The One You Feed

An old Cherokee man is teaching his grandson the ways of the world. He says, "Within all of us, there are two wolves. One wolf is good. He does no harm. He lives at peace in your heart, and finds harmony in the world.

"The other wolf-- he is full of anger, snarling, raging at everyone and everything. Yet all his anger changes nothing.

"These two wolves, they are battling in you, always. Always."

The boy is silent, then asks, "Which one will win?"

His grandfather answers, "The one you feed."

I never write about being a stepmom anymore. I can't think about the wasteland of the last several years of my life for longer than about eight seconds before I'm incoherent with anger.

Eight seconds. The same amount of time you have to hang onto a wild bull at the rodeo.

Last night Dan told me he is working on forgiving Miss L's mom, as if any of us needed more evidence that he is some kind of freakishly evolved, on-the-edge-of-enlightenment being.

"I don't see that ever happening for me," I say. "Being a honeybadger, yes. Not giving a crap, not letting it ruin my life, those things I can do. Forgiveness? No. I can't do it. I don't see how I can ever think how all the shit she's done is okay. I mean... ever."

He says he understands. He says he doesn't blame me. He says, "I'm still going to work toward forgiveness." Because he is a better human than anyone I know.

I'm not there. And not in a grudge-holding way. I am probably the least grudge-holdy person you'll ever meet. Not that I don't have a temper; I do. But it flares up and burns out real fast, and I always apologize immediately: a genuine apology. I am capable of grace.

I am not actively angry. Our everyday life is very cheerful these days. Peaceful. It's fun when Miss L is here, and she even keeps in touch with us when she's not now. All of the dark days are behind us. I know this. I believe it 100%.

Those dark days, though. They're molasses. They're sticky when you think you've cleaned everything up and put it all away.

I have forgiven worse. I have forgiven far less forgivable things. So why not these things?

Miss L is not my daughter; I should have no stake in this claim. For the love of pete, if I could forgive all the crap my actual biological daughter's other parent has dished out, I should be able to get over this. This woman who shouldn't even matter.

And still, there is just something about all the stupid bullshit that I cannot let go of. Maybe the using her daughter as a weapon. Maybe the calculating way she sabotaged our budding family when it was still so delicate, and destroyed our foundation so thoroughly that we will always be stunted as a result. Or maybe the myriad of other hypocritical, double standard, underhanded sneaky-ass things I can't even list here except to just say sometimes other parents just suck.

Every time, I expect that discussing these things will lance the infection and drain all those soupy, putrid toxins out, leave my mind light and airy the way venting so often does. But not this. It just festers.

It just feeds the wolf.

I think someday down the road, maybe it'll be safe to dwell. Eventually I'll find the minefield is dormant, and-- beyond the trenches-- I'll find forgiveness.

Until then, I'm starving it out.

Well, it's complicated.

That is the one phrase I use more than any other to answer nearly every question thrown my way. And it makes me nuts. If there is one thing I hate, it's "complicated"-- and there is no way to stepparent without  gobs of complication.

Even basic questions have complex answers requiring endless exposition and backstory to explain custody schedules, latest compromises, and current negotiating climate.

I ambushed my poor sister the other day, who innocently asked if I thought the kids might be interested in taking an art workshop over our brief vacation in CO this summer.

"Well, it's complicated," I say.

"See, I'm not sure how long we'll be there. I know when we're arriving, but I'm not sure when the girls fly out with Dan because Miss L's mom says her husband's family is having a reunion in Oklahoma right at those dates. But we only have two weeks where all four of us overlap this summer, because I start work July 1 but Miss G is at the lake with her dad's folks till June 22 and then she's with her dad August 3rd till school starts and Miss L gets 10 days with her mom sometime in there so we're working things out with this new parent coordinator but we haven't gotten hard dates for sure yet so I'll have to--"

My sister starts laughing and I interrupt myself saying "I know, it's ridiculous, I'm so sorry. Even an easy question is like a 20 minute response."

She says, "No, no, it's fine! Actually I was just thinking... I am just in awe. I don't know how you do it."

I think about it a minute. There's only one answer.

"Well. It's complicated."

Ode to my Husband

Every morning, before I'm quite awake, as I become conscious of the furry, sleeping person next to me, my first coherent thought is "Thank god for Dan."

