don't hate the player...

I'm no stranger to bizarre questions in my household. Two step daughters at the ages of 13 and 10 are bound to ask some zingers that leave my head spinning. And most of the time they're questions that I should really know the answers to.

Like how to divide fractions.
Or multiply decimals.
Or what phase the moon is in. Yikes.
  
But every now and again, a question comes out of one of their mouths that is so random, I don't really even think twice about the question behind the question. It happened last night. Hubs, the girls and myself had just sat down to dinner at one of our go-to restaurants. We chatted about where we should go for our Thanksgiving trip this year (we decided somewhere with a beach; that's all Mid-westerners think about) and how excited we were that winter would soon be giving way to spring. Just mindless chit chat. Then, out of nowhere, my youngest stepdaughter turned to me and said, "Ruby? What's a player?"

I looked at Hubs across the table, and he shrugged. I mean, this wasn't an altogether kooky question, but it certainly had nothing to do with the topic at hand. I kind of chuckled and gave her an honest answer based on my experiences.

"Well," I said, thinking of a gentle way to word my answer. "It's when a guy or girl dates or go out with a lot of people, but they are only dating them because they want something from them. Like sex or money or something like that. It's a form of manipulation. Remember when we talked about your friend J that was trying to manipulate you to do her homework? It's like that, but with boyfriends and girlfriends."

She sat quietly, taking in my response, and nodded. And that was it. I chalked it up to her hearing the word at school from someone and moved on. No biggie. A few minutes later, as I laughed at an amusing anecdote Hubs was sharing, she tugged at my elbow and motioned for me to come close. Somewhat distracted, I leaned down to her face and she whispered softly in my ear, "Is my Mommy a player?"

Whoa. She now had my full attention.

A number of questions went through my head, namely "how do I answer this?" I've never referred to Mama Ex as a player, and I know Hubs hasn't either. However, I do know that Mama Ex is notorious for changing guys more often than she changes her nail polish. In addition, she never, ever lets a guy go. One of her ex boyfriends from 5 years ago still changes her oil every three months. Another ex still takes her to the local NFL games during the fall. Her estranged husband pays for the girls' cell phone bills, baby-sits for the girls and pays dental bills. Mama Ex has a long line of men willing and ready to give her whatever she needs when she needs it. One can only assume they're being compensated...

After cleaning up the soda I spit all over the table, I finally responded as honestly as I could to my step daughter's very perceptive question. "Well, honey," I said. "I don't know Mommy terribly well, so that's not something I feel like I can answer. Do you feel like Mommy's a player?"

She simply shrugged her shoulders. Her 13-year old sister, however, had plenty to say."Ruby," she said with a mouth full of french fries and a scowl we've become accustomed to. "Just tell her no, that's what she wants to hear, even though we all know Mommy is definitely a player." Of course this started World War III at the table between the two girls, and we abandoned our discussion about Mommy and instead focused on using our words and controlling our tempers. But the question remained, hanging there. Even now, almost 13 hours later, it's still haunting me. 

Later on it was revealed that Mama Ex recently shared with the girls that she does, indeed, have a new boyfriend and they've been dating since October. I'm sure, since Mama Ex is actually still married (they've been "separated" for 5 years) my youngest step daughter is probably beginning to see the pretty obvious pattern of behavior that is indicative of a "player."

Regardless of my step daughters' figuring all of this out, I've decided it isn't my place to agree or disagree with them. I mean, I wasn't lying when I answered her question. I really don't know Mama Ex well enough to know that she is, in fact, a player. (I mean, two and two is four, but I have no concrete proof.) Even if I did, 100% positively know that Mama Ex is a player, what good will it do me to confirm this to her children? 

When I was 10, I remember my mother gained quite a large amount of weight unexpectedly. I knew it, my family knew it, and my friends knew it. But did I punch a girl in the face at school when she called my mother fat? Um, duh. Just because the girls have figured out a less than flattering characteristic about their mother, it doesn't mean I should be the one to validate the thought. True or not, it would still hurt to hear someone they love and trust (me), say something mean or hateful about their mom. 

