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."

Anniversaries

Our wedding was three years ago today. I jokingly said to my mother "It's hard to say if things have gotten better in those three years, or way worse."

Except, like many jokes, it's not really a joke.

When I first got our amazing wedding photos I had trouble looking through them.

Instead of seeing pictures, I saw memories. I remembered crying for hours the night before the wedding, sure Dan was making a colossal mistake in marrying someone his daughter hated so much. I remembered his ex-wife calling and yelling at him for an hour the first day of our honeymoon and wondered why the hell I had willingly signed on for this much animosity... for the rest of my life. The wedding itself, a ceremony promising union, felt like the biggest possible farce.

Hard to believe you could not find perfection against this backdrop.

Fast forward three years. Life is still uncertain, although I cry much less these days. Miss L no longer radiates hatred from her being if I walk into the room. And although Dan's ex-wife remains an obstacle to the future we want more often than not, we are learning how not to give in to terrorist demands.

We married in the eye of a hurricane but the storm is finally passing. Clouds are breaking; blue skies appearing.

Maybe the wedding felt false because I thought it should be the beginning of happily ever after and ours felt like the furthest thing from.

A wedding is a beginning, period.

On our wedding day, Dan and I joined hands and committed to a life together, and that's exactly what we're doing. It's not the perfect life. It never is, not for anyone. We're just living life, and living it together.

Over rough roads and smooth.

Doesn't get much more authentic or more celebratory than that.

Echoes (part 2)

Miss L is so much like her father, it hurts. Not because I don’t love him, but because I love him so much. He is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I’m thrilled that so many of his best qualities are being genetically continued in the world through her. If there’s one thing we could all use, it’s a little more Dannishness in the world. That’s why it’s so devastating to see those parts of her, at best, ignored and at worst-- actively weeded out.

Dan and Miss L share a love of the outdoors. They share a daydreamy distraction that’s equal parts endearing and exasperating. They share the same gentle spirit that loathes hurting other creatures, leaving them both confused and devastated if their cheerful oblivion inadvertently causes someone else pain. They both love working with their hands, whether repairing broken things or making something beautiful. Or maybe that’s the same skill, to them.

Miss L is an amazing writer. She lit up over the summer when she talked about the journalism class offered by her school. “We get to make our own newspaper!” But in August, when we saw her schedule, her elective was listed as Speech & Debate.

“Oh, bummer. Was Journalism full? That sucks,” I said.

“No... Mommy said Speech & Debate would be better for me.”

“But you were so excited about that other class!”

“Maybe I’ll take it next year.”

She rolls her eyes now when we plan to go climbing or hiking. She used to run out the door so fast we had to send her back inside for her forgotten shoes. Part of it is getting older, but part of it is that these are not Approved Activities. She’s been trained that these pastimes are beneath her. And, accordingly, so are we.

Outdoorsy and artsy things are only acceptable under certain conditions. Her new stepdad is really into mountain biking, so that’s on the Approved list. Her mom took piano, so piano lessons are in. Skiing is acceptable. Hiking? Nope. Writing? No way.

List of Approved Activities include getting her eyebrows professionally shaped, shopping for, and wearing, cleavage-baring shirts and skin-tight jeans, even though she’s not even 13 yet. Any future career that makes her lots of money is acceptable. Any future career that would land a lower, but still healthy, salary while also incorporating her creativity-- well, no one talks to her about that possible path. Creativity is not important. Her aesthetic side is just that-- a side dish. Not good enough for the main course.

It breaks my heart to see Miss L rejecting and denying such integral parts of herself. She says she wants to be a plastic surgeon, has herself all lined up for hard sciences and advanced math classes. Which would be fine, if that were her passion, but it’s so clearly not. I’m concerned for her future, not because I think she can’t handle that academic road-- she’s absolutely capable; she’s a brilliant student-- but because those aren’t the things that light her up inside. And ignoring those things has a way of exploding your life out later on.  

I don’t have the same concerns for my stepdaughter that I have for for my own daughter. I don’t worry she’ll self-destruct. Instead, I worry that her true self will drift away, dry and neglected, and she’ll be left wondering why she feels so lost. I worry she’ll want to drop out of college when she finds she hates life without all those things she shuns, those things she’s been taught are unnecessary or unacceptable. I worry that she’ll never be able to embrace that nature-loving, artistic, compassionate being that is her true nature, down under all the artificiality that’s slathered onto her these days. And as a result, she may never be whole.

