The Mother’s Day Incident

“Mommy, I have to show you something,” my five-year-old son bursts into the kitchen, where I am starting to chop broccoli. His skinny body is shaking with excitement, and he is grinning as if it’s Christmas morning and he’s ready to start ripping open presents under the tree.

“Okay, honey.” I put down my knife. “Do you need to show me right now or can it wait until after dinner? I’m making your favorite spicy stir fry with beef and broccoli.”

“No,” he says emphatically. “I have to show you now. I’m too excited.”

“Okay,” I say again. And turn to face this sweet boy.

“I know Mother’s Day isn’t til Sunday, but I really want to show you this now. We made family books. I drew our whole family myself, and then I cut out pictures from magazines, and I wrote some nice things in the book,” he explains as he holds up a stapled book of colored construction paper that says “My Family Book” on the cover in big Kindergarten, crayoned words.

“Actually, I want to show you now, because I’m giving it to Lynn for Mother’s Day,” he says. “I think it will help her feel more like part of the family,” this innocent child explains.

Lynn is the stepmother for my two youngest sons. She started dating my ex-husband a couple of years ago. She adores my boys, and they love her right back. Just as it should be.

But at this second, I’m not thinking about how lovely she is.

What I’m thinking is, WTF?

Seriously? We are now worried if the stepmom is feeling like part of the fucking family? What about the biological mother? Who fairly frequently now gets called the fucking aunt when we are all together.

Remembering you are the grown-up

I pull myself together, quickly, hopefully not giving away my disappointment, and yes, let’s be honest, my jealousy.

Deep breath.

“You are my sweet boy,” I say, calling him the nickname I have used since he was born. He is always thinking of others, wanting everyone to be happy, and always quick with a smile that charms ladies of all ages.

“Don’t worry, mommy,” he assures me, sensing my mood shift. “I made you a card.”

A card. I get a fucking card. And the stepmother gets the Family Book. Okay, I can handle this. 

“Lynn is going to love this book,” I assure him. “You did a great job.”

This little boy runs out of the kitchen with his grin still shining. Meanwhile, I grab my most expensive bottle of Cabernet out of the wine cabinet. I now need a large glass before I start cooking dinner.

A Saturday soon after the Mother’s Day Incident

It is a glorious afternoon in Bellevue, Washington. Unfortunately, I am not enjoying this 75-degree, sunny day on my deck or on Lake Washington. Instead, I am at a tee-ball game for our youngest son.

If you have never been to a tee-ball game, consider yourself lucky. It is pre-baseball, where a dozen four and five-year-olds stand around picking grass or their noses, or both. Once in a while, someone catches a ball or throws it in the right direction. Imagine watching paint dry. Only slower. 

There is no pitcher. The baseball (a soft, squishy version) is put on the “tee,” and the batter is supposed to swing the bat straight at the ball to hit it.

However, despite the fact that the ball does not move, it takes most of these little players up to a dozen swings to hit the ball. There are no strikes. There are no outs. Everybody gets to run around the bases. When the batter does hit the ball, every single fielder runs toward it, often causing collisions, fights, and tears. Meanwhile, the batter is running the bases toward home as if he had just hit a grand slam at Fenley Park.

My ex-husband is coaching our son’s team, so Lynn (the stepmother) and I are sitting next to each other in our matching blue sports chairs near third base. I look at her travel mug in the cup holder. Probably hot tea, not alcohol, I ponder.

I almost filled mine with coffee, but somehow ended up with rum and coke.

Don’t judge. A mom has to do what she does to survive youth sports. Don’t even get me started on my survival tactics for soccer games in the rain.

The Legend of the Lesbian Moms 

One of the dads comes up and stands right in front of our chairs, partially blocking our view of the field.

“Hi there,” he bursts out with the enthusiasm and volume of a cheerleader on a Friday night. “I’m Tom! I’m Zach’s dad.”

Oh god; Zach. Probably short for Zachery. It’s one of those cool names everyone is giving their boys. Or is there some biblical reference here that we’re supposed to infer?

“Hi,” I say in my sweet mom’s voice. “I’m Margaret, and I’m William’s mom. And this is Lynn, Will’s other mom,” I explain.

“Hi there,” Lynn says, putting her hand over her eyes to block the sun in her eyes, so she can see Tom.

He is staring at us with a slightly perplexed look on his face. And then he shakes himself out of his trance.

“Oh, that’s great. Good for you. Totally cool. Really, just great,” he stammers, clearly flustered.

WTF is he going on about? I wonder.

“Ok, well great to meet you both, really, just great.” He continues, quickly sprinting away.

Lynn and I look at each other with absolute confusion.

“What was that?” she asks.

“I have no idea,” I respond. “Probably just the same old shock that we are sitting next to each other, because we are supposed to hate each other,” I guess.

“He thinks you’re lesbian moms,” our eight-year-old son blurts out, sovling the mystery. “Obviously,” this beyond-his-years, smart boy states.

“Oh my god,” we say almost in unison. And break into laughter.

“That is awesome,” I say.

“We should totally play that up,” Lynn says.

“Please don’t,” says our son.

16 Years Later at College Graduation

I am sitting at the far end of the table next to Lynn. Our elder son, Dawson, is sitting next to us. Our husbands, my current husband and my ex-husband, are at the other end of the table, sitting next to the graduate. Family and friends fill in the rest of the dozen seats. We are in Fort Collins to celebrate William’s college graduation from Colorado State University.

It is a proud mama moment for both of us.

