Tomorrow, Shmoo-morrow

Remember how I ended my last post..."but more on that tomorrow?"
The that in the situation being backing away from my stepmom role and living my own life?
Hahahahaha.
Oh. The irony.
That night, I left work and went to the gym. After my workout, I checked my phone and had three missed calls from The Husband. I called him back and he answers, "Hey, when are you going to be home?"
"I'm on my way, why?"
"Well, I'm going to be working late tonight so I need you home with The Kid."
*silence*
"Hello?"
"I'll be home in 10 minutes," I grunted.
I wasn't angry, per se, I just wasn't told he was working late and was completely unprepared to devote all my energy to The Kid. Feeding him my "gross food." Chasing him around to get his homework done and take a shower. Sitting with him until bedtime because he cannot seem to entertain himself. Arguing with him to go to bed. I was a bit frustrated.
What happened to this new proclamation that I was going to have a life again?! Of course I would help out this one night, though.
It turned to anger when my husband informed me that he would be working late every night for the next 6 weeks. I don't care how late he works when we don't have The Kid - we need the money, especially with Christmas approaching. I was angry that he scheduled all of this extra work on nights we had The Kid without even asking me if I was busy or willing to pick up his parenting slack.
My best friend was coming back from a year away on one of those nights and I have been dying to see her. Now I couldn't because I had to be a "parent." I couldn't follow through with most of the plans I made that week because The Husband failed to inform me of my newly-minted duties.
Not much more than one year ago, I wasn't allowed to drive The Kid anywhere in case his mother saw me with him. Then she got a boyfriend-turned-fiance, and, though she still won't talk to me, I can do whatever I want with The Kid so long as she gets to be with her boyfriend. Suddenly, I'm spending more time with this kid then either of his parents. Not fair!
I told The Husband that since his court ordered visitation is only Saturdays from 10am to 4 pm (The Ex has sole custody, but we usually take 50/50 physical custody now that she has a distraction boyfriend) that until this work streak was over, the primary custodian could take care of her child and we would take weekends.
He said no.
We didn't speak for three days.
Needless to say, by the next day the post about my new-found freedom was bunk. And, I was too busy carting The Kid around to his various activities to post. Then, this weekend I got sick.
And so, here I am.
Getting ready to pick up The Kid from school because mom is off with her boyfriend and dad is working. Did I mention I'm working too? Rearranging my hours to drop him off/pick him up/get him to lessons and friends houses etc. I'm exhausted.
Don't get me wrong, I love getting some one-on-one time with The Kid, but this was a bit much. And it not being something we agreed to, I was, well, livid when I found out that the next six weeks had been decided for me.
Of course we won't be changing any parenting time throughout this ordeal. I've convinced myself it's better for The Kid to be with us.
But after this next 6 weeks, we have some major reevaluating to do.

