Reflections of a step-mom/adopted mom

Today at church our pastor asked all the moms to stand. I felt like a bit of an impostor when I stood up. When people ask me if I have kids, I say yes, then follow with the caveat that I had stepkids whose mom died, and then I adopted them. Why? Because I did not bear them. Barb did. And clarifying this is my way of recognizing her as their mother. She carried them, bore them, fed them, changed them, supported them, nurtured them, and loved them. When their father moved out, she had to share them with a stranger, who had never had children, and was 10 years her junior -- me. While she was alive and I was the weekend stepmom, I felt my best options were to feed them and play with them. Be kind of a "bonus parent." They could be sweet, fun, and great company. They could also be messy, loud, and annoying. Yep - so can I.

So, that's family life for you. Slowly and in an unnatural order, I began to learn how to put their needs ahead of my own, while still not totally undermining my own value. I'm sure I had my selfish moments. But I began to understand why people say having kids is worthwhile.

Barb was diagnosed with breast cancer during the first year I was married to her ex-husband. Four years later she passed away. I was a fulltime stepmom to Erin, 15, and part-time stepmom of Matt, 17. That's when we all started going to church. I found the guidance I needed there. I learned how to love better, although I did my share of messing up, including burning them at the beach. Sometimes I yelled like a "real mom." I also cooked, cleaned, ran taxi service, taught them to drive, and cleaned up vomit.

Before she died, Barb called me and expressed concern that her kids would not be properly parented after she passed. I told her I couldn't even imagine how she must have been feeling and what she was going through. I assured her that I loved her children. I hope it gave her peace.

Six years later I formally adopted them through the Ventura County court system. Since they were over 18, it cost $19 per adoption. They thought it should have cost more. Believe me, it did. But the rewards were worth it.

Eleven years later I have a 31-year-old, a 34-year-old, and three grandchildren. I'm not married to their father anymore. They have a loving stepdad in Bob. (is the man married to your stepmom your double stepdad?) And he has been good to them. He has helped me be a better parent too.

God was good to me. He gave me these wonderful young people to help grow me. They are kind. They are honest and caring. I hope Barb is relieved. And I hope she doesn't mind that I say I'm their mom too. They'll never forget her. And neither will I.

Another candle lights my fire

A medley just popped into my head as I anticipate turning another year older. "Put another candle on your birthday cake" from Sheriff John and "Light my fire" by the Doors. Because if you remember Sheriff John, your birthday cake is probably ready to start your house on fire, just like mine. I really don't mind my age. Most of the time I see myself as ageless and don't think about numbers much. But rarely do I stop and think, "what do I want for my birthday?" Most of my wants have to do with getting more sleep or having fewer commitments. Having someone come clean my house would be cool. I guess an iPhone or a Smart phone would be nice. But that means paying a monthly fee for a data package, and I'm just not down with that yet. I started poking around Amazon and saw that Elton John's "Yellow Brick Road" CD is available, as is the DVD of how they made that album. Sounds pretty cool. I like concert DVDs. I'd like a bikini-ready body too, can someone please wrap that up for me to open on the big day? So how do I want to spend that day...hmmm...maybe horseback riding. Possibly wine tasting. I haven't had a birthday party in a long time, and I don't think I really want one. Unless it's a music party. That might be cool. I could pretend I'm turning some age I really liked, like 16 or so, and play music from that era. James Taylor. Elton John. Carly Simon. Carole King. Bread. Jim Croce. Eagles. I think that sounds pretty fun. Anticipation. Don't let the sun go down on me. Peaceful easy feeling. I've got a name. You've got a friend. Don't let me be lonely tonight. I think I'll live it up in Hotel California. Music makes everything better!

Selfish or self-honoring?

One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is make a decision to honor my heart even though I knew it hurt someone I loved. There was so much internal pressure to do the “right” thing, the “dutiful” thing, and stay married because I had promised to love, honor, and cherish. But can you promise love? I mean deep down “you’re my soul mate” kind of love. How can you promise what you can’t control?

I was raised to be dutiful. My parents were from “the greatest generation.” They married in July of 1941, and after Pearl Harbor was attacked, my dad enlisted in the Navy. He had an extremely strong work ethic, and my mom ran our home like a Ritz-Carlton, even down to custom menu items. My mom never said “you’re on your own for dinner tonight.” Food came like clockwork, beds were always made, the house was always clean, and my clothes were always purchased, washed, ironed, and put away. I have no doubt that my parents loved each other. And I have no doubt that early on in their 32-year marriage, they found incompatibilities and value differences that were put in the back of the closet but infected the whole house. They stayed together until I was 16 out of duty to us. I give them an A for effort but it breaks my heart that they chose self-sacrifice over the truth and a shot at real happiness for all those years.

I will make sacrifices for those I love. I will go without something to have money for a gift, I will cook when I’m sleep-deprived, and I will sit up all night in the emergency room with a friend when her kid is having surgery. But I couldn’t love so much if I didn’t love myself too. I want to have a happy and truthful relationship, not a gritted-teeth illusion founded on duty. And I want that for everyone, including my ex. Would it have been honoring to him for me to cheat him of the opportunity to be truly loved? Some people go through a rough patch and then fall in love again. I had to make the best decision at the time. It hurt my heart. But my heart would hurt more if I stayed married while pining for someone else. And I think that would have been the less honorable thing to do. I knew it would hurt either way. And the scars are mine to wear. I’m convinced nothing hurts more than living a lie. And I’m glad I don’t have to do that. The truth truly does set you free.