I have never met anyone more compassionate and patient than Dan. He would have to be, to put up with me & Gwyn of course, but he is just... beyond.

Dan taking Peep on an exclusive uncle-niece hotsprings hike.

I knew he was a gentle soul from the moment our eyes met, but didn't realize the depth of his capacity until we'd been dating nearly a year. We were grocery shopping with the girls, and Miss L was standing on the handle-end of the cart, jumping up and down between his arms as he pushed. He told her multiple times to stop jumping and she ignored him. As we left, she launched herself with a particular enthusiasm which sent her head directly into his chin, so hard I could hear the snap of teeth from across the parking lot. It made my jaw hurt for him.

We all went silent, braced for an explosion, Miss L totally still with big eyes like a hunted rodent. She is all too familiar with her mother's frequent outbursts, and expected no less from her father. I remember thinking "Finally, I get to see Dan lose his temper." I am not proud of this. It seemed abnormal for someone to be on such an even keel all the time.

But after a noise of strangled pain, Dan just said-- in a slightly choked voice-- "I really wish you'd listen to me and be more careful kiddo." And we continued to the car.

Me, I would have flipped out. There would have been yelling and cursing. I think most parents would have done the same.

But not Dan.

The weekend Miss L refused to get on the plane, he called every phone line he could think of to reach her, to talk with her about what was going on: mom's cell, her cell, landline. Every attempt went straight to voicemail. Finally he just left a message.

My voicemail would have been flipped out, yelling and cursing straight up till the beep cut me off. I suspect most parents would have reacted similarly.

But not Dan.

Instead, he said: "Hey kiddo, it's your dad. I'm sad about what's happening, but I just want you to know I love you no matter what."

And he didn't (as I and the other more petty members of the human race might have) leave this message as a guilt trip. Nope. He really meant it.

Dan didn't lose his temper till a couple days later, when Miss L finally returned his call with a sulky attitude, angry at him and calling him selfish. That was when I developed sudden empathy for the insane  emotional turmoil which drove Alec Baldwin to leave that nasty voicemail for his daughter a few years back. That was when I finally learned the answer to the question I've wondered for seven years now: What will it take to make Dan snap?

I don't blame him. I don't think anyone could. Most of us would have lost it much sooner.

But not Dan.

Dan's first meeting with the new Parental Coordinator is today. Miss L's mom says Miss L cannot continue seeing us twice a month after we move to Colorado, though it sounds like this would have been brought up even without our move. Miss L is (we're told) too exhausted from traveling so much. Her grades are suffering. She doesn't see her friends enough. And this is not only her mom's idea; Miss L is agreeing with every word.

Dan says, okay. I'm not thrilled about this, but I can handle once a month if it's better for her. We can redistribute the lost days elsewhere. Her mother has over three weeks in the summer and half of Spring Break. We can rearrange.

There is silence from Miss L's mom. She does not want to give up more days. She just wants Dan to discard his parenting time and be happy about it.

As per the court orders, we now invoke the help of a third party: the PC. The magical gal who's supposed to wave her wand and resolve all the differences between parents.

Dan and I have discussed strategy, pros and cons, potential compromises, outlined defenses for the most likely attacks for over a week now. He feels prepared. He has lists.

Last night he comes home and I ask how he's doing. He's silent for a minute, then says: "You know, I don't even care. All I want is to be a dad to my kid without fighting tooth and nail to do it. I don't care if I only see her once a month. I don't even care if she barely talks to me in between visits. I really don't. I just want them to let me be a dad."

Me? I'd be flipping out. Yelling and cursing. I think most parents would.

But not Dan.

The myth of positive stepparenting blogs

The question asked recently in one of the stepparenting forums I pop into now and again was "Are there *any* positive stepparenting blogs out there? Most of them are either depressing or bitter."

Totally true. I'm guilty of veering into depressing and/or bitter myself. But positive stepparenting blogging... it's just-- well, not impossible because nothing's impossible... but (like absolutely every other damned thing about blended families) it is delicate and tricky.

To have a good blog, you need interesting content. Without any drama, your stepparenting blog sounds pretty lame, almost like a regular family. Almost, in fact, like real life. Who wants to read about that? You get that at home.

Normal happy family? Booo-ring!

So, you need a little drama to keep things spicy. Except, under a constant onslaught of drama, very few people are able to remain positive, let alone keep a sense of humor about it.

