there an issue here??) But I do want to update what happened.

You will remember I went to great (some might say extreme) lengths to make sure my mother’s Mother’s Day, the boys’ Mother’s Day and the boys’ mother’s Mother’s Day were great! Well, things don’t always go as planned.

The first thing I did was send Mother’s Day cards in the mail to my mother (the first in years I am ashamed to say) and the boys’ mother (a first). I heard from neither, but my mother has Alzheimer’s so she probably thought to thank me and forgot. As for the boys’ mother, she is the type to wait until she sees me  and will thank me in person.

Then assuming that we did not have the boys on Mother’s Day my sister and I planned an incredible experience for our mother which involved helicopter rides, high tea and a tour through a spectacular garden. 

Once I was told that we did in fact have the boys,  I went to great lengths to make sure they were with their mother on Mother’s Day.

There had been no discussion about my Mother’s Day, amongst my immediate family but I trusted my husband would make something happen at some point to make me feel honored. So all was perfectly planned.

By the time I got up in the morning, the boys and their dad had gone off to a hockey practice. I woke up to  face licking and purrs from my furry friends, got dressed and headed out to the helicopter pad to meet my mother. On my way, I stopped for a coffee and the owner of the coffee shop gave me a carnation and wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. Random Acts of Kindness are always the best.

I met my mother at the helicopter pad, we took lots of pictures, and piled on for a ride and a day that we would not forget. Well, at least my sister and my niece and I would not forget it, my mother may…(that was our running Alzheimer’s joke). The day was stunning, the ride in the helicopter was something out of the lives of the rich and famous, the gardens gorgeous, the tea was very sophisticated. We all had a glorious time together. 

I arrived home at dinner time to a huge bouquet of flowers, homemade cards, a gift of a golf lesson (much needed and appreciated) from my husband and homemade dinner. What more could a girl ask for? They even did the dishes.

 As I was tucking the boys in I was thinking it was the end of a perfect day. I had worked hard to make sure everyone had a great day and I had succeeded. I went downstairs to watch TV with my husband and we were  interrupted by the padding of little feet. “Lisa, I need to talk to you” said a soft, upset voice from the top of the stairs.

I immediately went upstairs and was greeted by one of the boys with tears in his eyes. “I miss my mom” he sputtered out.  We went to a quiet place in the house and we sat down to have a chat. Through his tears he explained to me that he found it very difficult to see his mom in the middle of a week  ”at this house”. He said that when he comes here, he doesn’t think about her, and when he goes there he doesn’t think about us, but when he’s here, and then spends time with his mom and comes back here “it is hard”.

I was choking back my own tears as this ten year old boy clearly articulated his feelings about such a complex situation. There was no blame, no anger, no frustration, just sadness and loss in all of its purity. He wasn’t asking to call her, or go see her. It had nothing to do with Mother’s Day. He just felt sad.

My immediate reaction was to blame myself for my stupidity in “over organizing” everyone and trying to force the “perfect Mothers Day” for all. But then I realized the true gift this child was giving me was trusting me enough to share his inner most thoughts and feelings.

When I tucked him back in and gave him one last snuggle, I became aware of the fact that I might not be their Mother, but I am a very special person to them, with a very special role.

In terms of being honored on Mother’s Day, I dare say, it doesn’t get much better than this!

Isn’t life ironic? It kills me. People that I am close to know that I don’t like Mother’s Day. I feel super awkward about claiming this status of a Mother when I am a Step. I feel the kids are awkward with the concept as it refers to me. I feel it brings up issues for the boys’ mother and overall makes everyone feel uncomfortable. Even my husband tries extra hard to make it special for me to try to soften my feelings of anxiety around the subject.

So this year, my sister phoned me up and said, “I know you hate Mother’s Day, and you won’t have the boys so whatdya say we take Mom on a fun adventure?” Of course I was game! “I’m in!”, I said. I knew after years of experience that it is better to have the boys at their Mother’s house on Mother’s Day so I assumed this would be the case again this year. That freed me up to honor my mother on Mother’s Day and not be in-waiting for flowers, chocolates, cards and other gifts that may or may not arrive.

So my sister and I had planned a wonderful day with my mother which included helicopter rides, high tea and a walk through a gorgeous garden. My father was driving my mother to the airport, my husband was driving me and I’d be home in time for dinner. It sounded perfect.