Miscarriage and Stepfamilies

I am now nearly one month out of my pregnancy loss experience. I think the first couple of weeks I was more in shock than anything else. The reality of the situation is truly hitting me now, and more than anything I just want to still be pregnant. I know it's normal to feel sad and I'm letting myself feel these emotions. I just thought the further away I got from that terrible weekend the less it would hurt.
I have made a few stepmom mistakes in dealing with this situation, and I thought I should share them here.
My first mistake is assuming my husband doesn't hurt as much as I do because he already has a child. I know women generally have a greater physiological connection to the pregnancy than men and therefore generally grieve more. And, most guys just don't talk about their feelings as much. As in, my husband never ever talks about the loss he feels. Not once, except when we had our last ultrasound and saw no heartbeat. In our case, where I have no children and he has one with someone else I can't imagine him being as heartbroken. He still gets to be a dad. He has a child to hold on to extra tight. And I have nothing. I haven't exactly verbalized this to The Husband, but he can sense it. The other day he said to me, "Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean I don't care. And just because I already have a kid doesn't mean this doesn't break my heart. I accidentally made a baby with a person I now hate. I love my son but I hate the situation. For three months I had a taste of what it was like to purposefully make a baby with someone you love, to look forward to every moment with that child knowing I would always be recognized as its father. A little being that was half me and half the person I love most in the world was coming in to our lives. We were going to be parents, and do it the right way. My heart is just as broken." I hadn't really thought of it that way. Honestly, I still don't think he does feel the loss like I do. And maybe I'm wrong. But I do know he feels it as deeply and that we've got to work through this together.
Second, I simply assumed that The Kid was over and done with the situation because he's been back to his regular ol' teenage self. He was sad for one day and then was demanding new video games, shirking his chores and mouthing off. I never ever thought that he might feel the loss just as deeply. Plain and simple, he feels like he lost a sibling. I didn't think he would feel that way. As we were packing up to leave for our weekend away, he got very quiet and broody. He came and sat down next to me and said, "Well, you know what the good thing is..." cue looking up at me with glassy eyes, "Well there is no good thing about me losing a sibling," long awkward silence, "But at least you can come on the waterslides with us now." We went to a water park one day and had previously been joking about how the only thing I could do there was float on the lazy river, since waterslides are a no-no for pregnant women. He was bummed because he enjoys my murderous screams on the steep slides, but understood. I think he was looking for a silver lining. We didn't have a name, there was no baby to see, we didn't know if it was going to be a girl or a boy but The Kid will always remember this potential baby as his sibling. I was both touched and heartbroken to hear this.
And lastly (or, lastly that I recognize) I have seen The Kid as a walking reminder of my failure. I have pulled away from him a bit. His little quirks are making me more angry then they previously have. I'm complaining to my husband about his issues more. I am more dismissive if he is difficult. I don't love him any less. I just don't really want him around so much. Just like most women who miscarry might hate the sight of pregnant women and babies for a while (which, oddly, is not the case for me), most of what I see when The Kid is over is the unfairness of the situation. His presence reminds me of what she could do, that I couldn't do. And it hurts. This is something I am working through on my own, and that I honestly feel is normal. Meanwhile, I'm trying to distance myself when I get angry so that I don't snap and remember that this is something we are experiencing as a family and it is not my own private pain.
I write this here because, although there are a bajillion miscarriage resources out there, I have been hard-pressed to find anything out there that takes into account the unique dynamics of pregnancy loss in a second marriage/stepfamily situation. Maybe these little ramblings will be of use to someone else someday, make them feel less like a failure, more normal.
And in the meantime, we chug along and wait to try again.

Little Monster

There have been some HUGE changes going on in our life right now (I'll get into that more later). Needless to say, these changes have completely distracted me from life in general, and especially from blogging.
Thank you all for your advice and kind words regarding my last post. The Kid ended up coming over for Father's Day because his mom and stepdad had wedding plans and bailed on their family plans. I can't even think about that one right now. At least he ended up spending the day with his father...
We had a family BBQ over at my brother's house and he was extremely well-behaved. He got his dad a card, and I ran out and got him a present to give (something we had been texting about over the weekend). He was very kind to my family, hugging my dad and grandad and wishing them a happy Father's Day. I was impressed.
Other than that, he has been completely impossible. I must say, I'm so glad I met him years ago and have had time to know him as a kind, compassionate boy. Because if I were just meeting him now, I would not believe that he is, or ever could be, a decent human being. It's like it happened overnight, but suddenly The Kid is a monster. I understand that this is temporary, and that it is likely much worse because he is a child of an especially rough divorce. But still...my bedroom has become my bunker. If I haven't made plans with my friends, I spend almost every moment he's home in my room. I've had to leave the house a few times because World Wars III, IV, V and VI have already happened in my living room.
The Kid is spoiled and rude. He talks back to his father constantly, and then when he is punished calls his mom to come pick him up (she doesn't because she's caught up with Future Stepdad, but tells him he doesn't have to listen to his father). We take him out to dinner and he orders food that he doesn't eat (one of my biggest pet peeves is wasting food...). Then he tells us to get him something else. My husband, who grew up poor, is extremely intolerant of this and it always turns into a fight. In fact, pretty much all those two do is yell at each other. The Kid is disobedient and LAZY. He refuses to do any chores at our house, he's a slob and he's generally dirty. I've left for work a few times where he is laying on the couch playing video games and when I come home 10 hours later he is laying in the same spot, in the same clothes, not having eaten all day. He's starting a job next week, but The Husband and I both think he'll get fired after a couple of weeks, if he doesn't quit.
On top of that, he is extremely socially awkward. He doesn't have any friends, which means he spends all of his time alone or with adult family. He is very negative and has violent tendencies so other kids tend to shy away and are uncomfortable hanging out with him.
I know he's going through a lot of changes right now; his hormones are out of whack and his families are rapidly changing, just to name a few. Of course I still love him (and I always will) but right now I really don't like him.
Fortunately, The Husband completely understands. He feels that all the parenting he does in our 3-5 days a week is immediately erased when The Kid goes back to his mother's house. He is frustrated, upset and angry and fighting the feelings that he has "lost" his son. It doesn't help that Mommie Dearest is trying to push him out of his son's life again. There's much more to the story but The Husband sees tendencies in The Kid that seriously concern him.
It's like these changes happened overnight.
We're just trying to hold fast to our parenting ideals and work together to support The Kid as he spirals into teenage life. And, attempt a little family fun along the way.