I certainly wish I could say that Mama Ex is going to extend me the same courtesy...but you can't have everything.

What bizarre questions have your SK's asked you that put you in a weird spot? How did you respond? Would you have responded to the question like Ruby did?

 

Catty got your tongue?

Women are catty and competitive. It's a fact of life. It's built into our DNA. We check each other out at the mall, in the grocery store, at restaurants. We compare clothes, jobs and 401k's.  I mean, I love my friend Jenny, but I need to get the new Michael Kors bag before she does. I adore Katrina, but it has to be said that she has been visiting the Cheeto department at the grocery store a little too often. And don't get me started on Janelle...uh, those pores. She really needs a facial.

And these are the women I truly love.
 
So I'm sure you can all relate to the quiet, secret and completely in my own head competition to the 357th power that occurs when Mama Ex is concerned. It doesn't happen immediately, either. It's a strange phenomenon that occurs over time, whether you intend it to or not. One minute you're meeting Mama Ex for the first time and thinking, "She seems nice," and the next minute you're watching her pick up the kids and fuming, "Does she ALWAYS have to wear high heels? Cripes, it's Sunday afternoon."

I used to think that comparing myself to Mama Ex was completely my step kids fault. After all, when we pick up the kids from school, it starts immediately.

Mommy got a new purse from her boyfriend this weekend.

Mommy stayed up until 3:00 in the morning with us on Saturday watching scary movies! She is so awesome!

Mommy took us to the counselor when the scary movies scarred us for life. (Okay, this didn't really happen.)

Mommy is going on a date tonight and I think his name is Cristopher!

When the kids are spouting off the low down on what's going on with Mommy, it isn't like I'm going to ignore them. They want to share what their mom is up to, and it's only natural for me to listen, right?

Yes, to an extent.

The problem arose when I realized that the kids were no longer volunteering information about Mommy...I was requesting it. I didn't even realize I was doing it until the other day when I told Hubs that Mama Ex is going on a first date with a pilot tonight.  "How the hell do you know this?" he asked. "The kids told me." I replied. But did they tell me? Or did I pull it out of them.

Yeah, I pulled.

So what harm is this really going to do? Hubs and Mama Ex have a not great relationship, so it isn't like she's going to tell us about her personal life on her own. What if she's dating a total psycho and we don't find out until it's too late and he kidnaps the kids and moves to Montana? The truth is, there's nothing wrong with knowing what is going on with Mama Ex relative to what will affect the girls and their safety. But a first date is really none of my business. And neither is what size jeans Mama Ex wears. Or if she really is a natural blonde. (I know it's a home box kit, I just know it.)

Comparing myself to Mama Ex is actually indicative of a deeper problem. I simply want approval from my stepkids. I know they love her "to the moon and back" (a quote I'm so jealous I didn't think of using first) and I want them to love me that way, too. They look at her as if she's absolute perfection, so if I can get any tid bit of dirt that makes her seem human, it in turn makes me feel better. And there's a word for that.

Selfishness.

I should be glad if Mama Ex finds a new boyfriend that flies a plane and has a $20 million trust fund, because the girls will benefit from that. If Mama Ex bakes 50 cupcakes from scratch and become "Mother of the Year" at the school, I should be glad the kids have a mom they can be proud of. But constantly comparing myself to her is just as futile as when I do it to my own friends. I'll never be her, and she'll never be me. (And Hubs is just fine with that.) The kids love us both differently, so we should be proud of our differences and embrace them, not use those differences to keep score on who has the better earrings.

So the next time my step daughters jump in the car after school, I won't go fishing for the skinny on Mama Ex. Instead, I'll ask them how their Math test went, or what fun hairstyle I can help them try tomorrow. I'll focus on getting the good info on their lives...instead of hers. Asking about them will feel so much better than digging for dirt on her - and no amount of blonde hair dye can change that.

Do you ever compare yourself to Mama Ex? How does that go for you?

5 Lies I Will Never Tell My Stepdaughter

It's fairly customary for me to scroll through my Facebook feed at at least 10 times a day. Okay 20.