For example, this weekend my stepdaughter refused to get on the plane to see us. And her mother refused to make her. If anyone can tell me how to make this into a funny story, I'm all ears. Right now, it's depressing. And if I dwell on it, bitter will enter next.

We had nothing but totally normal family things planned. Miss L's favorite dinner Friday night: chicken enchiladas and homemade refried beans. After, we were hitting Titanic 3D. Saturday we were going to refinish some dressers that were her great-grandmother's, a project started ages ago. And in the evening, we were going down to Pig Rock to do some bouldering, grill a fat steak, and watch a movie under the stars via portable DVD player. Sunday: sleep in, make pancakes and bacon, chill around the house till airport time.

Could I make an interesting blog entry out of that? Maybe. Dan has some good one-liners, and pics of climbing are always good.

Exhibit A: Arbitrary Climbing Picture

Except, here's problem two: if blog entries aren't about your struggles as a stepparent, why are other stepparents reading your blog? They're looking for support, commiseration, reassurance that they're not alone, stories of how other blended families handle conflicts, either to sympathize with them or find guidance for their own battles and inspiration for their heartbreak. If the weekend I write about is just like any weekend with a regular family, it benefits nary another stepparent out there.

Maybe I could make it funny if I include the part about how I was joking to the kids that I'd rather have us all live in a tent than spend one more summer in Las Vegas, and how the lawyer actually mentions that in her official letter; that a tent is not acceptable living conditions, that this is a reason Miss L should be here less, as if I had been serious.

I mean, come on. That's pretty funny.

OMG, tents!!! Call CPS!

It's also kind of funny how the lawyer's letter said with Miss L getting more interested in her hair and makeup, it's not important for her to see her dad as much anymore. Yep. Really said that.

It's also really funny how it's the four days a month she's with us that is causing her to flunk English class and has her constantly exhausted, not the other 26 days of the month. And also pretty hilarious that she doesn't get enough time with her friends during that 26 days, but instead needs to only visit one weekend per month from now on because friends are super important, and 26 days isn't enough time to spend with them, and four days is too many to spend with us.

Funny.

Actually not funny. I'm afraid I stepped into bitter a little. Dammit, I was doing okay for a minute there. They're just super close together sometimes.

Okay, so positive stepparenting blogs? Yeah, they don't exist. Because like every single other life experience, stepparenting in a blended family isn't always positive. There are ups and downs and you can't make everything funny. There are really hard times, and really good times. And sure, there are totally hilarious times, but sometimes the absurdity gets lost in the unfairness. The anger. The wondering why the most basic thing in the world-- having a family-- is so easy for everyone in the world except for your family.

It's not always like that, though. You just have to hang in for the crappy stuff till the good stuff comes back around. Just like a regular family. Just like real life.

Above all, keep your sense of humor. And for the love of god, don't joke about tents.

Traditional, Schmraditional

I remember in high school getting hooked on late-night reruns of thirtysomething. Recently I thought, hey, I actually *am* in my thirties now. I bet I'll get a lot more out of that show. 

I made it through maybe a season and a half and then I had to stop. Because-- really? These are your biggest problems, Hope and Michael? A frustrating remodel? And really, Nancy? Elliot isn't responsible enough? 

I would possibly sell my soul for the problems in that show. Because we have all that regular stuff-- errands and money and homework and cancer and the kids and whatever else traditional spouses and traditional families scuffle about. But then with the bonus family comes some bonus crap, too. 

Let's take this weekend as an example. We drove out to Fresno and back; our less-than-24-hour blitzkrieg to California left us plenty of time for a family meeting today, before Miss L's flight back to her mom's. Meeting about-- chores? TV usage? Normal kid things?

Nope! Our meetings start with things like "So, your mom says you want to come here once a month instead of twice. Is this true?" 

There is no road map for this. No guiding light. There's not even a TV show.

Although they did try. 

Every single person sludging their way through a blended family frappe is doing it stone blind. 

You know how they say that 50% of marriages end in divorce? That percentage shoots up to 70% for marriages involving stepkids. And I don't think that statistic is a big shocker to any of us in those marriages. 