Flashback: Serendipity

Where we were married.

There used to be this great pub downtown. It was where I met many wonderful people when I first moved to this city. One bitterly cold New England winter evening, I was bellied up the bar savoring an oatmeal stout when the door swung open. The blustery wind blew in two disheveled young men.
I immediately asked my brother, "Who's that?"
"Oh, that's Dude. Don't even bother. He's married with a kid," he huffed. He then went on to sing the praises of Dude, being so hardworking, a jack-of-all-trades. They had been friendly for many years.
Dude and his friend walked up to say hi. Dude and I ended up talking for the rest of the night. He was kind and honest, and we had a tremendous amount in common. At the end of the night, I was thrilled to have met a new friend.
I didn't see Dude again (nor did I really think of him).
In early summer of the next year, I was out with my roommate. We may or may not have polished off a bottle of cheap champagne in our apartment before heading downtown. On our way, we stopped at the 7-Eleven so Roomie could get a pack of smokes. And in walks Dude.
In his soft voice he greeted us. "Hey, what are you guys up to?"
We informed him off our plans, and he told us where he and his friend would be. And so we parted ways.
Three hours later, Roomie and I found ourselves marching back up the hill to the bar where Dude was. We met up with him and his friend and played a few games of pool.
Again, we parted ways.
I would later come to find out that the night we saw him at 7-Eleven, Dude had seen us walking in and followed. He didn't actually need anything at the store, he just wanted to talk to us. Or, to me rather. Then, after our night of billiards, he and his friend started going to that particular bar all the time hoping to run in to us.
And since our apartment was literally three blocks from the bar, our next meeting was inevitable.
After seeing us together a few times, our friends came up with a grand plan to ditch us so we were alone together. After the bar closed one night, we all went back to my apartment, loaded up backpacks with booze and wandered down to the beach (again, literally three blocks from us). Nearly twelve of us crowded onto a lifeguard chair and continued the party. Then, one by one, everyone got "cold" or "tired" and started walking home.
Eventually, it was just me, Dude and an enormous bottle of wine. We sat in that chair all night. He told me that although he did have a wife and a kid, they had been separated for nearly two years now and would be divorcing in the fall. He told me about his life and his trials. I told him a little about me. At 4am, his phone rang - it was his wife - but she hung up immediately after he answered (why I didn't run at that point, I'll never know...). As the sun appeared over the Atlantic, we shared our first kiss. With droopy eyes and an empty bottle, we walked hand-in-hand back to my apartment where, exhausted, we slept (and he snored...again, why I didn't run then...).
In the early stages of our relationship, I was still very unsure about things. Dude really liked me, calling so much that I started to think he was creepy. My roommates, so convinced we were meant to be together, started erasing the messages he left on the machine so I would only hear one. Then they would leave sticky notes all over the apartment that said, "Call Dude!"
Eventually, I started calling him back.
Almost six years to the day we met, we were married on a rocky cliff overlooking the same ocean in front of which we shared our first kiss.

And He's Back

The Kid came over last night after his brief hiatus from our family. When he walked in the door, I was making dinner and he breezed by me with barely a "hi." He hid out in his room for the next hour while I continued cooking and The Husband worked in the garage. He didn't even pet the dog. I figured this didn't bode well for the next three days.
Just before dinner was ready, he came downstairs and bounded into the kitchen. And so began a conversation like he had never been gone. He told me all about an episode of his favorite show that was on last night, reenacted a few scenes and made me promise to watch an episode on Hulu with him after dinner. Dinner was just like any other dinner, not awkward or tense. He did his chores after we ate and then played a video game with his dad while I made lunches for today.
He was very affectionate all night. He kept telling his dad he loved him and giving him random hugs.
And, oddest of all, he was doing the same to me. He hardly ever hugs me, and I'm not sure he's ever seriously said "I love you" to me (and admittedly, I actually hesitated with how to reply). Later, we watched a Hulu episode on the laptop in my room. We sat on the bed, his head on my shoulder, and we laughed until it hurt.
I really missed him.
I'm not sure what to make about his recent behavior. He admitted that he received his progress report and he was afraid to tell his dad that he did very poorly because he knew he would get in trouble. My husband dropped out of high school at 16, and his life has not been easy as a result. He got his GED right after he dropped out, but he now realizes the value of education and really pushes The Kid to live up to his potential. The Kid knew that Mom would just sign the report and move on, so he didn't come over. But to go almost two weeks because of something like that? To not answer phone calls or text messages, most of which were Dad insisting he wasn't mad? To miss time with Dad when just a month ago he was asking to live with us? Then to show up and constantly hug and love on this person you worked so hard to ignore?
Call me a cynic, but I tend to think that Mommy Dearest may have had something to do with this whole ordeal. But now, now I'm just glad things are back to normal.