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.

Victory. I think. A little bit.

My hardest part of being a stepmama is never feeling like I win. Not in a self-martyring woe-is-me kind of way, but in the sense that victories aren’t really victories. Or they are, but they’re shaded in unexpected tones and tricky to make out-- not as brightly victorious as I’d like. And not the way I’d have defined ‘victory’ a year ago-- five years ago-- six months ago.

The girls came home after several days with their (respective) other families yesterday.

“Mama, we need girl talk. Like, NOW,” says Miss G. Miss L nods agreement.

“Uh oh. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Me and Miss L just need to talk about things with you.”

The girls exchange meaningful looks and eyebrow waggles. Serious business.

Dan wisely leaves the house, and the girls collapse in the family room with joint sighs of utter disgust. Disgust at the world, I guess, or parents everywhere or maybe just at Dan. Who can say.

Miss G goes on a rant about this and that while Miss L chimes in here and there, and I murmur and/or exclaim in (apparently) all the right places. Everyone feels better, and I feel all popular and stuff, and the girls disperse with lighter hearts.

A little later, Miss G finds me alone in the kitchen and gives me a big hug.

“I love you, Mama!”
“Aww, I love you too.”
“I think Miss L loves you too. A little bit.”

It’s kind of funny and heartbreaking and touching all at once. Just like everything else about being a stepmama.

And I feel-- well, semi-victorious. Not because my stepdaughter loves me (We think. A little bit.) but because she no longer leaves a room if I enter. She asks me for help with art projects. She hovers in the kitchen while I make dinner.

On the other hand-- she doesn’t give me hugs. She responds to my “Good night, girls! Love you!” with silence, or sometimes a delayed “.... ’night!”

I’m finding my way. I’m moving forward even if the scenery doesn’t match the job description, and it doesn’t wreck me any more. The news that she might love me (a little bit) doesn’t devastate me by falling short of what I want for us like it would have a couple years ago. But neither is it the desperate lifeline tied to the family I always wanted, not like it would have been a couple years before that.

So it’s kind of a victory. I think. A little bit.

It isn’t that I don’t care, because of course I do. But there’s a significant difference between regular caring and caring so much that your whole life, your future happiness, and maybe even your sanity depend on it.

I’ve learned to let Miss L be Miss L, and let me be me, let this family be whatever it is instead of insisting it become something it’s not. She’s changed, and I’ve changed and we’ve traveled from miserable through tolerance all the way up to mutual-- something. Respect? Friendship? Tentative affection?

Love?

We think. A little bit.

Stepmothers' Day

Today, the Sunday after Mothers’ Day, is Stepmothers’ Day.

I envision this horde of grouchy, unappreciated women at their wits’ ends rising up and saying in one huge angry huff: “You won’t acknowledge us on Mothers’ Day? Fine. We’ll invent our own goddamned day. Goddammit.”

I used to read these online stepmother forums, searching for any shred of guidance on how to make things better at our house, how to get Miss L (and/or her mother) not to hate me, how to break through the resentment, understand why there was so much of it to wade through in the first place. And all I learned was that our problems were universal. There was a lot of virtual shrugging, a lot of ‘I know, right?’ but no real advice.

And these women, they are not bad women. Through post after post, their hearts are breaking, but they just come back swinging harder the next time. More than anything, and in spite of everything, their love for those kids permeates their words. It wouldn’t be so damned hard if we didn’t care, after all.  

And that’s the real crux of it. We’re hated for making sure homework is done and vegetables are eaten. Resented for planning family vacations and attending little league games. Ignored at recitals, not informed about school conferences, not consulted regarding the futures of the children we’re raising. Because, you know, we’re not real parents. We barely count. We’re just some woman the dad married; why include us in anything.

I, too, am  ‘just some bitch,’ according to Miss L’s biological mother. I’ve posted my share of horror stories in those forums, more of them than I care to remember. Actually I’m trying real hard to forget them, forget every single one of them and not feel resentful and just move forward. I can’t change what’s past, but the future’s up for grabs. Things are so much better now; it’s a whole new life.

I even took Miss L bra shopping yesterday (with other people too; we’re not quite brave enough to be alone together yet) and everyone had fun and she took the bras back to mom’s house with her instead of leaving them on the floor with tags on like she used to do with the stuff I bought her. We are starting to become... maybe not good friends. Maybe not even friends. But friendly, anyway, and that’s a start toward something. Something new. Something hopeful and less angry.