I am incredibly lucky. I have an amazing, wonderful, loving husband who is willing and nimble enough to navigate this minefield with me. I have a cool kid who's staggeringly adaptable to whatever new curveballs this hard-won family of ours throws her way; I have a cool stepkid whose common sense and levelheadedness is rising like a phoenix from the sheer insanity of her life. 

I have all of these things, and it's still damned hard. Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But it's no thirtysomething, I'll tell you that.

Know what though? I wouldn't trade it. The happy is happier when it's harder won. And those thirtysomething things that unseat regular families don't faze us for a heartbeat. At a certain level of crap deflection, you start feeling... well, kind of badass.

So to all of you folks out there with non-traditional challenges, or who are raising non-traditional families in non-traditional ways? Keep rockin it, guys. We're awesome, you know. Those dull cookie-cutter families got nothing on us. 

Other parents suck

Your stepdaughter was thrilled a month ago about moving to Colorado next summer. This morning, she says it will be too hard on her. Too stressful. She's already overwhelmed by traveling so much. Your stepdaughter suggests moving to Reno instead “so we can be a real family again” which is funny, because she sure hated being 'a real family' when we all lived in the same city before. Hated it for 5 solid years. When you tell her the flight is only an hour longer, and drive time to the airport is the same, she ignores you. Repeats herself like she’s memorized a speech. Like she’s a robot.

And it's the funniest coincidence-- her mom wants you to move to Reno too, and she also thinks it's too much traveling for her daughter! It's almost as if they've been talking about it a lot in the past month, almost as if her mother has changed your stepdaughter's mind about the whole thing. But surely not. Surely she'd be supportive of you leaving the city she herself said was an inappropriate place to raise your stepdaughter.

But not if she doesn't like the new custody arrangement. Not if she misses her daughter too much in the long summers. Not if she's complaining that it's not fair you get all the holiday weekends-- forgetting that she has 9+ months with your stepdaughter while you don’t even have three. That’s not included in her definition of ‘fair.’

Apparently she would rather return both households to a life of constant conflict with her daughter smack in the middle. It’s only been a year, and she already wants out of the custody schedule she requested. Even though it was her idea to move in the first place. Even though her daughter’s present ‘really stressful’ traveling schedule is a result of her actions, her insistence that this would be best for everyone, her refusing to stop at anything, including the destruction of your family, to get her way.

No, no. These things don’t count. All that matters now is that you are the bad parents if you are the ones who move now, because it will suddenly be your fault that the daughter travels twice a month. It’s convenient in this case to forget she’s already been doing it for a year.

And then we have the other parent.

The other parent is also sabotaging your move to Colorado. He is taking his daughter aside and calling her repeatedly telling her she doesn’t have to move, she can stay with him, he’ll fix up her room, like you’re some kind of a monster who is tearing her from him against her will. Like he hasn't had six years living in the same city with her to fix up that room, to be active and involved. To meet her teachers or attend her conferences or pick her up from school. To even pretend to be a father, even a fake father like that fish that’s packaged as imitation crab.

The other parent owes over $14,000 in child support arrears. Which used to not matter, because you used to think money was less important than his presence in your daughter’s life, that you’d trade every penny of child support if only he’d start giving a shit about his kid. Only now that you’ve been around the block a few times, you’ve realized that she’d be better off with the cash, because being around him stresses her out so much that she has tummyaches for days and days leading up to her weekends with him.

Luckily he cancels a lot, so she only sees him maybe once a month. Except then you're kind of stuck, because if she's disappointed you say 'Oh honey, your dad loves you, he just has a crazy work schedule' to comfort her but you feel like it's a lie and you wonder if he really does love her and even if he does, is it a good idea to tell her that because you don't want her thinking this is love, this constant disappointment, this emotional unavailability and being let down as more predictable than coming through.  

So if he’s not going to maintain a supportive presence physically, it’d be nice if contribute financially. Or at least at least chip in for even a portion of the $400+ in medical bills she racked up due to those stomach problems last year. Except he never did. And yet your daughter came home today and announced that Daddy and his girlfriend just bought a new house! And it’s big! And Mama, oh my god, has the awesomest pool.

No, no. Again, these things don’t matter. Those child support payments are seriously crippling him financially. He’ll tell you all about it the next time he calls. And if he’s not active and involved-- well, that’s your fault too. You’re obstructing the relationship, poisoning your daughter against him. Not him, not the guy who cancels 3 out of every 4 weekends. It’s nothing to do with his actions. No, you are the bad parent who is taking his daughter away and preventing them from having a decent relationship.