Blue-Butterfly Day

I snapped this photo this weekend while walking downtown with The Husband. The more I look at it, the more I love it.
Those cracked and dirty hands belong to my husband. Rough as they are, some find them a perfect resting place. Even a tiny, delicate butterfly.
But especially me.

Overreacting?

This picture is totally unrelated to this post. It's just a happy place I go to when I'm frustrated.

I didn't post this earlier because I needed some time to think about it. I thought maybe I would calm down a bit. But the more I think about it, the angrier I get.
Alas, I bring it to you.
In last week's FB stalking, I noticed The Ex had put up some photos on her FB page. Generally, I don't click on the photos but I noticed that two of the photos were of my husband. So, of course, I clicked. She had taken a bunch of pictures of him with her cell phone at one of The Kid's sports games. Without him knowing. Some of the pictures didn't even have The Kid in them.
I remember that particular day clearly because she and I were left standing about 10 feet from one another, each pretending the other didn't exist. I thought to myself, "This is just stupid," and started to walk over to her to say hi.
Do you know what she did? She spun on her heel and walked away. Turning her back to me. And that moment right then was when she took all those covert cell phone pictures.
This happened over three months ago. She just put the pictures up last week.
Is that fucked up?
Firstly, my husband didn't even know she was taking pictures of him. Second, The Kid isn't even in some of the pictures! Third, she's done nearly everything to strip him out of The Kid's life - changing The Kid's last name, denying visitation for two years, endless court battles over stupid shit. Now that she has a fiance and wants to get private time with him, all of the sudden it's like none of that shit ever happened? WTF?! Not to mention that if I were Future Stepdad, I would be irritated. There aren't even any pictures of Future Stepdad up!
I tried to to rationalize - maybe she's just trying to show all her friends that The Husband is not the deadbeat she made him out to be (so that she can justify pushing him off on us all the time)? Maybe she's just trying to put those pictures up for The Kid's sake? Maybe she knows I creep her FB page and wanted to see if I would say anything?
I did let The Husband know, and he was very upset that there were pictures of him on FB (he doesn't have an account, and even I only have three photos of us on my account). We decided the subject is not worth broaching. I'm letting it go, but before I do, I want some feedback from my sister stepmoms. What do you think?

Oh, and for the record, I will not be checking her Facebook any longer. Not worth it.

The Twilight Zone

Yesterday was game #2 in my stepmom-goes-to-games experience.
Firstly, The Kid's team didn't get creamed! He did great and they only lost by 2 points in the last 4 minutes. I was great fun to watch.
The Ex was there but had to leave before the end of the game. Consequently, her mother came to watch the end of the game and take The Kid home.
To describe her mother as an evil troll would be kind. This woman has been nothing but nasty to my husband and I. She hated The Husband from day 1 of his dating her daughter. She threatened to kill him when they got pregnant. She would call her daughter every day of their marriage and say, "You don't have to stay with him. You can do better. There's always a room in my home for you." She shoots us dirty looks when we're in the same place at the same time. She constantly tells The Kid how much she hates us. She says rude things about me, but not to me, whenever we run into each other. She. Is. Horrible.
So, I was less than thrilled when we had to swap out some of The Kid's forgotten things to her at the end of the game. Ugh.
As we were all standing around the cars, waiting for things to get unlocked/situated there was an awkward moment where it was just me and The Troll, standing within throttling distance feet of each other. She snuck a look in my direction. I decided it was high-time I actually meet this woman.
I stuck out my hand. "Hi. I'm EWO. I've heard so much about you. Nice to finally meet you."
She returns the gesture. "Hello. I'm A Conniving Twatbag The Kid's Grandma."
Silence.
She continued, "I've heard so many wonderful things about you," as she placed her knobbly, wrinkled, old hand on my arm. "Thank you so much for being so great to my grandson."
Insert record scratch.
The Husband dropped the car keys.
The orange The Kid was eating fell straight out of his gaping mouth.
I must have looked something like this.
"W-w-well. Well, that's very kind of you to say," I managed to choke out.
We transferred all of The Kid's stuff into the car, said our farewells and I jumped into my car.
The Husband and I looked at each other in equal states of disbelief.
"Well that was..." I whispered.
"...odd, " he offered.
"Um, yeah. I need..."
"...a drink?"
"Yeah!"
And so we drove away from The Twilight Zone and went to the pub.
I don't know what prompted this woman to suddenly recognize that I'm not an evil bee-otch. Maybe she doesn't and just felt outnumbered. Whatever the reason, I think it's still a pretty huge compliment coming from Satan her.
And I think it's safe to say that nothing but good has come from becoming more fully involved in The Kid's life outside our home.

