Author Archives: kari

Nine made me a Mother’s Day card this year in school. It’s AMAZING. it’s also my first ever nod from the little dudes on a Mother’s Day. And it felt more than amazing. It felt like crying, and it felt like ratcheting down those tears so sweet Nine didn’t think he’d done something wrong.

Step-parenting is a really weird thing. In my situation, I’m doing all the things a mom would do – the homework checks, the dinner prep, the hugs and kisses, the love, the reprimands, the ferry service, the career day at school, the ball games, finding summer camps, talking over problems with other kids, the chats over meals – but they HAVE a perfectly wonderful ACTUAL mom, so as much as I also love and care for these kids, well. There’s not usually a Mother’s Day for me.

And you know?

That’s totally fine with me. I know these dudes love me. I don’t need a Hallmark holiday contributing to the fetishization of the mom to appreciate what I do – maybe because, as a step-parent, I CHOSE this level of engagement. I decided to be this kind of person in their lives. And I went into it expecting it to be outside of the traditional recognition categories. Traditionally there’s usually evil stepmoms, you know? There’s no holiday for that.

But when the sweetest Nine you know gives you a card that he made in school, which means he was thinking about you when you’re apart, and which says sweet things inside – holy cow. I squeed in the quietest, coolest way possible.

But guys! I got a Mother’s Day card!

Spring sports officially started today. Nine had his first baseball practice and Thirteen had lacrosse. It was COLD. 30 deg F or less and snowing intermittently. I wore my snow skirt and chattered on the sidelines. Total besters move, though, was bringing them hot chocolate for after the practice.

I tell you, though – the hardest part about modern parenting seems to be squeezing it all in. Baseball is at 5 PM and lacrosse is at 5:15. Thankfully Thirteen is old enough to be left alone at the field, but the very real complication of having to get from work 45 miles away by car (me) or 2 hrs on a train (mike) every single day of the week to a sports practice by 5p – when most of my colleagues are still plugging away – remains. We will have to rely heavily on the Grammy brigade, I believe.

number 5 in #35to36

Dear Little Dudes,

Thirteen, remember how yesterday someone asked me if you were my son? I am writing this letter to let you and your brother know that in my head, I faced the always-there questions: will this new person ever find out that I’m lying if I just say: “yes?” will this get back to the rest of your family? will someone catch me if I claim you as my own?

I’m not sure if you two have noticed – especially because for so many years you have been so gleeful to tell people that I’m NOT your mother, and perhaps because I’m so quick to say “but you two HAVE a mother,” – but I am constantly weighing the pros and cons of just saying “Yes, this IS my son.” And it’s not out of any kind of creepy acquisition or or baby-stealing desire, I promise. Out of respect for you and for your mom, of course I will keep calling you my stepsons. It’s just… I’m so tired of the term “step” being so loaded. I don’t want you to think that love you any less than I do, or even less than I possibly could. Stepson is not a less-than proposition. You are my only sons, my lovely and infuriating and charming sons. It’s just that – you ARE my stepsons. That’s the way this family was built. And in a world of labels and buckets, where it seems like everyone must fit in just so or risk tearing the fabric of society irreparably, well. I’m forever reduced to expediency, honesty, and respect, and I have to tell people you’re my stepson.

Thirteen, after you and I got home last night there was nothing better in the world than sitting on the loveseat next to you and prepping for your next big math project (due next tuesday) while you sawed on a harmonica like a politely surly hobo. Nine, having you sit across the room on the couch fiercely creating things in minecraft while your dad looked up hedgehog videos on his phone – I’m hard put to describe a better fifteen minutes of family bliss.