“We did good,” I say to Lynn.

“Yeah, we did,” she agrees. “I guess the dads did okay, too. Not as good as us, but not bad.”

We chortle.

We are eating at our favorite FoCo restaurant, the Blue Agave. It’s a family favorite. It’s a tradition to eat here whenever we are in town, and all four parents are in town together at least once or twice a year.

Lynn and I both love that we can get gluten free food easily at the restaurant, and good red wine. I don’t remember when she started doing gluten free. It was after me, but not long. We are the same age, so it’s not surprising we both hit a pre-menopausal gluten issue.

The waiter arrives to take our drink order.

Lynn and I are discussing the wine menu. My arm is around the back of her chair, and our heads are close together as we both squint through our reading glasses to decipher the small print.

The legend and relationship continue

“We’re going to get a bottle of this red blend,” I say as I point to a specific bottle on the wine list.

“How many glasses?” the waiter asks.

“Oh, probably three; I’m sure our son will want a glass with dinner even though he’s going to start with a Margarita, right?” I suggest as I nod my head toward Dawson.

“If there’s any left for him,” Lynn jokes. And we both laugh.

“That’s great,” says the waiter. “Good for you.”

Good for us? What, that we’re sharing wine with our son? I wonder. Or maybe we picked out a really good bottle of wine. 

As the server walks to the other side of the table, our son looks at us while shaking his head. “Would you two stop playing up the lesbian mom thing!”

Ah that’s what he meant by good for us. Once again.

“Never!” we both exclaim, laughing harder.

A friend of the family sitting down at the other end of the table is looking at Lynn and me with absolute consternation.

“Are you two always like this?” she asks, with her forehead crinkled in concern, clearly wondering why we are both sitting next to each other and getting along so well.

“Yep! Sometimes worse,” I confirm.

“I guess everyone should be like that,” she admits, speaking of our parenting situation.

Yes, they should.

The best other mother I could ask for

I can’t imagine life without this other woman. This stepmother. She carried on my dreams and hopes for my children when I wasn’t there. She made sure they ate their broccoli and wore clean clothes and got to school on time.

This stepmom loves our boys with all her heart. She is a good mom, and a great wife. I knew the moment I met her she was a much better match for my ex-husband.

I should clarify that our relationship did not come without work. We had our issues and conflicts. But we worked through them. I will always be thankful to my ex-husband for our ability and agreement to separate our relationship from our parenting. We learned to put our parenting, and our children, first. 

For example, rules were the same at both houses. We talked every day, so the boys couldn’t play us off each other. Also, we made sure to only speak positively about the other parent in front of the boys. Family decisions were made together, as a family.

Teachers were often shocked when we would show up for teacher conferences together. When Lynn joined the parenting team, she also came to the teacher conferences. We were told many times that this was not the norm for divorced parents. 

Growing up, our boys thought my ex and I were good friends and just didn’t like being married to each other. We were best friends before we got married, and I’m happy to say today that I consider him a good friend again.

A lot of that is due to his wife and my children’s stepmother, Lynn.

A STEPMOTHER IS A MOM

I became much more understanding of her position when I became a stepmom myself to my husband’s children. It forced me to constantly see two sides of every experience and story, as now I could completely relate to her position.

Being a stepmom is hard. Your love is no less than that of a biological parent. But everyone second guesses you. 

People often assume you broke up the marriage or that you love your biological children more than your “adopted” children.

Films and fairy tales love to paint the stepmom as evil or wicked, even capable of murder. Stepmother’s are jealous, vicious creatures out to keep the father all to themselves and steal the family fortune, if we are to believe these myths and legends.

But most stepmothers and stepfathers are far from evil. In fact, most are trying to be a good parent and spouse just like everyone else. They are trying to love their children, regardless of who birthed them. I love ALL my babies. I am proud to be their stepmother and their mother.

Families come in many shapes and sizes. My wish for the world is to stop expecting mothers or fathers to look, act, or be a certain way. Two moms, two dads, no parents, single parents. Everyone just doing the best job they can to help their children, and each other. 

With the boys now on their own, Lynn and I don’t see each other very often. It’s a big change from when the boys were young, when we had weekly if not daily interactions at school, sports, or other activities. It was amazing how sometimes it took all four of us to manage the boys’ schedules.

MOTHERS SUPPORTING EACH OTHER

Today, we both miss having our boys close to us. We both give motherly advice, and worry about girlfriends, or wonder when we will have grandchildren. She continues to bake her famous Monster Cookies that are the boys’ favorite treat. Last year, I hosted Thanksgiving for us all at our new house on the coast. 

I think our sons are better having both of us in their lives. 

The other day, Lynn texted me, telling me how she’d had a bad day and went on my website looking for inspiration.

“Hey there! Just wanted to say thank you. I needed a pick me up today. Just finished listening to your interview on fierce feminine leadership, and it was awesome. Love that you’re doing this. Thank you for inspiring people every day”

Reading this, I stopped breathing. And then, started crying.

This woman could easily hate me or at most tolerate me, and no one would blame her. Instead, Lynn is one of my greatest fans. She is always giving me positive, validating feedback on what I’m doing. This is truly a woman intentionally supporting another woman.

I inspire her?

She amazes me. 

I have watched her embrace and learn a new career, working her ass off going to school while working full time. I have watched her grow into this amazing woman and mother. 

After 20 years of sharing and parenting these boys, we are now friends. 

No, we are family.

From one evil stepmom to another, thank you. 

You are a gift.