Humanity Makes All the Difference

I've lived in Westlake for almost four years. During the first three I wondered if I had made a mistake by moving from our cheaper, but less happy, home in Simi Valley. Westlake is beautiful, but I wasn't enjoying it. I'd drive to work and count the minutes until I could run home for lunch, and then home for the evening. I wanted to work at home because writing is best done away from people in a quiet space. I resented my job for keeping me away from home. Bob's job "devolved" and our hours weren't going together, so I didn't even look forward to the weekends. I'd look at the house and think "this is all I have, a house." His work hours were arbitrary too, sitting at a desk every Saturday night even when there were no events to support, just punching the clock for a boss who couldn't step one single hangnail out of the box if his life depended on it. We had been dumbed down, stepfordized, and were on the path to stupid robot world. I went to college for this? His 30 years of expertise meant nothing? The driving force was "conform or be punished." We had become two-year-olds in the nursery from hell. Well-meaning people encouraged us that the Lord had us in these ill-fitting cribs for a reason, to "be a light" to people. I was not buying it. It just sounded like "here's why you need to settle." Being happy with what you have is one thing. I'm happy with my 10-year-old Jeep. I'm not hungering for a Mercedes. But settling for something miserable is quite a different thing. It's sick to think that's the best you can do. So I jumped out of the box and went on a 5-month freefall. I landed somewhere wonderful. Bob has now jumped and is in freefall. Well, you never get hurt in the air! I'm confident that wherever he lands, it will be better. And the kicker? Life is a million percent better. I wake up and look around and feel blessed. I get to live here? Really God? I go to work and am amazed by the smart people I get to learn from. I get to work from home when it makes sense. So I work MORE. I give MORE. I grow MORE. Out of my gratitude, I am a much more productive employee. Oh if only companies realized when they treat people badly what they are losing. Stripping people of their uniqueness, humanity, a personal life, and their souls should be a crime. But people who allow it contribute to the problem. Speak up. Do whatever you must to honor your own humanity. Because when you honor yourself, you honor the world. You make it a better place. The bad guys don't win. They're left standing there, looking at the empty crib, thinking they wish they had the courage to fly away. Take wing all you free spirits!

Frederee & Me

One of the subjects of many conversations in my work with educators is cultural sensitivity. I thought it was something I rarely thought about or experienced. I'm a WASP and was raised in a mostly WASPy neighborhood. I'm a white middle-class girl. I ate white bread, white rice, bologna, and mac 'n cheese. Today it hit me. I had two white parents and one bonus parent -- a woman of color named Frederee. Frederee's version of the story begins with my mom bringing me home from the hospital, handing me to Frederee, and saying "this one is yours." I was the fourth of four girls and a late-in-life "oops" baby. I didn't know what color anyone was or who had what place in the social statusphere. I didn't even know what food was yet. But I knew Frederee. And I felt her love for me. I experienced her "beneath her skin." I felt her heart. She did what moms do -- fed, bathed, rocked, carried, talked, and sang to me. I was about four years old the first time I commented on her skin color. I asked her why she was brown. She said it was the pigment in her skin. I heard "pigment" and I thought "pig" and "dirty," so I asked if I could wash the brown off. It meant nothing significant to me. It was just a feature like height or weight. And I still think of people of other cultures that way. Born in 1912, she had seen many historic events and had a lot of stories. She talked about race quite often. It struck me today that our relationship and her stories might make a good book. "Frederee & Me." I'm writing this now to commit this idea to existence. I'm excited. More to come.

Know when to walk away

A good friend of mine just broke up with her one-foot-in-the-door boyfriend. One foot just wasn't enough. Someone else close to me just left a job without having another one. I've been musing about the similarities and differences between relationships and jobs. No one says "be sure you have a relationship to go to before you leave." In fact, that is considered bad form. People don't usually call you a "quitter" if you leave a relationship that isn't working. Why is it different with a job? Because of money? Is settling for a job that isn't right for you until you can find something else noble? Why is staying in something you're not fully invested in more respectable than leaving? We're encouraged by our teachers and loved ones to "go for the best in life" and "reach for the stars." When you know you're in the pit, why would you stay there? There aren't any stars in the pit. You can't soar with the eagles when you're hanging out with turkeys. I wonder if more people left their jobs, especially due to bad managers, if it would help weed out the turkeys and improve companies. I really think so. Every time I have left a company after realizing it was not right for me, I've never regretted it. It hurts for awhile and adjustment can be difficult. But it just requires creativity. You don't earn respect by accepting disrespectful treatment. And you don't learn to fly by hanging out with turkeys. Likewise, you won't find your prince if you're afraid to leave a frog. Kenny Rogers had it right. "Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run." Sometimes you just have to take a gamble. I wish you a full house and no more snake eyes!

Focus on the Future

I’d love to write a recap of 2010. Actually, I’d love to want to. But I think I have broken the habit of looking back and I’d rather look forward. I’ve taken some time to count my blessings. And I’m grateful to have an awesome job and a wealth of love in my life. I’ve removed some thorns and done some pruning. My foundation is solid. Now I’m ready add some posts, beams, and framework to the life I want to build. Here’s my list:

Healthy eating and drinking. Keep a sober mind.

Aerobics classes.

Embrace learning.

Daily quiet time.

Pursue creativity in everything.

Be intentional about what I read, watch, and listen to. Seek the positive.

Nurture my spiritual life through learning, serving, and tithing.

Do some fun stuff with Bob.

It’s going to be a great year! God wants the best for His kids. I believe it and I claim His promises. Arise, go forth, and prosper. Love and peace out.