At most 30.

But yesterday as I sped past all the baby announcements, comments on the weather and post of self loathing, something occurred to me. My stepdaughters are growing up in an era where every person's opinion on every subject are available to them at any moment. When I was a child, I formed my opinions by listening to the grown-ups that I saw the most: my parents, teachers and religious leaders. 

So in an the age of constant information (or misinformation) overload, what truths and lessons do I want to make darn sure my stepchildren will take with them? It took several sleepless hours last night, but in the end, I decided it wasn't truths I'm worried about...but lies. Big, fat, dangerous misconceptions that have no business in my step children's heads. So I'm on a mission to never teach my stepdaughters (or any future children of my own) lies that could be the difference between a good life and a great life.

Grades are everything.

I'd be telling a big, fat lie myself, if I said I wasn't already kind of guilty of this one. So maybe I just promise to no longer tell this lie. It's a hard line to walk when you want to push the importance of grades, while simultaneously being aware that there's no way your kid is ever going to be asked to give a deep dive into why Romeo and Juliet were destined for an early grave. Grades do make a difference, yes. I mean, if kids flunk 8th grade English, then consequently, 9th grad English will be even tougher. But I grew up in a time where anything below an A was unacceptable. It made me crazy. Rather than listening to what the teacher said, I was thinking, "If I get a C on my next test, that takes my grade to a 89%, which is a B. And I'm dead."

I understand the importance of the basic 3: reading, writing arithmetic. (And I think we should throw science in there, too.) But if my stepkid sucks at public speaking and bombs Speech and Drama, there's no way I'm telling her she's not going to get into college because of it. Which leads me to the next lie I won't tell.

College is a necessity

I'm just going to say it...I'm not 100% sure both of my stepkids will go to college for several reasons. The largest reason among them being that Mama Ex does not believe college is important, and would rather the children find a Sugar Daddy early on to take care of them. With that kind of mentality being pushed at them 65% of the time, it's a tall order to sway them the other way. Hubs and I continually push that college will make getting a well paid job easier, but even that's kind of a lie. Think of all the kids graduating college with $80,000+ in student loan debt that are moving back home and working at Kohl's. A college degree does not mean a well paying job anymore - and maybe it never did. I would much rather push working hard for your dream, whatever that may be. Maybe my stepkid has mad comedic talent and wants to write the next "Friends." Maybe an internship would give her everything she needs to make that dream a reality. Perhaps my youngest stepdaughter loves working on cars and wants to start her own detailing business, and an associate's degree is really all she needs. Bottom line, the "you must go to college" sermon is so 1996. I want to think bigger and differently, and that's what I'll encourage my stepkids to do as well.

Waiting for marriage is the best way to go

My parents' "sex talk" was pretty simple, and said with creased eyebrows and wringing hands. "Sex is when A goes into B, and don't do it until you're married or God will know and you'll burn in hell. Okay? Dinner's ready."


My approach is a bit different based on life experience. I dated the same guy on and off for almost 8 years. We loved each other and had a perfectly lovely relationship - for kids that were 18. But if I had held out on sleeping with him, I don't know that I would've have figured out that we were totally wrong for each other. Sex (or lack thereof) would have become the epicenter of our relationship at that tender age. Every move would have centered around "WHEN ARE WE GOING TO DO IT, ALREADY?" The fact that I broke my parents' rule and slept with him after waiting for 6 months was probably one of the scariest things I'd ever done, but looking back, I'm so glad I did it. It matured me. It made me understand what a real relationship involved. Before, sex was this sacred and scary thing that I could only do with one person. Ever. Once I did it with someone I truly loved and had a great experience, it was no longer scary or evil. I understood it was something special to be done with someone I loved. In college, the boyfriend and I broke up (several times) and when I dated other guys, I could take sex or leave it. It wasn't my reason for dating. I wasn't afraid of it, and I felt in control of it. That's how I want my step daughter's to feel: in control. I want them to understand their bodies and understand what sex is about, so that some a-hole with a red Mustang and a mustache can't use it to manipulate them and get them knocked up. Which leads me to...