Ridiculous? God, yes. But you cannot make this stuff up. For one thing, it’s totally unrealistic; no one would ever believe you. They especially wouldn’t believe that these things happened on the same day.

So here is the number one rule of blended families. Are you listening? Because this is the answer that will make your life bearable:

You. Are always. Wrong.

Your house is the bad house, and the other house is the good house. Whatever you do, it makes you a bad parent. Even if it is the exact same thing the other parent did a year or two ago, such as accepting an outstanding job offer in a city that will be much better for your child and your family. Even then, you will be a bad parent and, frankly, a bad person because you actually do not care about your child and you are not doing what is best for her. In fact, your actions are irreparably damaging to her. Because-- and this is key-- what is actually best for her is not what you think is best. It is whatever the other parent thinks is best.

Now. With that knowledge, and under these conditions, go forth and parent. Maintain integrity. Follow your gut. Do what you think is right for yourself, your children, the family you’re trying so hard to make together. Go ahead. Try it. Just try it. I dare you.

Paper Christmas

Every year, Dan and Miss G & I head to Tucson to celebrate Christmas with my folks and my siblings. But Miss L spends Christmas with her Mom’s family, so we do a separate celebration for our immediate foursome. Or at least, we try. Shifting custody schedules and other-parent-snarkiness have combined to make Christmas pretty squirrely at our house. The annual uncertainty of when or how we’ll manage to celebrate has been the only holiday tradition we’ve managed so far, something that deeply offends my Christmas vibe. It’s hard to feel merry and grouchy at the same time.

I should have learned to roll with this kind of thing by now. God knows nothing else in our lives is peaceful or settled. But I grew up in a family that was serious about its traditions, especially at Christmas, which makes all this vague ambiguity that much harder for me to accept. Like moving from bedrock to marshlands.

Last year it came to a head-- no time during the winter break when we’d have both kids, leaving us with no family Christmas at all. Thanksgiving was the only weekend we’d for sure have both kids. But we already had plans to hit Fresno over Thanksgiving; how could we get back in time for Christmas the same weekend?

Then I came up with Surprise Christmas. I painted a Christmas tree on kraft paper and made paper ornaments, then hid them in a mailing tube under the camping gear along with wrapping paper and stockings.

We stopped at a hotel on the way back from California. I donned a jingly reindeer headband, Dan his Santa hat, and we unfurled the tree and hung it on the hotel room wall. We did all the shopping early and brought the presents along; the kids did their gift wrapping in the hotel room, surrounded by Elvis’s Blue Christmas and twinkling lights. They hung up the paper ornaments and sang carols. Santa even came in the night and crammed stockings full.

I’ve never seen either kid so excited.

On the surface, we got our Christmas. I guess. I mean, it had all the important elements of a ‘real’ Christmas-- family togetherness, lights, carols, presents. But despite the kids’ (and Dan’s) obvious delight, I felt depressed by the farce. It was a poor second to celebrating Christmas together for real. I mean-- a paper Christmas tree, for pete’s sake? Come on.

In the year since then, my perspective changed entirely; turns out it’s the most successful family Christmas we’ve had yet. The kids have asked-- multiple times-- if we’re having the paper tree again, and kept asking when would Christmas happen, starting around October. They were grumbly to hear Christmas was going to be a planned event this year instead of sprung on them unsuspecting. There’s been nothing but “Remember when” about last year’s Christmas; none of our other Christmases have been reminisced over even once.

Some traditions are passed down from generation to generation. Some develop slowly, build up over time. And some spring forth fully-formed, armed and ready for battle-- like Athena from the head of Zeus.

So, even though our celebration this year is marred by Dan’s radiation treatment, even though we’ll have to stay an arm’s length away from him while hanging our ornaments and opening presents, I can’t wait for our day. I plan on doing more than just celebrating-- I plan to revel.

I really, really love Christmas. There are a zillion movies about Christmas spirit and I cry at all of them. But nothing taught me the lesson so hard as last year-- that Christmas is where you find it. That Christmas traditions are accessories, not the foundation. That sometimes you have to make your own Christmas, even if it’s only out of paper. And sometimes, those are the most sacred of all.

"Yes, thank you."