Reflection on a Quote

Believe it or not, I saw this Sunday's Quotable Sunday quote on one of The Kid's video games. Every time his character died, a quote flashed on the screen while the game loaded. Most of the quotes were about war and fighting, but this one struck close to home.
You see, I've been struggling quite a bit since we got married. I have come to realize that most newlyweds who act as if life is bliss from the moment they say "I do" are merely incredible actors.
The first arguments, for me, have been far worse than the arguments we had as a dating, co-habitating couple. I feel trapped when we argue about money, the Ex, the Kid, the dog etc. etc. etc. I ask myself, "What have I done?" "Why did I do this?" and "So this is my life?" all the time. I've driven myself to tears wondering if I've settled, if I could do better, if this is how I want to live. (I know, it sounds terrible to put it in writing, but it's the truth.)
As I question my life decisions, I've noticed that I am especially hard on my husband. I am not supportive of what he does (often because I find it does not meet my expectations) and I'm not encouraging of what he tries to do. He can feel my doubts in the tone of my voice when we argue, and sometimes even when we just talk. When I married him, I knew he had an unpleasant ex-wife situation. I knew he had an almost-teenage son. I knew he is financially immature, has tens of thousands of dollars of debt, leaves our bedroom looking like a laundry bomb exploded.
But nobody has ever looked at me the way he looks at me, and I'm quite sure no one ever could.
When I saw this quote, I realized just what I was doing to myself to and our relationship. By questioning my decisions, I am instilling fear (of insufficiency, of failure, of loss) in my husband. I am compounding the doubts every married person feels. I am not helping our relationship to grow.
I do love my husband. I am proud of my family. This is my life and this is how I want to live.
I chose this man, and this life, full-well knowing what he was made of. And I'd do well to stand by him (waving my second wife and stepmom flags all the while!).

Thankful

The stress of the holidays in Stepmomville has been all over the smom forums lately, as it's that time of year. I admit I hadn't given it much thought, since we never spend holidays with The Kid. We usually make our own special rituals on a different day.
That is, until The Ex texted The Husband and asked, "What's up for Thanksgiving?" We discussed it and decided to ask The Kid what he wanted to do; no pressure, just his preference for how the day goes. He said he wanted to spend the day with our family (our parents, grandparents, siblings and a few misfits). So The Husband texted back that we would pick him up at a certain time on T-day. And then she said no.
Huh?
It seems that once she understood the schedule of our day, she told my husband he could pick up The Kid at the exact time we sit down for dinner. At my grandparents' house, an hour away.
At this point, I caught on to her game and, despite the fact that I want The Kid to enjoy holiday time with his dad, I put my foot down (for only the second time ever, I swear!) and said he could pick up The Kid at the time stated or much later that night. Because quite frankly, I'm sick of her flexing her first wife muscles and using their son as a means to disrupt our lives.
Soo....
For the first time ever, The Kid is spending a holiday with us. Because he said he wanted to. Even though his mom wasn't thrilled with the idea.
It's not a competition thing. The Husband and I just want The Kid to be happy, to feel welcome and safe and fat and happy, all those quintessential holiday feelings. And this year, he wanted to eat with us. It might seem like a small feat, but it's actually huge that his mom listened to him.
And it's also huge that we, being unwilling to bow down to The Almighty Ex, stood our ground and didn't have to rearrange our lives for her.
For this, I am not only thankful. I am also hopeful.