But on this day, this stepmothers’ day, I think about the women who still haunt those forums, how I’m only about a year removed from those miserable, can't-win days. I visited the other day, and nothing has changed. They have user names like didntsignup4this and tiredofdrama. Those new to the message boards post threads with titles like “New here... feel like a horrible person :(” and “Get out now or stick with it?” The ladies who’ve been doing this for years post things like “Yet more marriage probs because of stepkid” and “Another ruined vacation” and “Bio-Mom filed false abuse charges on us w/CPS... AGAIN!” It’s all so familiar, and so grim, I had to stop reading.

In some weird, not-quite-schadenfreude way, reading all that baggage is comforting; my rocky start with Miss L wasn't me being an idiot and doing everything wrong. Well, partly. But moreso it’s the role itself. It’s just freakin’ tricky. It’s stressful and complicated for all of us. And while I’m sure there are some genuinely wicked stepmothers, the majority of us try really hard to be good moms while putting up with way more than the usual amount of bullshit, all for the (apparently) unforgivable sin of loving these kids we did not birth and marrying their fathers.

It’s easy to see why we’re so universally despised.

Damned right we deserve our own day. I think I’ll buy myself something nice.

Thanksgiving Curry

I almost had such a great post for today.

So, last time Miss L was here-- almost a full month ago, on Dan’s surgery weekend-- she asked me what the plans were for Thanksgiving.

“Well, I think you & your dad are going camping,” I said.
“Oh. So are you and Miss G going to Tucson?” she asked.
“Nope, she’s going to Florida with her dad, and my folks are going to Denver for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh! Well... what will you do?”
Be blissfully, blessedly alone for four whole days.
“I'm writing a novel,” I said.

After Dan drops her at the airport, he comes home and says, “Miss L doesn’t think it’s right for you to be alone at Thanksgiving. She wants to stay here and cook.”

“I-- what?”  No. No, no, no, no.

“Yeah, she asked me what my favorite dish is and said she wants to make it for Thanksgiving. So she’s making curry.”

Oh god. And I can’t say no. You can’t say no to your stepdaughter wanting to spend Thanksgiving with you. Crap. And I hate curry. He knows I hate curry. It is the only food I will not eat, other than “meat” from McDonald’s. I’ll have to somehow choke it down; I can't hurt her feelings. There is just... no way out of this. Or-- wait.

“Well-- if you guys are staying, I’d rather make traditional dinner. What about leftover turkey curry the next night?” While I go to a write-in somewhere.

“Oh, great idea! I’ll run it by her.”

The next week, he says, “Oh, I talked to Miss L about Thanksgiving. She’s really looking forward to cooking with you.” He’s all lit up.

“Cooking... wait, what?”

“Yeah, I suggested making turkey curry the next night, but she really wants to have curry as one of the side dishes on actual Thanksgiving.”

“Honey, that’s kind of a hassle. Curry is really involved, and our kitchen is ridiculous. There’s just not room for both of us to be cooking such different meals in there. If she wants to help with regular Thanksgiving dinner, that would be great. And then she can take over the kitchen the next night for curry. It would be so much easier for both of us.”

“Oh, well. I guess that would be easier. Okay, I’ll talk to her.”

[Disclaimer: Okay. Lest you think I am a total, total bitch for not wanting to cook Thanksgiving dinner curry with my stepdaughter, let’s discuss my kitchen. And, to a lesser extent, curry. My kitchen is galley-style, flanking two parallel walls. There is literally 26” between counters; I have to stand off to one side to open the oven all the way. In addition to the tight quarters, our crappy stove has three working burners, of which I will need four: gravy, potatoes, cranberries, and stuffing. Plus the oven. It’s already a challenge to cook Thanksgiving dinner in there without adding a whole extra person needing at least one entire counter and a fifth burner. And the curry? Miss L’s mom’s family is from Sri Lanka. When she says curry, she’s not messing around. This is hours of chopping, mashing, peeling, prepping, simmering-all-day traditional curry.]

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, which is the day before her flight arrives, Dan says, “Well, Miss L couldn’t decide which curry recipe to make, so she’s doing two.” Ha ha! Two! What a delight. Dan is pleased as a full tick.

His cheerful oblivion is the last straw. I flip. Dan flips back.

He’s pissed that I’m not excited to have them here for the holiday. I’m pissed that he can’t understand it was important to me to write over the weekend.