I’m terrible at recognizing the times I need support, and just as terrible at asking for it. My blindness and my stubbornness have cost me emotionally, financially, and physically time and time and time and time again.

This is something I know about myself, and that I’ve been working really hard to fix.

And yet. When my sister and my parents first heard that Dan would need surgery, they all offered to come to town and help out during his hospital stay. I said “Ohhh gosh, I don’t think you need to. We’ll be fine.” And I wasn’t trying to be brave or anything. I really believed it. I’m old hat at being a single mom. And Miss G is 12, after all, not 2. She’ll be in school during the day, can be left alone for a couple hours here or there and make herself mac n cheese. And it’s not like I’d need to carry him from the car to the house when he’s released or anything. It just didn't seem complicated enough to require an influx.

Blind. And being blind, of course I can’t see that I’m blind.

Once the surgery was actually scheduled, bumped up against Miss G’s 5-day weekend and overlapping a weekend Miss L will be here, practicality started poking me in the ribs. For one thing, how will I handle the kids’ visits? The hospital visitation policy says only 2 visitors in the room at a time. It also says all kids under 14 must be supervised at all times by an adult who isn’t a patient. So, all three of us can’t be in there at once. And at the same time, none of us can wait in the hall. Plus they’ll be bored after about 20 minutes, even assuming Dan is up to a longer visit. So I’ll have to drive them home and the hospital is 40 minutes from our house on a good traffic day. And once they’re home-- then what? Ditch ‘em home alone and go back to the hospital? Or stay with them and leave Dan alone in recovery?

And this is just one facet of next week. There’s also managing airport runs for Miss L, getting Miss G to her dad’s, plus keeping all the kids and dogs (and snakes and toads and fish and hamster) fed and watered and reasonably clean.  

More than anything else, I’m a realist. So when my sister asked a second time if I was sure I didn’t want any help, I took a deep breath, braced myself and said, “I’ve decided to just say ‘Yes, thank you’ to all offers of help that come my way this week. So... yes, thank you.”

And get this-- not only is she coming, but she’s put together this insane itinerary with a hospital visiting schedule for the kids, activities to keep ‘em busy and having fun from Thursday through Tuesday, grocery shopping, dinner-cooking, haunted housing and trick-or-treating. AND talked my folks into coming to help her with her own offspring while she’s taking care of mine.

I like this 'accepting' stuff. I’m still bad at asking but... I’m gonna keep working on it. This’ll be a great week to practice.

Dads

I guess Dan being gone weighed on Miss G’s mind this weekend too, because when I got up this morning she’d posted a video on her facebook page mentioning him being out of town. “My stepdad, Dan-- the actual one I live with, my... dad -- is in Reno visiting my stepsister...”

She swings the word “dad” like a right hook. Defensive, like she’s daring someone to challenge it. You can hear the anger layered underneath, see the contempt and hurt skitter across her face when she says it. It breaks my heart for her, and for her father. My instinct is to call him and say “Listen to this. How can that be okay with you?” but I don’t, knowing it would make no difference. I’ve tried. I told him when I found the piece of paper that had “My dad does not care about me!” written about 20 times on it, like a student’s punishment. He stepped it up the next couple weekends, but fell back into the usual rut after a bit.

He just doesn’t get it. He got a job offer in LA a few years back and refused to take it, telling me, “I’d never see Miss G!” I thought, Wow. He really has no idea that he could live and work in another state and keep right on seeing her just as much as he does now.

In his mind, he’s a caring and involved father. In Miss G’s, he’s the daddy who’s supposed to love her but doesn’t, and she thinks it’s her fault somehow.

And in mine... In mine, he’s a broken man who can’t spend too much time with his daughter, because it might open him to the entirety of what he’s destroyed. And if he glimpses that, he’ll never come back from it. Never.

I used to hate him. Then I felt sorry for him. And now I think-- he's had twelve years of chances. This isn't circumstance; this is what he's chosen. And thank God for Dan. Thank God every minute of every day for Dan.

Convolutions

My single largest frustration about a blended family is this: Things that would be simple in a 'normal' family are exponentially more complicated in ours.

Take our current adventure. In a standard family, I would take my husband to the hospital for surgery, visit him while he's there, and then take him home. Not any kind of fun, mind you, but only one sentence at least, and a pretty straightforward sentence at that.