On Irony

About three years ago (maybe four?) The Husband (then boyfriend) and I split up. He asked me to leave because he was starting to re-think things about his ex. I had just helped him regain visitation of his son (as in, hired and paid for the attorney). I stood by him while she manipulated the system and took him for a wild ride. I worked three jobs because he was so fucked up from everything that he wasn't working. And now he was re-thinking things.
*sigh*
I moved into my own apartment at the other end of town. Man, I loved that apartment. Anyway, about this same time, a "friend" of mine who lived a street over pulled a midnight move on her fiance, who was a merchant marine and would be returning after an 8-month stint in a few days. She and her son moved across the country; she left the apartment a mess and the sim card to her cell phone on the kitchen table. When he came back he was heartbroken. And, not being from the area, he didn't really know anyone. I offered to help him clean up and pack his things, and so we became friends.
We went out to dinner a few times but not as dates. When he went back to sea, he would call every once in a while. When he came back on leave, he wanted to hang out all the time. I thought it was because he didn't really know anyone else. Apparently, he wanted to be a little more than friends.
The Husband (then ex-boyfriend) became hip to this vibe when we were all at a party together. And from that moment on, he hated this guy (let's call him The Sailor). Any time we ran into each other, he would get all quiet and sulky and then, later, complain about how much he didn't trust The Sailor. When The Husband and I got back together, I sort of stopped hanging out with The Sailor. I knew our friendship bothered my husband, and honestly, we weren't great friends. Plus, on occasion, The Sailor creeped me out.
I never dated this man. I never so much as held his hand. But The Husband loves to talk about how much he dislikes him. He'll say he wishes The Sailor would just move away. He'll say he can't stand the sound of his voice. He'll whine if I get a phone call or text message from him. He emphasizes how troublesome it is to run into him at the store or at the pub or, well, anywhere. He can't stop talking about how The Sailor crossed the line, and how he wishes he had a reason to fight him.
He says all of this about a guy that I used to be friendly with but never dated, and above all NEVER HAD A KID WITH AND NEVER MARRIED!!!
Yet he thinks my irritation with The Ex is bogus.
Oh, the irony.

Flashback: The Cure

The song "Close to Me" by The Cure reminds me of my husband.
We always used to go to this Irish pub downtown when we first met, and they had this rad old jukebox. After a few Guinness, I would always amble over to that jukebox and choose this song, then dance around a la Liz Lemon from 30 Rock. (You know I've been drinking if I'm dancing in public.)
He would always put down his pint and join me, the train wreck that it was. We'd do the Charleston. We'd attempt some swing. We'd do The Elaine. Mini mosh pit? No problem.
After a while, people started choosing this song when they got bored just so they had something to watch while they imbibed their tasty adult beverages. It was sort of a thing.
That pub got sold 4 years ago. The last night it was open, we tried and tried to steal the jukebox off the wall. It wouldn't budge. When the pub re-opened weeks later as a new establishment, the jukebox was gone. Trashed.
So now we have to dance around in our living room to The Cure on my iPod.
But at least we're still dancing.

Check out the music vid here.

Parental Alienation Syndrome

I found this article (published in 2000 in The American Journal of Family Therapy) last night while I was killing some time. Overall, I thought it was really interesting, especially the part where the author talks about waiting too long to take action when PAS rears it's head.

We didn't know what to do when The Ex started alienating The Husband. I guess we didn't even know there was a term for what she was doing. It all started when The Husband and I went on vacation with my parents. No cell phone service, no nothing. It was a lovely week away.
Until we got back.
Apparently, one of The Husband's friends got beat up pretty badly. He was found unconscious and brought to the hospital. They did routine bloodwork and found high levels of cocaine in his blood. When he woke up, he claimed he was with The Husband.
The Ex's father was a cop. His cop friends illegally called him to tell him of The Husband's "involvement" with this situation. The Ex leaves several scathing voicemails (while we are away and can't access them). A detective (friend of ex's father) comes to our house upon our return and harasses the shit outta The Husband. The cops stop returning phone calls. The Ex refuses to let The Husband see his son.
Yes, I realize involvement with narcotics should cause concern. But all of this false information was obtained illegally. We weren't even in town that weekend and had witnesses (and credit card charges) to prove it! The Husband's mistake? "It'll blow over, she'll get over it."
After almost three months of not seeing his son and some serious depression, we moved into a bigger house with a big yard and a nice room specifically for The Kid. The Husband calls The Ex, asks her when he can see his son. She asks him to go to the movies with him ("or hang out or something") (?), he says that is not appropriate, she tells him never to call her at work again.
Two more months pass. We go to the local parade because we know his son is marching in it. The Husband walks up the The Kid during the parade to say hi. The Kid starts crying.
The following week, The Husband gets a letter in the mail. It is from The Kid (and obviously coached) that says he would rather see his father dead ($1,000 reward) than alive ever again. He says he doesn't want to come to a house full of stupidheads (me). He says, "Dad, stop this. You are a bad father. You SUCK! I hate you and I want you to die." We still have this letter, filed away in a dark place.
The Husband cries for days. I could see the hurt eminating from his soul. He truly thinks his child hates him and gives up trying to see him. He occasionally leaves gifts for him (back to school supplies, other favorite things they used to do together) in The Ex's car with notes. (We later find out she trashes the notes and gives the gifts as if she herself picked them out.)
It took several lawyers (the first one was chummy with The Ex's cop dad and acted unethically, I got him disbarred as a result), the involvement of Child and Family Services and TWO YEARS to gain four-hour visitation once a week. The Ex gave The Kid her cell phone and told him that when his dad tried to kidnap him to call her and she would stop him. The first day the saw each other after the two year gap, she called The Kid 23 times in those four hours. When she found out they had gone for ice-cream the next town over she started screaming through the phone, hung up and called the cops to press a kidnapping charge against The Husband.
The Kid's reaction to seeing his father again for the first time? An enthusiastic thumbs-up, bounding to the car and repeatedly saying, "I really missed you dad. How've you been?"
Incredible.

