The Facts

Here’s a bit about the people I’ll likely talk about most often:

My “practical husband” (Pops) knows my faults and experiences them almost daily.  He’s a smart and generous man and he is the definition of what a good father should be.  I love him deeply and cannot imagine what my life would have been or would be without him.  He makes me laugh and he makes me feel good about myself.  He’s patient.  He makes me want to try harder.

The children are beautiful.  They really are.  Calvin is eight, nearly nine, and Cupcake is six.  I couldn’t have gotten any luckier when it comes to kids – step or otherwise: they truly are wonderful – kind and sweet and funny (not that they’re without their faults, of course).  The three of us fell in love quickly.  One of the best feelings is knowing that I have a place in this family.  Our family.  They can trust me and they know I’m not going anywhere.  I’ve promised to take care of them.

Calvin was the first of the kids to fall for me.  I now recognize that this was a function of his personality – he is incredibly outgoing yet quite sweet in his quiet moments – still his affection towards me gave me the idea that I could DO this and it might be amazing.  He can have me laughing one moment, very frustrated with him the next, snuggling after that, and talking about poop a minute later.  He is such a boy – SUCH a boy.  Some of Calvin’s favorite topics are wieners, farts, and meat.  The snuggling is beautiful, though.  He is going to be a big, strong man one day.  And I will remember when he fell asleep, snuggled into my shoulder, with his arm around me.

Cupcake is one of the biggest characters you will ever meet.  She will dance and sing (horribly off-key most of the time) and kiss and hug and smile until you are convinced you’ve found the love of your life.  With Cupcake, there’s a daily explosion of beauty, fun, silliness, and laughter.  Oh, and chatter.  That girl can talk until you want to slam your head into a wall.  She talks.  And reminds you of things.  And tells you what she had for dinner last night (even though you made it for her).  And re-tells the story you told her this morning, “Practical Stepmom, isn’t it crazy how when you were a little girl, you used to drop eggs on the floor?”  The incessant discourse, though, is quieted by her soft heart and strong spirit.  She is possibly the only kid I’ve ever thought might be more mature for his or her age than I was (and I grew up pretty damn fast), and while she can be frustratingly headstrong, she often will self-destruct when confronted.

Like many “blended families” (ehhh blended…?), we suffer from PEW – Psycho Ex-Wife – disease.  Not only is the children’s mother often frustratingly irrational (code name “IR”), she’s also pretty narcissistic.

I’m a  20-something law school graduate who co-habitates with a 40-something father of two children, whom I’ve come to think of as my own.  While the kids’ father and I do not plan to marry (my own parents’ divorce pretty much nixed the idea of marriage being a life goal), we plan to spend the rest of our lives together.  The kids live with us half-time (joint legal custody with their mom), and despite the non-marriage, we consider ourselves a family.  Since Pops and I are not married, the kids call me their “Practical Stepmom,” because I’m “practically” their stepmom.  I work hard to love the kids and their dad.  And since I know they love me back, I don’t give a damn what they call me.