She Has the Same Last Name as Him

My son was born in sin and out of wedlock when I was just 19 years old. We fortunately were smart enough not to get married simply because I was knocked up (I know it would have been the “right thing”, but we would have divorced anyway). So my son and I have never had the same last name, which has always bothered me, especially since I’m a teacher and my son goes to the same school. Inevitable every year one of my students asks why we don’t have the same last name which leads to how could you have a kid if you’re not married (I teach 2nd grade in a upper class neighborhood). I’ve actually considered changing my last name to his.

Well 7 years ago my baby’s daddy got married to the Step monster and I didn’t think anything of it until last week. My honey and I both play adult co-ed softball, otherwise known as a good excuse to drink beer and hang with friends. Well step monster plays and for the first time our teams have met up. I started the game by putting my foot in my mouth, but that’s a different post.

When step monster was walking out to the field I noticed the back of her shirt had her first initial and my son’s last name on it. At first I was clueless; I literally thought “why does she have that name on her shirt?” Then it hit me, she has her husband’s last name, which is the same last name as my child, which mean she has my child’s last name. I was livid, I wanted to run out and trip her and rip the shirt off her back. This woman does not deserve to have the same last name as my child! Why does someone who has no love or decency for my son get the one gift I long for?

Water Skiiing!

Yesterday I tried water skiing for the first time. I loved it! I won’t say it was easy because I know it’s not but I can say it’s not as hard as I thought. I got up on my 2nd try, which I’ve heard is not completely normal. It takes balance, coordination, and patience, all of which I’m lacking. So for me getting up at all is one of the great mysteries of the world. Like how did the pyramids get built? Or how did my ass defy gravity to slide ungracefully atop water? I am clumsy to say the least and have been known to fall down simply when walking around. So needless to say I felt pretty good about it.

What they don’t tell you…

I got lots of advice on how to ski, but here’s what no one told me. Warning this next passage includes vulgar language and graphic descriptions :)

Wear shorts that fit comfortable. If you’re in a bikini and fall forward your suit will be ripped from your body and everyone on the boat will see your bare ass!

If you fall backwards the force of the water will cause your swimsuit bottoms to cut you in half. I have rope burns in my crack!

When you fall backwards if your suit slides off or over you will get an enima. I have been shitting river water all afternoon!

Something else they don’t tell you is what happens to the skis when you fall. The first time I fell the force of the water ripped them off my feet. I wasn’t expecting this; my first reaction was “now I look like a dumb ass and I lost their skis”, but guess what they float! Now I get to figure out how to put them on while floating. The second time I fell one of the skis had its revenge by bitch slapping me in the back of the head. Yes it was still attached to my foot and no I don’t normally bend that way.

My House & My Kids

Thanks to all of you wonderful supportive step moms who took the time to give me such advice and encouragement. We all know that some days the demons catch up. I do have to say that I have been lucky that my honey has given me total control over decorating and landscaping. I have to confess that I felt a small victory as I ripped her favorite rose bush from the ground (I know how childish that sounds, but let me have my moment). I am in the process of redoing the backyard. The sucky part is she has good taste and I do like a lot of what she’s done.

I know that I need to remember to keep things in perspective. It has to be hard on her too, even though she deserves it and brought it all on herself (oops did I say that out loud?). I know when the kids go to see her they talk about me and the things we do. It has to be hard to see another woman raising your kids. If I’m home and she comes to pick up the kids she won’t set foot in the house (she even hurried the kids out one day cause she had to use the restroom and wouldn’t do it here). I know that this is because she’s uncomfortable (she is a very insecure person); I’m the women living in her house…who has taken over the role she walked out on. So on my bad days when I feel like I’m just the fill in I have to remember I’ve cast my own shadow in which she now has to walk in.

Her House & Her Kids

Sometimes I can pretend to forget that fact, yet sometimes it haunts everything. The house that we live in is the one they built together four years ago. The walls are green, yellow, and burgundy because she picked out the colors and painted them herself. The flowers in the flower beds and bushes out front were planted there by her two hands. Every day at least one of kids mentions something about her. The neighbors talk to me about her (luckily it’s always positive towards me).

It will be a long time before we’re financially able to sell this house. It makes me sad to know that we might never have “our” house. I can’t have any more kids. It makes me sad that we will never have “our” family pictures. It seems like we’ll forever be two separate families trying to live in the same house.

Weekend at the Coast

This weekend we went camping on Super dad’s parent’s property. They have 5 acres of woods with beach front access. Because we are insane we allowed each of the kids to invite a friend for a total of 7 kids (junior’s friend couldn’t make it). It was for the most part a very wonderful weekend in which the kids scavenged along the beach looking for any possible sign of life to pick up and run around dangling screaming, “look what I found”. I often wonder if crabs consider this an out of body experience. “I was heading toward the light, flying through the air, looking down on the world, and then was suddenly thrust back into life”. Do they tell the other crabs they were abducted by aliens and if so are they then seen as crazy and ostracized by the group.

Only one misshape this weekend and that was when Skate kids friend decided to jump over the edge of the 10 foot high porch. Imagine me, sitting back enjoying my frosty beverage when all of a sudden I hear Skate Kid screaming, “mom get up here, Riley’s hurt”. I jump up and start hauling ass; I mean Prefontaine ain’t got nothing on me... I’ve never climbed a hill so fast in my life. There the poor kid is sitting on the bottom step, trying not to cry as Uncle Jo is attempting to stop the flow of blood from his 2 inch long, bone deep gash. Two hours and 18 stitches later I’m back to watching the kid do laps around camp, followed by my constant chanting of, “no running kid I’m not taking you back to the hospital”.

My Irrational Fears

I fear that he’s only with me because I’m a good influence on the kids, I’m really domestic, and I have big boobs. Not because I’m fun and exciting, smart, a great conversationalist, looks forward to my beautiful smile, could stare into my eyes all night long…

I fear one day he will decide to get back with his ex because she is the mother of his children; even though he often tells me how much happier and better off he and the kids are with me.

I fear he’ll wake up, roll over and realize that I’m not as smart, as good looking or as good as him; that I don’t deserve him and then he’ll leave.

I fear that he secretly doesn’t like my kid; even though he goes out of his way to spend time with him and make him a part of every aspect of our life.

I fear that the skeletons in my closet reflect who I am and not the mistakes I’ve made, because if it is who I am then sometimes I don’t like me.

I fear that I’m not a good enough role model for the kids and wonder what right to I have trying to play the part; even though everyone tells me what positive changes they’ve seen in the kids since I’ve been around.