There were some areas of the article that I felt were a bit forcefully written and hinge on stereotypes, but overall it was a really good insight into the problem of PAS. I didn't realize how widespread the problem was until I got involved in the stepmom blogging community (thanks gals!) and I certainly think it's amazing that The Kid doesn't let that horrible time of his life affect his love of his father. I think every stepfamily should be aware of PAS and be able to recognize the symptoms, both in ourselves and in the other parent, immediately.

The references section is also a great resource list for a number of different stepfamily issues.

Check it out.

Flashback: First Christmas

More for posterity's sake than any other reason, I've decided to occasionally share some of the funniest memories of The Husband and The Kid. You see, I have a terrible memory. So terrible, in fact, that I got an email from my best friend the other day saying: Hey EWO, remember that time...wait, no of course you don't. Forget it. And that was the whole email.
It's sort of a running joke.
Most of the time, I find it funny. But sometimes, I think it's sad. There are LOTS of things I want to forget but many, many more that I wish I could remember. Which led to this post, the first in a not-so-organized series of happy memories. So I can remember them down the line. You know, like next week.
Without further adieu, I give you, First Christmas:


The first Christmas The Husband (then boyfriend) spent with my family was about 6 months after we started dating. About six years ago. I'd never brought a boyfriend home before so my family was buzzing with excitement.
After a long day at work on Christmas Eve, we packed up my little Volkswagen and drove the hour to my parents house. Ever since they got married, my parents have hosted the Christmas Eve get-together. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, friends with no families of their own and friends so close they are like family come over to eat, drink and share embarrassing stories about my childhood.
We arrived to gossipy family members trying to decipher if he was a good guy and critiquing his sweater/cargo pants combo. Hugs all around. Mom insisted he help himself to a drink at the bar.
REWIND: About one month earlier, I introduced Then-Boyfriend to Mount Gay Rum, my choice adult beverage. I felt that it was time for him to graduate from Bacardi to the real stuff. I did not realize, at the time, that this simple introduction was going to lead to a lifetime of hangovers that I will forever be blamed for simply because I said, "Here, try this."
Back to the story at hand: Then-Boyfriend's eyes lit up when he wandered up to the bar to see not a pint, not a fifth, not even a liter but a handle of Mount Gay Rum resting comfortably next to a bottle of Coca-Cola.
Fix a drink. Down the hatch.
Glug. Glug. Glug.
He's getting along swimmingly with everyone. My dad, who doesn't like ANYONE, loves Then-Boyfriend. So much, in fact, that he catches me in the kitchen to tell me that he thinks this is the guy I'm going to marry. I tell him to shut up.
Glug. Glug. Glug.
Then-Boyfriend is having a great time. Laughing with Grampa. Sharing salty stories with Cousin. Pretending to be interested in Aunt's surgery story. Periodically getting up to refill his glass.
At some point later in the night, Then-Boyfriend decides to hit up the bar one last time. As he ambles through a narrow hallway in my parents' small colonial house, he stumbles a bit and bumps into a small table. No biggie, right?
The rest of this story is told from my sister's point of view, because I was either not present or not paying attention.
Remember how I said Then-Boyfriend was wearing cargo pants? Well, when he stumbled, the hammer loop on the pants got caught on the drawer of the small table.
Does he notice? No. Would you if you drank half a handle of rum?
He continues on his journey to the bar, but something has slowed him.
Step. Draaaaaaagggggggg. Step. Draaaaaaagggggggg.
He's walking with a noticeable limp.
Step. Draaaaaaagggggggg. Step. Draaaaaaagggggggg. Step. Draaaaaaagggggggg.
Why?
BECAUSE THERE IS A FRICKIN TABLE ATTACHED TO HIM.
My sister watched, half in horror, half in sheer delight, as he walked all the way down the hallway, through the kitchen and around the corner with the damn table stuck on his pants.
After he was out of sight, she went after him only to find him spending some more quality time with his new best friend, Mr. Mount Gay.
"Heeyyyyyyyy, what'ssss up?" Then-Boyfriend asks.
"Oh nothing," replies Sister. "Let me just get that for you."
And with that, she unhooked the table and carried it around the corner, through the kitchen and down the hallway, back to where it belonged.

