| The only think that kept me going this morning was Calvin's life-saving cup of coffee. He let me sleep in until he left at 6:30, kissed me, and told me "your cup is waiting on the counter". Knowing I wouldn't go out to get it until after I got out of the shower, he just thoughtfully left a mug already prepared with milk and sugar next to the coffee pot. All I had to do was pour the coffee into it. Truly, folks, it saved my life. See, Calvin knew what kind of night I had last night. I went to bed at about a quarter till eleven, after watching the Suns game. Actually, I gave up before it was over, since I was drooping on the couch. Calvin shoo'ed me off to bed, then followed about fifteen minutes later. I must've been dead asleep, because I didn't even feel him get into bed. I'm typically a light sleeper. Actually, I'm a heavy sleeper for the first half-hour or so, then it lightens up. The kids were still up, it being Christmas vacation. Bedtime is a nonexistent thing in our household for kids on vacation. Which is something I came to regret (again) last night. Or rather, at 3:00 this morning. Rattle... SLAM! Rattle... SLAM! Rattle... SLAM! Giggle... whisper... giggle... stomp stomp SLAM! grind grind grind grind grind grind grind (that being the ice crusher on the fridge - what, are *cubes* not good enough for you?!?) The kids woke me up out of the middle of a perfectly wonderful sleep, for like the HUNDREDTH night in a row. I'm not kidding. The night before last it was the phone ringing at 12:30. The night before that *and* the night before that it was the kids giggling and horsing around in the computer room at 1:00. The house being laid out the way it is (our bedroom is right next to the computer room on one side and the living room on another), and constructed the way it is (tile, echoey tile, everywhere) does not make our bedroom a quiet haven in which to achieve some peace and rest. We can hear Every. Little. Sound. Last night it broke me down, though. The rattle... SLAM! of someone going in and out of the door leading from the kitchen to the garage. Repeatedly. I contemplated going out and lecturing whomever it was (actually, I think it was both of them). But I knew it would do no earthly good whatsoever. When it comes to lecturing them on being considerate, listening to us, going to *bed*, being *quiet*, being *considerate* (did I say that already?), we might as well be talking to a wall. Why waste my breath, temper, or energy? Fight the battles you can win. Getting the kids to be considerate and listen isn't a battle I can win. The stress headache exploded behind my eyes immediately (and is still with me as I type this). My chest constricted and I needed to take my inhaler. So, being VERY practiced at this, I got up in the dark and felt on my dresser for my inhaler and bottle of capsules. My hands fumbled and I dropped the inhaler. I felt around on the floor and couldn't find it. I was so tired, and stressed, and frustrated, I just sat abruptly on the floor and cried. My head pounded harder and harder as frustrated, disjointed thoughts rolled around in my head. Calvin rolled over with a sleepy "what's the matter?" I warned him to keep his eyes shut, and I opened the door to the bathroom and turned on the dimmest light. I located my inhaler, took it, turned out the light, and went back to bed. And got back up two seconds later to holler out the bedroom door, "Go to BED, you guys!" And I laid back down again. Tossed. Laid flat on my back to try to relieve the headache. Tossed. Laid on my side to try to relieve the headache. Tossed. Drifted a bit, then jerked awake when I heard Michael's voice from the computer room and re-experienced the frustration that comes with having kids (or step-kids) that just won't *listen*. I could tell I was disturbing Calvin because his breathing would become irregular and he'd turn now and then. So I worried over that. I worried over the fact that school starts the next night (tonight) and I wasn't getting enough sleep to deal with a full day of work, a 4:30 teleconference in which I present *two* presentations, providing dinner for the family, leaving for school at 5:30, and not getting home until 10:30. I thought about this entry that I'm writing right now. I thought about needing a physical journal in which to write all the petty thoughts I have sometimes that I just don't want to publish here. I wondered if I should talk about the kids in a negative light here, especially since they read. Then I decided they *know* all this stuff because we *lecture* them about all this stuff *all the time*, and they're old enough to deal with the occasional frustrated emotions that head their direction. They're old enough to create them, right? This is my release. I don't want to bitch at them, I don't want to become the "evil stepmother". But dammit, I have *feelings*, and when they hurt them, I need some outlet. So here it is. There it is. I'm human. They frustrate me sometimes. That's it. Sue me. What kills me is the lack of follow-up to the positive discussions we've had. The ones in which we come away convinced that we're going to be tight, all be team players, and live a harmonious existence. Bah. That feeling lasts, *at the most*, 24 hours. Then Michael leaves his clothes *everywhere*, and Marie has to be reminded with increasing forcefulness to do her chores, and they both sulk, and it's back to being frustrated again. I adore these kids, I really do. They are, as teenagers go, pretty great. They can also be inconsiderate and selfish. But hey, can't we all? I want to be a great adult figure in their life. I want them to look back as adults and consider me to be a positive influence on their childhood. I feel like I always need to be sweetness-and-light, and can't say anything negative to them or behave grumpily or bitchily. I need to give a lot but not expect to receive because I'm "not their mom". The responsibilities of being a parent without a lot of the perks because I'm *not* their parent. I'm not even *really* their step-mom because Calvin and I aren't married. Don't get me wrong, I get a lot of rewards. It makes me feel good when Marie refers to Calvin and I as her "parents", and I like doing stuff with her, like going to the library and walking the dogs. Michael tells me he loves me and looks for hugs a lot, and recently he's taken to spontaneously rubbing my shoulders (though part of that may be his hope for a reciprocative back-scratching). They have never, not once, made me feel unwelcome in their lives. But there's always this feeling (completely my own) that I have to do *more* and expect *less* because of the position I hold. Michael and Marie will have whatever relationship and feelings they have with me. Complicated or simple. Laura the friend, or Laura the step-mom. They may love me or hate me or feel normal frustration toward me as a parental figure. Their relationship will be their own. But with me, I have a multitude of things to consider. I love them for themselves, and I love them because they're Calvin's kids. I want them to like me for me, and I need to get along well with them for Calvin's sake. Negativity between them and me hurts me myself, but it also hurts my relationship with Calvin. It's a delicate balancing act between being involved enough to effectively parent and run the household, and knowing that I can't insinuate myself too much into the parenting role because that way lies resentment (and the dreaded "You're not my mom!" - which, thankfully, I've never experienced and pray not to). I try to follow Calvin's lead, but in some circumstances even that's not too clear. Sometimes I have no idea how I'm doing with respect to all these things. I need some kind of step-mom report card or something. These may be completely unworthy thoughts, and entirely inaccurate. But I will always have the insecurity of not knowing how the kids *really* feel about me, and the worry that I'm not doing enough. I'm afraid to display perfectly normal emotions, the ones that Calvin can display with immunity because he's their dad, but that even he has told me I can't display because I'm not their mom. I know that. I don't want to be a replacement for their mom. I've never competed with their mom for that position, because it's rightfully *hers*. But I do want them to love and respect me as I love and respect them. I'm not superhuman, I'm just a woman, with normal emotions and reactions. I'm in a unique position and I'm just trying to do the right thing. For the kids. For Calvin. And for myself. Blarg. End of rant. |