Then, in a schedule update conversation with my husband he casually revealed that we have the boys on Mother’s Day. “How is this possible?” I say, “I thought we had an agreement that she always gets them on Mother’s Day and you always get them on Father’s Day?”, to which he just shrugged. This is not good, I thought, the boys will be at home without a Mother or a Stepmother on Mother’s Day.

Their mother had been out of town for a few weeks but finally a week before Mother’s Day I bumped into her at the hockey rink. “Hey”, I frantically breathed, “this Sunday is Mother’s Day and we have them and you have to have them so you should make a plan with them”.

“This Sunday is Mother’s Day?” she casually asked. I was shocked. Then she said, “You have them, you are their mother too, why don’t you do something?” What?? I was horrified at this thought, how can I do something when I am not going to be there and I am not the mother.

This was a disastor in my mind. My main focus, other than my own neurosis was the boys’ happiness being with their mother on Mother’s day and this was not coming together as planned.

“No,” I insisted, “you have to take the boys on Sunday, “it is best for everyone”. She shrugged and said, “okay, well, thanks for thinking of me”.

And that was it. My months of planning and preparation to do something nice for someone else (my mother) and not expect anything from my stepsons and free them up to be with their mother was met by her non challance.

I also made a very bold move  thanks again to Peggy at www.thestepmomstoolbox.com (for always challenging me) who challenged me to send the boys’ mother a Happy Mother’s Day card. I popped it in the mail today and I felt great about it. She is a wonderful mother, and those boys are sweet and caring and loving and beautiful human beings thanks to a big part to her. It was a joy to send her the card. And I hope it brings her joy.

But isn’t it ironic that for months I’ve been worried about Mother’s Day and she’s not even known that it is Mother’s Day?

So what might the message be here? Maybe I am over reacting and over thinking. Maybe next time I should just chill out, trust the universe and enjoy whatever happens.

What do you think?

As Mother’s Day approaches I feel reflective on my role as a mother. I have never identified myself as a mother, nor have I thought of myself as maternal. Why? Simply because I do not have my own kids. I take care of someone else’s kids I tell myself, therefore, I am not a mother.

Not having my own kids has always been what I can only describe as a great loss for me. Since I was nineteen I imagined having six boys, a happy marriage to a successful man and living in a big house. Throw in a white picket fence and you get the picture. It was an expectation of a non complex, simple life.

But life doesn’t always work out as planned.  I didn’t marry until I was 43 years old, which meant I worked all that time to support myself, and just by sheer application and time, I started to identify myself as a career woman. Over time, I became independent, capable and self sufficient out of survival and circumstance more than anything else.

I did wind up marrying a successful man and living in a big house, that part came true, and the house had a hedge not a fence, but it made me feel claustrophobic so we got rid of it. As for the rest of the fantasy, I never did have six, or even one child.

But if I daringly expand my definition of maternal beyond the biological birthing of eight pound creatures, there might be some room to at the very least own a small fraction of this identity. 

I did adopt a 6 week old puppy who was my family before I met my husband and his kids. I do have 10 year old twin part time roommates that have a need for food and comfort and nurturing. I adopted two kittens who seemed to need a good home. And my parents are aging and ironically adapting to their needs I think counts as mothering.

So it all got me thinking that maybe Maternal isn’t an adjective so much as a Verb. Maybe it is an action, or a series of actions that defines it. Maybe even the word Mother is a verb. You have to do it, take action and then you can justifiably say you are maternal or even a mother. I’ve decided if you cook for people, feed them, brush them, hug them, listen to them, take them to doctors (vets), tend to them in the middle of the night, give them treats, go for walks or bike rides, any bum wiping for sure counts, wash their dishes, their clothes, their blankets, speak in baby talk, bath them, watch them play, throw sticks or balls for them, buy them presents that these things all add up Mothering Verbs and justify the identity of Maternal. 

I also got to thinking that no one owes me a card or a bouquet of flowers just because I do these things;  it is a privilege to take care of beings that need taking care of. Somehow, I have found myself taking care of small twin boys, a dog, two cats, aging parents and  a husband (lets face it). It might not be the  naive fantasy of a nineteen year old girl, and it might not be a simple life, but it is my real life family and I am the Mother of it. Just because no one calls me mom, and society does not  recognize me as a mother, doesn’t mean I can’t claim the matriarchal status of this family.