You can get pregnant at any time, in any position, fully clothed and while on your period.

I know I wasn't the only one that was told this lie growing up. We all heard the story about the stupid girl that dry humped her boyfriend and somehow the baby juice went through his jeans, past her Z Cavaricci's, through her underwear and up into her vagina where a magical baby was made. IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!!!

Nope. I won't do it to my stepkids. I am a firm believer in facts, not made up lies used to scare and intimidate rather than educate and empower. No one ever explained my cycle to me after 6th grade sex education class. And all I remember from that experience was trying not to laugh when the 65 year old lady said the word "penis" and "ejaculation." At that age, I was so freaked out about this impending period thing that could happen at any time that I wasn't even listening to how a baby is actually made.

(And for the record, it's way harder than they make it sound.)

As a woman struggling with infertility, I want to pass facts and information along to my step daughters. I want them to understand what is happening to their body each month, and why their boobs hurt and what could happen if they have sex at a time when they're ovulating. When I was 18, I thought ovulation was something the moon did around the sun.

I realize there are freak scenarios where people get pregnant on their period, and that is frankly, completely outside the point. If my stepchildren are comfortable enough talking to me or their mom or dad about sex and pregnancy, then they will likely be comfortable enough to talk to us about prevention when the time comes. I was terrified to talk to my Mom about birth control, so I just didn't get any and hoped for the best. I was fortunate that I didn't get pregnant before I was ready, but so many others aren't that lucky.


 If you get a job, you keep it. Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever...

My father worked at the same company for 15 years right out of high school, and only moved on because the company went under. Hubs' father has never worked anywhere other than where he got his first job post-college. He's been there nearly 40 years.

Me? I got a job out of college and moved to another one three months later. Than, nine months after that I moved again. Then two years after that. Then two and a half years after that. I've now been with a company I love for over two years and have no desire to go elsewhere. But it took me 7 years to get here. Now, before you go ballistic and call me a job hopper, I'll do it for you. I was a job hopper out of college. I had a degree, and as soon as I got to my first job, I realized I hated it. I hated being behind a desk 40 hours a week making meager money for a boss I hated. My parents all but flipped out, saying, "But they have dental! And 401k! Don't you dare quit!" So I quit and found something else that had dental and 401k.

My point is, if I had stayed at that job I hated, I never would have to do better for myself. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with longevity at a company. It certainly looks better on a resume. But if you're miserable, aren't you doing yourself and the company a disservice? Yes, you are. I will teach my stepchildren that the first isn't always best. (That lesson works with sex, too, by the way.) I want to challenge my step daughters to keep pushing, to keep looking for the job that will make them feel proud and excited and motivated if the one they have isn't holding up its end of the bargain.

It wasn't easy for me. I was fired from one job and laid off from another. I struggled. I cried. But I learned a lesson from each employer I worked for. And looking back, each one of my jobs prepared me for the next, culminating in a career I actually look forward to every day. And if, someday, the job I currently hold fails to stimulate me the way it does now, I'll be on the search for something that does. If my step daughters land one job that lasts them 50 years, I will be just as proud as I would if it takes them 15 jobs to find what makes them happy.

And that's the truth.


What lies will you never tell you children or stepchildren? Do you worry about the lies they're learning from other kids and adults? How do you handle it?
 

Warped Reality

My hubby and I never thought we'd utter the words "Why can't she just like One Direction?". But we did.

Somewhere in the last thirty days we've gone from having a british obsessed laughy happy teen who is O.B.S.E.S.S.E.D. with the likes of Harry, Nial and some other names I do not know but adorn the walls of her bedroom (every squre inch to be exact) to a girl with tears because she wants to attend some all day shindig with bands who look like miniature Marilyn Manson protégées and her parents are not super excited about it. What the F??

