You don’t even want your own kids, how do explain taking on two kids who aren’t even yours, she asked is complete bewilderment. I felt like a shy kindergartner who was on the verge of wetting her pants. I don’t like conflict, so explaining confusing concepts while not having adequate support is like the Kindergarten teacher asking me to explain Quantum physics over animal crackers and tap water. Painfully confusing.
Stammering over words which sounded foreign, I explained that I could handle it and I was ready to embrace the challenge to be endured for the next decade and a half. I lied.
The truth, I really love him, just didn’t sound like a rational response.
My fiance has a peppered marital past. His first wife betrayed the vows of holy matrimony, monogamy, and fidelity. On multiple occations. Though the institution of marriage has been marred and abused in his first marriage, he still holds to the promise of redemption, renewal, and restoration. God can make all things new.
[Curtains open. Bianca enters stage left. Spotlight on Matt with opening line: “This is my new!” Crowd erupts in joyous clamor. End scene.]
While getting married is exciting and new, being a stepparent is terrifying and scary. Statistics show 74% of children must deal with a stepparent before the age of 18. Media has portrayed thee worst renditions of pseudo-parents, so what can I do?!
I mean, poor Cinderella had to deal with her evil step-mother and so did the red-headed twins in The Parent Trap! The only reference point I have are vile characters who are born to make their part-time spawn’s life miserable.
[Curtains open. Enter Parker Mason and Ryen Blake stage right. Spotlight on Bianca with opening line: “This is my new!” Crowd erupts is ruckus laughter. End scene.]
The girl who spent LA weekends in art galleries or watching inde films has traded in the expensive dinners and designer shoes to love in ways bigger than a Jackson Pollack mural, deeper than a French foreign film, and more delicious than a dinner at Spago. And the shoes? Well, leave my shoes alone 😉
I’m not your mommy. She loves you in ways I can’t imagine… but I want to try. I want you to feel safe and warm and happy when you stay with Daddy and me. I want you to dance our special happy dance when we cook in the kitchen and never get tired of me tickling you. I want us crawl into bed and read stories at night forever. I want to be the last one to pray with you at night and the first one to say good morning.
Forgive me for not knowing how to make your lunch like Daddy. Or where your clean socks go. Or how to sign you out of Sunday School. Or how to correctly eat a popsicle. I’m new at this. But I promise I’ll get better!
Even if I’m mad at Daddy or he’s mad at me, I’ll never leave him. Or you. I promise.
Thank you for sharing your daddy with me. One day I hope you’ll read this and know how much I love you… then and now.
B [aka Stepmom Extraordaire]
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