And so as Mother’s Day is a few weeks away, I celebrate my Maternal side. I feel gratitude for the small bowls and big plates of food I produce every day, for the meows, the barks, the hugs, the stories, the sticks, the balls, the tears and giggles that all make up the fabric of my life. And no card or bouquet seems necessary.

It is over, done, finito. The year is done, but more importantly, the Christmas, New Years Crazy season is over. This is a great achievement in my books to have survived it without having a nervous breakdown. It is always a fine line as an urban step mom at Christmas time. But what would Christmas be without some step-drama?

The plan this year was that we would get the kids on Boxing Day. I’ve never liked this plan but the urban step mom has little or no say over such things. Everything depends on what Santa and Mrs. Claus work out as the best situation. I would rather the switch take place on Christmas at 2pm ish (not that I’ve thought about this…much), so that one parent gets them Christmas Eve and Christmas morning and the other gets them for dinner on Christmas. Makes sense to me but apparently not to those in the North Pole.  So for me and my husband, the holiday was all focussed around Boxing Day, the day the boys arrive and have Christmas with us.

 With Christmas “done” in terms of decorating the house and the tree, buying and wrapping all the presents, stuffing the stockings, my husband and I were free to have a night off on Christmas Eve. We had our neighbors over for a drink and had a romantic dinner just the two of us. No drama there.

We woke up on a gloriously sunny Christmas morning, opened a few presents, walked the dog and visited my parents. The boys and their mum  dropped by with some presents for us and she had asked if she could take my dog for a walk. It was the first time she had asked to take my “baby” for a walk and at first I resisted. Then I remembered  that I take her “babies” all the time, it would be the least I could do. While she was gone I thought, “we should invite her to stay for a drink or some tea” but when she returned with Dexter, the words did not come out of my mouth.

We had invited some kid less friends over for Christmas dinner while the boys were spending a quiet Christmas with just the three of them.  As I was putting out appetizers and decanting the wine for our friends I thought we should invite the three of them over here to join us, but again, the thoughts did not produce an action. We had a wonderful time with our friends, lots of laughs, but in the back of my mind, I was thinking about the boys and their mum.

Then Boxing Day, the day we were all waiting for, the kids came over around 8 am and had a wonderful second Christmas here. We had a fun day doing nothing except playing with our new stuff, eating chocolates and  and enjoying being all together. 

The next day, the boys and their dad all left at the crack of dawn for a hockey tournament while I prepared to have 12 people for a big turkey feast. The boys’ plan was to come back around noon for an hour or so and then leave again until 5:30. It was my goal to give everyone involved the Christmas dinner of their dreams. The boys would have a big family around them sharing a big traditional feast and their happiness was their father’s happiness, my parents would be grateful for having all three of  their kids together, my father would get sausage meat and sausages with his turkey, my sister would get rum and eggnog and I would get the altruistic joy of creating a wonderful evening for everyone. There would be laughs, joy, amazing food and an incredibly beautiful table set for the feast.  It would be perfect!

With the boys gone and the house empty I suddenly realized the magnatude of what I had gotten myself into. This would be only my second turkey I had cooked, and it was 20 pounds. I was alone in the house and I was freaking out. I could hardly carry the thing (which took on many nasty names as the day went on) from the fridge to the sink. How was I going to do this? I had made the stuffing the night before which was smart, but I did not know which way the bird was up and which end the stuffing went into and which end Dad’s sausage meat was supposed to be stuffed.  I had Martha’s “how to do Christmas” book out on how to prepare and  cook a turkey (it’s her fault I got a 20 pound bird as she says it is the juiciest) but it may as well have been in Greek.  I suddenly felt completely over whelmed and  in ept at the endless, urgent tasks ahead.

The table was supposed to provide the Entrance of  Awe with gorgeous white linen table clothes, sparkling red and gold center pieces, red chargers and regal, and radiating candelabra. That was until I realized with the extra table to accommodate everyone I was half a table cloth short. Many of my go to people for such things to borrow were out of town so I called my parents and told them to bring one when they came over later in the day. There would be no Entrance of Awe when they walked in the door, sorry Martha, and it seemed like the end of the world to me.  Why was it so important to create this perfect, flawless dinner? Why were the wheels of the Christmas train rapidly falling off?