So, look: you both delight me. I am devoted to your success and happiness. I brag on you and bite my tongue so as not to be boring to other people who aren’t as interested in you as I am. I’m sorry that there are so many evil stepmonster stories out there and they all make “stepson” feel like such a sad term. I am so proud of my stepsons. And honestly, I’m not worried that you aren’t aware of how much I love and care for you. I think we do a pretty good job of telling each other how we feel. But sometimes I want to make the world understand that too. You two are amazing, and interesting, and sometimes intolerable. You’re my kids. My stepkids, but — That’s not less than anything. It’s all of everything.

Love,

Your horribly embarrassing stepmonster.

PS: I am writing this as an open letter so you never have to read it or hear it from me, and if you do read it, you can pretend it never happened. BUT IT’S ALL TRUE. LOVE YOU, PEACHES.

Sappiest post yet for number 4: #35to36

If you are a knitter, you probably already read The Yarn Harlot.

If had to give a quick list to someone going into parenting teens, it would be to remember this: A) SHUT UP.  B) Don’t take the bait. C) Don’t take it personally. D) You are probably too pretty for prison. Walk it off.

If you’re a not knitter and not already reading The Yarn Harlot but sorta like looking at pictures of knitting, you may want to add her to your blog feeds.

Thirteen is causing me to EXACTLY need this list right now. He is so charming and wonderful and then he flips directly into FULL ON ARGUMENT where if I say something is white he says it’s black, if I say it’s up he says it’s down, when I say he is Thirteen he makes up an entirely new and actually untruething just to pick a fight. It’s horrible. So far I only last for about 3 minutes before I am pulling out the STERN VOICE and GLARING AT HIM THROUGH MY BUSHY GRAMPA EYEBROWS and USING CUSS WORDS FOR EMPHASIS. Which is exactly what he wants, because then he gets to put on a full body “nobody loves me” suit and wear his “everyone picks on me” hat and snit on out of the room.

And I’m fairly certain that as soon as I learn to deal with this tactic of his he will switch strategies and find an entirely new way of interacting that will make me question my actual capabilities to be The Adult.

Luckily he is also charming, adorables, sweet, and really fun to be around.

Luckily, I am too.

Did I ever mention (of course I didn’t) that I wrote a piece about our convoluted wedding planning, and it was published on what is possibly the only wedding blog any newly engaged (or long time engaged or old married) person should ever read? That website being A Practical Wedding?

I did, it’s here.

I’ve been with my sweetheart for over four years now, and our first few months were a whirlwind of “How did we ever find each other on the Internet;” “Thank goodness you have a lease, or we’d be moving in together way too quickly;” and “Oh gosh I hope his kids love me.” Since we met I have learned to ride a motorcycle, determined how to ask for what I need from my partner as we share the household responsibilities, and figured out a way to make a blended family without feeling threatened by former spouses or the fact that I moved to a small town with everyone else ever formerly and currently involved in my partner’s life. We negotiated a refinance of our big old house, made a budget together, and put together a list of short-term and long-term financial goals. It all sounds so romantic, doesn’t it? The subtext for all of this is, however, how over the last four years I’ve learned how to love the idea of Marriage.

Is it weird to quote yourself? I think it’s kind of weird.

Now that we’re home and officially married instead of just informally and semi-secretly all partnered up, I can’t help but tell people who ask “how does it feel to be a married lady?” that it’s exactly the same as being a living-in-sin lady—although if I’m honest with myself, it’s not exactly the same. Mike and I are exactly as we were. Our relationship didn’t change, we were fully committed to a partnership before the Judge and the State of New York approved of our union. But as much as I have been skeptical of what a legal marriage would bring to our relationship, it turns out that our community really does factor into it. I was surprised and humbled by the well wishes we received from our friends, family, and colleagues. Even though we’ve been warned that when the wedding and the marriage are decoupled like this, odds are we won’t ever get around to having a big celebration party later, I am even more sure that inviting our community to celebrate with us and mark this occasion will be a tremendously important part of our relationship and our family history. Wish us luck as we plan our celebration party to be as beautiful and loving as our life together, while staying, most romantically, below the cost of two mortgage payments.

Read all the inbetweens!