Now, I'm perfectly sympathetic to changing the tone of your tunes as a teen because some boy you have the latest crush on totally wants a chick who knows all the words to Ruby Soho but wanting to dress up like this guy:

for Halloween and calling him your "hero" has struck a not so happy nerve in our house. Oh and don't say that he looks like a guy from Kiss because that will also create a hysteria fueled, eye rolling arguement you don't want any part of. We aren't sure what is driving this change but we're willing to do what we can to curb it -- and quick.
....
A couple of weeks ago ago hubby and I were sitting on the couch, enjoying a perfectly relaxing evening when we noticed a new post by B on her Facebook.

"OMG..My parents are SO MEAN!! I'm probably going to be in trouble for posting this but they don't understand my EnTirE world revolves around (insert band names). They won't let me go to Warped Tour!!! Who else is going?? MY LIFE IS OVER!!! I'm going to be 14 and a half when it's here!! This is DUMB! They think there will be smoking and drugs and fighting. They don't know anything about concerts - I'VE DONE MY RESEARCH"

Naturally we ignore the rant and keep an eye on the comments. It seems little Miss Drama-Never-Been-to-a-Concert's friends weren't piping up about how awful we were in a timely enough fashion that the post was hastily removed after a few minutes. Oh the need for likes and social gratification. Even with the post missing the hint dropping over tickets for Christmas kept up over the next week or so. This wasn't going away and we needed a plan.

While most parents would stick to their guns and decide the all day band fest is no place for their kid, we chose another path. We have called her bluff. We have now offered to take her and ALL her friends (because EVERYONE she knows is going) that want to go as long as she pays her own admission. All the headbanging, face painted, ear wrenching jam fest she can handle -- as she sits next to her dad and me. For us, we think this phase is about the attention she wants or some boy she's crushing on rather than the true desire to attend this show. Only time will tell if she will back off this or not but in the mean time - we're planning our outfits and stocking up on studded collars -- and ear plugs.

Have you ever been tested by your teen? Did you pass the test or get schooled?

To be continued....

 

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The Great Coat Debate

Did you think we'd fallen off the earth? Been stabbed to death by Mama Ex? Buried in dirty clothes from our stepkids?

No...we just got lazy and forgot to write for three months. It happens.

But yesterday something snapped me (Ruby) back to the land of reality. As I stood there, unsure what to do, I realized that I cannot possibly be the only stepmom (or mom for that matter) dealing with this crisis. Surely all the other stepmom bloggies out there are experiencing the same things as me.

Because it's winter. And winter means coats. And coats are like Kryptonite laced with heroin dipped in hummus for children.

It all started Monday morning, when I saw the temperature was going to be 28 degrees as the kids headed off to the bus. For those of you who flunked Science (like me), 28 degrees means BELOW freezing. As in, "Oh, I think I'll have a glass of water outside, but I can't because it turned into an ICE CUBE."

Hubs and I are usually pretty lenient when it comes to what the kids wear to school in winter. It was this side of 15 years ago that we were the ones schlepping off to school in whatever concoction our parents forced us into. Myself? I can clearly remember going to my 7th grade locker in slush-covered purple moon boots. That's right. Purple. Moon snow boots. And this was way before "Napoleon Dynamite" made them trendy. It didn't really matter to the other kids that I had Doc Martens in my book bag because I had to change out of my PURPLE MOON BOOTS before I could put the Docs on. I was ridiculed and laughed at, and I swore I'd never let my children feel that humiliation.

So, do I force my stepkids into galoshes, hats, scarves, thermal underwear and ski goggles? No. Do I hem and haw all over them, checking for any piece of skin that might be exposed to the deathly elements outside? Hardly. Do I insist that when it's below freezing they at least wear a light jacket?

Effing right, I do.

You would think I asked my 13-year-old step daughter to please cut off her right hand and place it in the donation bucked for underprivileged countries to use.

It went a little something like this:

Me: Hey honey, the temp is 28 degrees right now.You need a coat today.

M: But Ruby! You said I didn't have to because you're picking me up from school today!!!!!

Me: (chuckles) Um, no, what I said was, you don't have to wear your heavy, fur-lined winter coat today. But you at least have to wear your heavy sweatshirt or your light puffy coat.

M: (lip quivering) But...but...but, I DON'T HAVE ANYWHERE TO PUT IT!!!!! WAHHHHHH!!!!!