When my husband came home  between hockey games (he was smart enough to not ask me what was for lunch) the turkey was miraculously appropriately stuffed and in the oven, and the potatoes were peeled, but I was in the middle of the melt down, slumped over, head in hands, “what have I done, I have no idea what I’m doing, why don’t I know what I’m doing, I am a lousy woman”, I kept saying over and over like a crazy person. This is my default head trash when faced with domestic issues that I feel some how I might have known how to do if life had worked out differently. If I had had my own children I would know exactly what to do with this 20 pound beast, I somehow rationalized. He tried to calm me down as best he could even offering to get someone else to take the kids to  the hockey tournament. I couldn’t let him miss his kids play hockey for my meltdown, so off they went leaving me alone with all my insecurities, my neurosis and my 20 pound “Muthu Effer” as it soon became known as.

My brother the chef, showed up with all my family around 5:00 and swiftly rolled up his sleeves, donned an apron and got me, and It, under control. The turkey was delicious, there were mashed potatoes, yams, peas, gravy and cranberry sauce.  The dinner was indeed filled with hilarity and joy and a spectacular feast (and table) enchanted us all. My sister was a Saint who did all the dishes at the end of the night so I wouldn’t have to wake up to them in the morning.

I was pretty much catatonic the next day and in the days to follow from expending so much energy and emotion. People had given me good books for Christmas so I plopped myself on the couch for the entire day. My goal was to zone out and put all the turkey trauma behind me.

As for New Years, I was done trying to impress everyone. I just wanted to be outside, preferably somewhere snowy with the kids and some other close friends who would understand if my holiday exhaustion rendered me quiet. My wish came true and the kids all enjoyed snow ball fights, sledding and hot chocolate. I got to be with my best friend and her family as well. The fresh air and snow lifted my spirits and rejuvenated me. It crossed my mind during one of the snow ball fights, to wonder where their mother was on this special night, the end of the decade? I’ll bet she’ll wish she was with her special boys on this night too.

The next day, in the morning, she called. She misses the boys. Can she see them earlier than planned, she asked? Maybe next year, I’ll be grown up enough to know which end is up in the turkey, and maybe even, I’ll call her if I need a linen table cloth, and even invite her to join us for a spectacular feast. Wouldn’t that be something.

Ahh Holidays. I’m talking Christmas, birthdays, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Halloween, all those fun, celebratory  times in life. Sharing holidays with your man and his kids can still be fun, in fact it can be more fun, but first, you have to completely shift your thinking about those holidays. (You also have to have kids that don’t hate you, for those that already think I’m nuts for calling holidays fun with his kids).

For me, my first hurdle  to get my head around was the fact that holidays are now all about the kids. Only urban step moms would understand what I mean when I say this. When you are single for such a long time and childless, you get used to celebrations that involve other adults: dinner parties, costume parties, trips away with girlfriends or lovers, lunches with my parents and always lots of champagne. Those days are basically gone. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, considering at 40,  Cruella DeVille had seen better days…What I am saying is these annual celebrations are completely different when his kids are involved.

We could start anywhere, but let’s start with Valentines Day. Any new urban step mom can tell you that this is a time for romance, candles, dinners, and one on one time with your man. A father of small children apparently will tell you something different. One time, my husband  presented me with a dozen gorgeous roses from all three of them. Now I shouldn’t complain about receiving roses ever, but I must admit, getting roses from a 40 something year old man and two six year olds would not fall in to my most romantic list.

We could then go to Christmas. No secret, and it shouldn’t have surprised me, but Christmas is all about the kids. Start to finish. I can see decorating the house, buying presents and having a fun opening in the morning with the kids, but my experience, and the experience of many urban step moms is as if you have just landed in a toy store and the kids have a pass to take  whatever they want. I have never seen so many presents, not only from their dad, but then they get more from their mom, then people just keep sending and dropping by with presents for them. 