He doesn’t understand why the curry is a problem. I remind him about the three burners, the 26 inches. I remind him that I don’t let anyone help with making dinner because two people in this kitchen is way too many.

He throws up his hands and says “You two have just built a wall! A WALL!” and I say “Oh my god, you think this is personal?” I tell him it has nothing to do with my relationship with Miss L, that I would feel the same way about Miss G wanting to make one (let alone two) really complicated dishes on that day. Let there be no mistake, I tell him, I am genuinely touched that Miss L thinks I shouldn’t be alone at Thanksgiving, and I am willing to figure out a way to make this work. But it’s still a pain in the ass.

Let's skip ahead to the grudging compromise portion of the argument in which we decide to take over his parents’ kitchen a few houses down; they’ll be out of town. Will Miss L feel exiled if we send her to cook down there? Possibly. To avoid this, Dan and I decide that I will cook regular dinner down there, and she can take over our kitchen here. Bonus: with no one home at the other house, I can bring my laptop and get the alone time after all. Win, win.

Except. Oh, right. His folks are installing new flooring, so all the kitchen cabinets are sitting in the backyard, along with the kitchen sink (and not in the metaphorical sense). So... maybe I can... wash the turkey in the... er, bathtub?

And wait-- okay, where do we eat? Load up plates at the other house and cart them back to our house and eat? We can’t eat at his parents’ because the dining room table is now holding up the microwave and pretending it’s a kitchen counter.

And is Miss L familiar enough with her dishes that she can gauge what time they’ll be done, so we can eat everything at one time?

I ask Dan all these questions. He suggests finishing the flooring real quick and getting the sink hooked back up. I say, “Installing kitchen flooring and a sink while I’m trying to make Thanksgiving dinner is the only thing that will make this day more ridiculous.” He says I’m a Negative Nelly. I say he skips right to the magical unicorn dust happy ending without any practical sense of how we get there.

Put us together and we break pretty close to even. This is why we’re good together.

I figure... okay. We'll figure it out. Whatever. Plus rinsing the turkey out in the bathtub and the whole curry thing will make a good blog entry. The only thing I’ve done this month is write, think about writing, or avoid writing. And once, dressed up like a fairy. God knows I could use some material.

So, I put my grouchies to bed and got ready to take discreet anecdotal notes.

And then. Miss L had the temerity to show up with a giant ziplock bag of frozen curry she already prepared at her mom’s house, thus neatly preventing any drama or interesting stories arising out of Thanksgiving day dinner.

Damn.

Maybe next year.

"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.

Thanks, Zelda

The girls & I have been on a Zelda kick lately.  It's the sole video game that's encouraged at our house, because it's entertainment that can't be mindless. For those who haven't played, Zelda is famous for having lots of puzzles you have to figure out in order to progress (and also for being exasperating).   I figure it teaches the kids patience and perseverance, and gets them thinking about looking at problems differently.  Plus I'm a Zelda addict myself, and it's nice to see people I know at the meetings.

I'm not as generous with help as the kids would like.  They want me to take over the second things look rough, but I refuse. "You've been working at that less than 2 minutes.  Just try a little longer."  They grumble, but keep at it.  They stay grouchy with me right up until they get past the part they thought they couldn't beat and then they're all hopped up and full of themselves. I say, "See? I knew you could do it!" They roll their eyes at me, but  I like to imagine that they're secretly grateful I make them fight their own battles after all.

When I first introduced Miss L to Zelda a few years ago, she asked for help as soon as there was anything that looked scary, wouldn't even attempt a bad guy on her own.  Now she hardly ever asks. No longer looking for handouts, she's  hooked on the high that comes from doing it herself.   I've loved watching the slow shift from self-doubt to self-sufficiency.  Her Zelda-pride has spread to other aspects of her life; she's been wearing new confidence in her abilities.

I've been worried about her moving next year; she's withdrawn and uncertain in new situations.  She tells people what they want to hear, and submerges herself in the process.  Keeping other people happy is more important to Miss L than keeping her own head above water.  No matter how much we encourage her to be proud of who she is and stand up for herself, she will have to call upon the strength from within to change, and we can't do that for her.

So, Zelda gives me hope.  Seeing Miss L all dogged and serious about busting that bad guy's ass is awesome.  Watching her go forth fearlessly into that video game means there is one place she is going forth fearlessly.  She's got it.  It's in there.  It's quiet, but it's fierce, and I pray to God I'm there to see the day she busts free.