Me: That's why the school gave you that metal box called a locker, silly.

M:  (throws hands in air) NOBOBDY GOES TO THEIR LOCKER!!!!! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS STUPID COAT AT SCHOOOOOOOOOLLLLL!????

Me: (speaking softly) Okay, M, here's the deal. When I tell you to wear your glasses at school, and you don't do it, I don't say anything. When I ask you to please not wear the same shirt three days in a row and you do it anyway, I don't say anything. When I beg you to make sure all the shampoo gets washed out of your hair, and then I see you walking around with chunks of Tresseme on your scalp, I don't. say. anything. But this is your health. This is so I don't have to visit you in the hospital while you lose a finger to frost bite. You are going to wear a coat. I don't care what you do with it once you get to school. Hide it behind a trash can for all I care, but you are going to wear a coat, and that's the end.

M: (crosses arms and glares) Mommy doesn't care if I wear a coat or not!!!

Oh no she didn't.

For most stepchildren, this is a textbook bluff. It's easy to say "Mommy let's me do this" or "Mommy doesn't make me do that" because kids figure there's no way for their parent to verify the truth. After all, Mom and Dad want to speak to each other about as much as cats want to take a hot, steamy bath. But in this case, M wasn't bluffing. Mama Ex truly does not care if her children wear a coat in sub-zero weather. Or if they wear their glasses. Or if they brush their teeth. Or change their underwear. (We've talked about this before.)

So how are Hubs and I supposed to respond to this? I know it's not healthy to begin a verbal diatribe on Mama Ex's life choices that have left her broke, miserable and all together unhappy. But it's so damn tempting.

In the end, I took a deep breath and said, "What Mommy chooses to let you do is her business. But Daddy and I want you to be healthy, and that means wearing a coat. This is not negotiable."

And I walked away.

And felt guilty. How is that possible? How can I possibly feel guilty for making my stepchild do something that is right? And will I forever be battling this woman whom I hardly ever see but am constantly being compared to? When she grows up someday, will M look back and remember that her mother would rather be her friend and appease her than to have a confrontation and actually be a parent?
  
The worst part of all of this is what hit me yesterday. Hubs and I only have the kids two mornings a week for school. This means that the other three days, Mama Ex is sending them out into the cold with no coats. And when they get sick (and they will), WE PAY FOR THE INSURANCE THAT MAKES THEM BETTER.

How's that for irony?

What battles do you fight with Mama Ex that seem to never end? Do you make your stepkids wear coats in freezing temps?

The Courtroom Fantasy Not Worth Having?

Every stepmom has had it once or twice. Maybe even more than that. It creeps into our subconscious at the strangest of times, picking at our brain, begging us to give in. And every now and then, we'll indulge and let it take over.

You know it well. The courtroom fantasy.

For me, the fantasy always varied, but it was usually some version of the following:

Our much anticipated day in court arrives. The sun is shining, I'm having an amazing hair day, and we've pulled a judge notorious for siding with the father. I sit next to Hubs in the courtroom, holding his hand as he calmly hears the evidence from Mama Ex's side.  There isn't much evidence to hear, though. Her side of the story is weak and makes her look greedy for more child support. When Mama Ex gets on the stand, she makes a fool of herself, getting caught in lie after lie after lie. She finally sees what it's like to have no control.

The judge hears our side of the story that we've been living for the last 7 years. He is shown the parental alienation tactics that Mama Ex has subjected us to. He sees with his own eyes how she uses the children as pawns to gain an advantage over the girls' father. He reads the Facebook posts where she refers to herself as a "helpless single mother" and unleashes hurtful and untrue insults at my husband. The judge shakes his head in disbelief.

I get on the stand and give a performance worthy of an Oscar, causing the judge to tear up as I explain (truthfully) how much I love the kids and how our life with them is worthy of at least a 50/50 custody arrangement. And finally, Hubs gives a first hand account of how much he loves his children, and explains poignantly how his time with them has been stripped away by Mama Ex's acts of manipulation.