My sister claims that it was that night that she, too, knew this was the man I was going to marry.

A Defining Moment

After dinner last night, The Husband and I were sitting outside. Just talking.

We've both been so busy with work lately that we haven't spent much time together.

I was reviewing the afternoon I spent with his son the other day while he was off working for a few hours. Somehow my recount of the day became a much larger and more involved narrative of my exploits in stepmothering throughout the past six years.

As I continued chattering about this and that, I felt his hand on my knee. I looked at The Husband and he looked at me, silently at first. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, "And...thank you." His voice was a little choked up.

I didn't start talking to guilt trip him. I didn't have any motive other than spending time conversing with my husband. And somehow, without any effort on my part, he got it. For however brief a moment, he completely understood the trials of a stepmom, no matter how great her relationship with her stepkid. He saw the wounds, the sacrifices, the stresses. He saw it all. And he appreciated it. There was hurt in his eyes because this was the first time he's ever truly realized how much I have hurt over the past few years.

It was a defining moment.



That said, I'm about to take up the recommendation of several of you and read Wednesday Martin's Stepmonster. I'm excited to crack it open.

Walking in the Rain

I took a walk in the warm summer rain this weekend, an act I am convinced is good for the soul. This walk allowed me some time to dwell on some of the thoughts buried at the back of my mind.

One such thought was the turn my life would take if anything ever happened to The Husband, my husband. Morbid? Yes. But also valid.

I thought my finances. My family. My future.

I thought about how, even though the name change is taking some serious getting used to, I'm glad I took his name. I bear it proudly now, with him, and would bear it proudly, for him, were he no longer here.

But mainly, I thought about my relationship with The Kid. I wondered if it would still exist if The Husband were no more. And, startlingly, realized that it probably would not.

Would he still want to see me? Would he still want to talk to me? Would he be allowed to? Who would tell me silly jokes? Who would I help with literature homework? Who would remind me of his dad?

I would feel like I was missing a very real and very important piece of my life if The Kid wasn't in it. I'm so used to him now - the good, the bad and the indifferent - that I cannot envision life without him. There would most certainly be a huge, gaping hole caused by his absence.

I hope The Husband and I have a long future together, but I know there are no guarantees. I guess I really hope that, no matter what happens, my (chaotic, beautiful, irreplaceable) relationship with The Kid endures.

Two Sides, Same Coin

I admit it. Before I became A-Woman-Dating-A-Divorcee-With-A-Kid, I was a very lax girlfriend. Very trusting in my relationships, I wasn't nosy or pushy. I sort of just went with the flow. I was even like this for the first year, maybe even two, of my relationship with The (now) Husband. Until, that is, the shit hit the fan.

I haven't been the same since. Now I'm always checking that he paid his child support, making sure he's followed up on her requests and, much to my chagrin, monitoring his communication with her.

Yesterday, Father's Day morning, his cell phone beeps while he is still in bed. I notice it is The Ex. Curiosity is eating away at me but I don't check the message. None of my business.

Wondering what it says.

Wondering what it says.

Wondering what it says.

When The Husband finally wakes up and checks his messages, I ask through clenched teeth, "That wasn't a Happy Father's Day text was it?"

I know it's none of my business. He does not need to answer me. But he does.

"Yeah. It was."

I have two very real and very vivid reactions to this:

1. How dare she wish him a Happy Father's Day after everything she's done?!? She tried for years to strip The Husband of any and every parental right, and privilege, he has. I've seen him through Father's Days where she said he could only seen The Kid for two hours because The Kid had to spend Father's Day with his grandfather, "his real family." I've seen him through Father's Days (two, in fact) where he wasn't even allowed to see his son at all because she took The Kid away. How dare she wish him well on this day without even so much as an apology for the selfish, ignorant, damaging behavior she has demonstrated? How dare she act like none of that ever happened? Iwanttopunchherintheteeth.

2. THANK GOD! She's finally come to realize the incredible gift her ex has given her. She can see beyond the foolishness and the anger she harbors and be thankful for her blessings, namely their child. Ijustwanttogetalong.

At least there is an option #2, right? At least I know what the proper reaction should be, even if I'm not entirely there yet.

It was a happy Father's Day. It was the first Father's Day since I've known The Husband that he has been able to spend the entire day, uninterrupted and bullshit-free, with his son. And that's all that really matters.