I remember one Christmas after many long talks trying to get my husband to understand how I’d like to have a little “us time” at Christmas, he agreed we would go on a little trip, get home on Christmas eve, have a little “us time”, and have the boys come over on Christmas morning. Sounded delightful. We had a great trip, got home exhausted and my husband who was suddenly missing the kids decided to create a whole magical room for them with couch, tv, desk and pillows which took hours. Once he was done assembling and wrapping, he wanted to have the kids come over right away. So he called his ex, went and got them and we celebrated Christmas with them from Christmas eve  right through Boxing Day.

Eventually, I started to get the hang of holidays. Now I get right in there. It’s the old “if you can’t beat ‘em,  join ‘em” mentality and it seems to work most of the time. I am now pro active when it comes to holidays. On Halloween, I decorate the house, carve pumpkins, shop for and buy costumes, buy candy and even plant the odd plastic spider around the house! On Valentines Day (I can take a hint), I buy them all little heart shaped presents or stuffed animals, provide chocolates and cards for the three of them. And at Christmas, I will take them both shopping for their father and their mother. I feel a huge sense of accomplishment at my new capabilities and for creating my own traditions with my family. I feel happy inside that I can love and spoil all three of them on these special occasions.

The only two days I struggle with in this super step mom scenario are Mother’s Day and my birthday. More often than not I admit to feeling pangs of sadness and loss on these two days of the year. I’m not throwing a Pity Party over it, mostly because I know no one would come, but I do think it is worth mentioning that I wish all men who are with these fabulous women could rally the kids and  take a moment, realize her contributions and spoil her, on her birthday! I know so many women who do not get spoiled by their man and his kids on their birthday and it breaks my heart.

On my last birthday, my loving husband completely spoiled me. He took me out for dinners, bought me beautiful gifts, wrote sentimental cards,  gushed about how much he loves me. The truth is I told him that’s what I wanted, and I was so grateful he obliged. But my secret, unexpressed sadness came from the fact that no one told the boys it was my birthday so there were no precious homemade cards or drawings from them as I insist they do for all their other family members. I honestly sensed they felt bad about it too.

Mother’s Day is another story.  My first year with the boys, we had the kids on Mother’s Day. I felt sick and horrified that this was some huge mistake. In fact, the boys, their mother and I all felt the same way, so that never happened again. I made certain of that. But it did get confusing for years. Their dad did insist that I was acknowledged on Mother’s Day and he would go out with them and buy gifts and cards on their behalf. I found this incredibly sweet and generous on the part of my husband, but I felt a discomfort from the kids that they were doing “mother’s day stuff” for me. So the next year,  I tried to honor them and I said, you boys don’t have to do anything for me on Mother’s Day. You would have thought I had said, you don’t have to eat your dinner, we’re going straight to ice cream, they were so thrilled! Last year, I had no expectations, and they came over and dropped off flowers for me unexpectedly. I loved that. This year, their mother has decided  that I am to have my own special day (can you believe that?), honoring my contributions to them. We are well on our way to taking the “ick” out of Mother’s Day for this urban step mom.

The other hurdle I have is lack of control over whether we have the kids or not for specific holidays and the (last minute) changing of such decisions. This makes it very difficult to plan turkey dinners, surprise parties, romantic getaways or ponies if necessary. For example this Halloween, I excitedly (yes I now get excited about holidays) went out and got a whole bunch of new decorations for the house and even a costume for me (first time, and it isn’t Cruella) after being told we have the kids for Halloween. We were all invited to our neighbor’s annual very fun Halloween Party and I was all set. Then my husband informed me plans had changed and we did not in fact have the kids for Halloween. I was devastated. Then the plan changed again, and their mother was going to take one twin away for a hockey tournament and we were going to take the other one for Halloween, (things were still salvageable at this point, party’s still on). Then the plans changed again and my husband was taking one to the hockey tournament and the mother was taking the other one trick or treating. That left me all alone in the haunted house. The  experience is the typical roller coaster the urban step mom rides when she tries to re create her own traditions in her new life. She has to strap in and hang on tight because for all her heroic efforts, things just might not go her way.

 I do find it interesting however that five years ago I might have freaked out at the responsibility of having the kids on Halloween, not having a clue of what to do. Also, I would have loved the opportunity to have the house to myself. Now, I would rather be with the twins celebrating Halloween than alone. I will go next store to my neighbor’s party and I will have a bit of scotch and I will wear my new costume, but I will miss my little Ghouls and the fun we could have had with all my heart.