The judge returns from a 10 minute deliberation and announces that he is disgusted by the evidence he's heard. Mama Ex has been a terrible example for how to co-parent, and by God, she's lucky he's allowing her to see the kids at all after hearing this evidence. He rules a 50/50 custody split (or maybe even full custody to us!) and demands that Mama Ex give back every child support dollar that she's wasted on booze, casinos and clothing for herself. It's a wonderful day.

Oh yes, in my fantasy, this all happens in one day.

And it only costs me $100.00

Laugh all you want, but I swear these are the thoughts that went through my mind when Hubs and I walked into court back in May. And I was surprised how close to my fantasy the reality seemed to come.

We pulled a female judge for the trial, but that was just a small difference. We still put on an amazing case, though it did take 4 days total. Despite those minor setbacks, everything went better than planned. Our evidence was rock solid, just like in my fantasy. My hair looked great and I handled my time on the stand eloquently. Mama Ex made a complete fool of herself, just like in my fantasy. Hubs was amazing as he recounted the stories of what we've experienced.  And the judge seemed to understand all of it, just like in my fantasy.

But the verdict. The ridiculous verdict. As Clark Griswald said, "If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised than I am right now." 

We went from 10% time with the kids to only 25% time. Mama Ex still remains the address of record for school purposes, though she moves at least twice a year. Our child support went up - significantly. The judge also ordered that we start paying for all school lunches for both children. Why? Because in court, we showed that Mama Ex is constantly maintaining a negative balance for school lunches, so obviously, she "can't handle that expense."

WHAT?

Hubs and I were dumbfounded. How is it Hubs responsibility to make sure Mama Ex can handle her expenses? She's not 5. She's a grown woman with the ability to work and thrive. (And before you flip out that I'm complaining about a stupid lunch payment, calm down. This isn't about the money. We are happy to pay for the lunches. It's the principle of the thing.)

After hearing the verdict, Hubs and I spent at least three days just absorbing the reality. We had spent an astronomical amount of money (I'll spare you the actual dollar amount because it will make you ill) trying to get what every willing and able-bodied parent deserves. 50% time with their children. It's not like we live in Uganda. We moved to a home only 1.5 miles from Mama Ex's crap apartment. We're happily married with a nice house and a consistently stable environment. Mama Ex can't even remember the name of the boyfriend she saw last night.

The reality is, we live in a very flawed world. There is some serious judicial bias that accompanies custody cases. Many judges feel that mother's are the best solution for children. Period. Mother's are the ones with the "parental instinct". They fix the boo boo's. They pick out the clothes. They are the stable, nurturing party. Dad goes out and makes the money, and then gives the money to Mom in a "Me Tarzan, me get you and baby Tarzan's food" kind of way.

And it's a load of horse ca-ca.

My husband is capable and willing to do everything a mother does. He WANTS to. He deserves to be given that chance. Why does a vagina = stability and a penis = uncertainty? How is this fair?

I saw a commercial the other day that made my stomach turn. It was an advertisement for an acne treatment for teens. I've seen thousands of ads like this before. Kid has pimples, kid uses product, kid gets clear skin. But this ad was different. Toward the end, a little graphic appeared at the bottom of the screen that read, "Ask your mom before calling to order!"

And then I threw my remote at the TV.

This is the problem. We are living in a society that thinks Dad is, by nature, taking a backseat to his kids' lives. He's coming home from work and saying, "What's for dinner, honey? Were the kids good?" My husband is nothing like this, and I doubt yours is either. Hubs works hard, and so do I. If we ever have children (learn more on that here), we'll certainly both have equal input. We will work together. Hubs was not content being a Backseat Driver Dad to my step daughters. He wanted more. He wanted what he deserved. And when he went to the one place that could validate that desire, the one place that could make Mama Ex see that he a worthy parent, he was turned down.

So stepmoms, go on and have your fantasies about when you finally get your day in court. Maybe you'll win big, bigger than you ever thought possible. If you do, I will cheer right along beside you on a victory well earned. But just know, the odds are stacked against you. Unfortunately, my courtroom fantasy turned into a very hard reality.