But in our non-standard family, nothing is straightforward. We need walls of text.

For example. Miss L wants to come to town for Dan’s surgery. This leads to many possibilities, but I’ll just sum up the two currently under discussion.

Option A) Miss L flies in solo. This means I have to worry about picking her up from the airport either the night before surgery (because, you know, there won't be enough other things going on) or the day of the surgery (a similarly slow day). While dealing with the normal stress level I imagine is standard to your spouse of less than 2 years having cancer and going under the knife, I will also be dealing with the stepdaughter who will literally not be in the same room with me if we are alone in the house together. Which we will be. Alllll weekend. I will also need to keep her fed/hydrated/entertained during the however-many-hours long the surgery takes, and-- my favorite-- be the bad guy who says "Okay honey-- Daddy's tired. We need to go." Plus, I will somehow need to handle any emotional fallout resulting from seeing her beloved bouncy dad laid up in a hospital gown hooked up to tubes and things. I could comfort my own kid, but how to comfort a kid who keeps me at arms’ length?

Then we have Option B) Dan's ex-wife suggested bringing Miss L herself. This frees me up from chauffeur and entertainment duties, but also means I will be passing the time during Dan's surgery hangin’ with the woman who has made our lives -- I guess, 'extremely challenging' is the most polite way to say it. For hours. I anticipate an atmosphere similar to Hoth, except with polite chit-chat. After the actual surgery, I will have to put the polite chit-chat face on every time I drive to the hospital, because she will be visiting regularly with the daughter who won’t be alone with me. They will both act as if I am an usurper with no right to be there, just as they’ve acted since I walked in the door 5 years ago. I will worry that it’s not okay for me to ask either of them to leave the room ever, so I can have time alone with my husband. I will bite my tongue, keep the peace, and internalize miserably because for some reason I don’t want either of them to think I’m a bitch even though their opinions of me are long since set in stone.

See? See how quickly things got ridiculous? And this is the reader’s digest condensed version of complications. This is if everyone plays nice and things go smoothly. My sister-- the lawyer-- suggested I bring copies of our marriage certificate and their divorce decree in case there are any questions about who has rights to medical information. Just imagining any scenario at the hospital requiring either of those two items makes my stomach hurt.

But, this is my family. This is what I signed on for, what I accept in exchange for the there-isn’t-a-word-large-enough blessing of having Dan in my life and Miss G’s. He’s worth every extra convoluted paragraph.

Okay, enough serious stuff. Shake it off.

Tomorrow: lighthearted pictures of me with my niece in my Little Back SideYard.

Kids have it hard

Today was a rough day.

Miss G’s dad called about Thanksgiving. He wants to take Miss G to Florida to visit his folks. Fine, no problem. He says he wants to be there a week, Sunday to Sunday. I say, great. Then I look at a calendar.

“Uhh, that’s the weekend of the Phoenix Faerie Festival,” I say. “We’ve been planning on driving over, meeting my sister there, then visiting my folks in Tucson after. Could you fly out Monday instead?”

He scoffs, tells me tickets are cheaper if he leaves Sunday. I’m bummed, but I agree that time with him is more important. I warn him, “She might be stressed about missing school. She’s been on a kick about that lately.” He scoffs again, and buys the tickets anyway.

Miss G comes home and calls her dad. She’s in tears within about a minute and a half. He’s furious that she’s not thrilled. She’s inconsolable over missing fairies and freaked because he’s mad. Both are asking me to explain the other. (Funny I should have to; they’re exactly alike.)

Ruffled feelings were eventually smoothed, though not without many tears. And, in at least one case, ice cream.

One of the worst lies we tell our kids is how easy they have it, these are the best days, enjoy it now. Grown-ups who say this must have forgotten what it’s like to be kids, forgotten the powerless feeling of having no say in their own lives. Kids go where they have to, do what they’re told, and get in trouble if they dare to ask why.

Remember? Remember hating school, thinking your parents didn’t care when you tried to show them your new something-or-other while they were making dinner and they got irritated, not understanding why you had to go to some lame wedding on the weekend instead of riding bikes with your friend down the street?

It’s really hard being a kid. But it doesn’t take much from us to make it easier. Put down the spatula. Turn off the phone and give 30 minutes of undivided attention. Even 10 makes a difference. Hang out. Watch a cartoon. Make their day.