Of course, being the mostly positive person I am, I have found the silver lining. Our time with the kids is going to go up, and Mama Ex can't stop that. And with that extra time, we are going to savor every second. Maybe one day, when the kids are older, we'll explain all of this to them. In the meantime, we have to keep moving forward and keep our sights set on the future. As time passes, we can work to improve our relationship with Mama Ex, making her more willing to let us have some additional time. Miracles can happen.
 
So we'll just keep waiting for it them to show up...
 
Have you had a courtroom fantasy? Did it work out or turn sour? What is your advice for stepmoms heading into a court battle?

Hello, I'm a Stepmom. And I have baby fever.

Stepmoms are in a weird sort of love-limbo with their stepkids - and people on the outside don't really understand it. We love our stepkids to the deepest parts of our heart. We want the best for them, we cry for them, we worry for them, we live for them.

But they aren't ours. And they won't ever be. No. Matter. What.

This realization is one I spend a good deal of time trying to avoid. (Sort of like how I avoid mirrors after I've gone on a three day Mexican food binge.) Besides, it will be my turn soon enough, with my own biological child.

(Oh wait...we've been trying for 2 years and the baby train has yet to pull into my station. Dammit.)

That's right. I'm a stepmom with two stepkids and the intense desire to have a child of my own with Hubs. And it just won't happen. 

At the beginning, I assumed getting preggers would be a walk in the park because, hey, Hubs is obviously Fertile Myrtle. He has two kids and they were both conceived with a woman who was literally told that she would never be able to conceive children. Ever.

We're talking immaculate conceptions, here.

Naturally, when we made the decision to move forward with baby making, I went around telling everyone with functional ears that: 


WE'RE TRYING, WE'RE TRYING, WE'RE TRYING! POINT ME TO THE BABY SECTION! (*throws balloons and confetti*)

Everyone, including myself, expected an announcement within two months. But nothing happened. Then a few more months went by. Then a few more. Gradually, people stopped paying attention to my stomach or checking to see if I was having a drink with dinner. They stopped using phrases like "when you have a baby" or "after you get pregnant". In fact, a lot of people just stopped saying anything. Better to pretend like nothing happened.

Because nothing is happening.

Struggling with infertility is hard enough when it's just you and your husband, waiting for a stupid pink plus sign to show up on a stupid plastic thing that ironically looks just like a tampon. But when you throw in being a stepmom, things get infinitely worse...because people think think they have the perfect solution to your problem. 

You already have kids!!!! TA DAAAA!

I recently started to notice that when I spoke to friends and family about my epic failure to get knocked-up, they would inevitably smile and and say reassuringly, "Well, even if you don't get pregnant, you  always have the girls!" or worse yet,  "Maybe God gave you stepkids because he knew you wouldn't be able to have children." And then they stand there and expect me to be all, "You're right. I am really lucky."

But I really want to hold someone's head under water.

Just because I have stepkids does not make my desire to be a mother any less. If anything, it intensifies it 2000 fold. Let's remember I already have to act like a mom and talk like a mom and love like a mom and curtail the college keg stand photos on my Facebook statuses like a mom...but I don't get to be a mom. I don't get to hold my own child in my arms. At least not yet.

Reminding me that I already have stepkids is like pouring a gigantic bowl of salt on a gaping, open sore in my uterus. Imagine you are trying desperately to buy a house, but every house you fallin love with is taken off the market the second you think you have the deal done. Would you enjoy it if I kindly reminded you that God set you up in a totally killer apartment and you should just be grateful?

Exactly. And that's just a stupid house, not the proverbial fruit of your loins.

So just don't. Don't say anything about my stepkids if I confide in you that I'm struggling with infertility. Just be there for me. Tell me you're so sorry I'm going through this and you hope it will all turn out okay in the end. Because in all liklihood, it will. Don't throw my stepchildren in my face. They're human beings, not a consolation prize at the Infertility Olympics.

Oh...and when 34098098234 people announce their pregnancies on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram? I'm likely going to have an effing meltdown. Just hold my hand and be there. Sometime saying nothing says absolutely everything.