Escaping the Family

Once upon a time, my sister gave me a birthday card with a picture of a large loving family on it. In the background of the photo, you could see a kid hanging halfway over the fence. The caption said, “Do you know how we always pick you out in family photographs? You're always the one who is trying to escape!”

Back before I became a crazy mom, I didn’t quite mix in with my family. In fact, I was like a drop of heathen oil in a vat full of Southern Baptist vinegar. I can clearly remember looking at my parents and shouting at them, “I am going to choose the most difficult road in life possible and I’m going to make it just to prove to you that I can!” Wow. I imagine that they half expected me to sprout a second head at any moment. My mother must’ve been wondering what she’d done wrong as a parent because even now, reading my insane statement, I’m left wondering if maybe she’d been smoking dope while I was in the womb.

That’s a joke, Mom. Don’t call and yell at me.

Needless to say, I was wild and I worried my family to death. But being the wonderful people that they are, they never gave up hope on me. They prayed that someday I would come to my senses and I did. That is what my family does. They hold out hope even for the hopeless. They never stop believing, trying or loving. They are always there with open arms, ready and willing to welcome the wandering back home. 

Every day I worry that my children, particularly my oldest daughter, will be just like me. Even worse, I fear that she will not want to be anything like me. Regardless of how I score on this life-quiz called motherhood, I hope that I will always live honestly in the eyes of my children. I pray that someday, they will look back and remember a mom that loved them more than life itself… despite the fact that she had an ugly second head from time to time.


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Life in the Blender

When my soon-to-be husband asked me to move to the pretty yellow house on the beach, I knew that it wouldn't just be a bubblegum life of sandcastles and sunscreen.  My two children lost their father in a car accident four years ago and are not used to sharing my attention.  His three children have lived their entire lives with their mom and THEIR daddy.  Not only would we all be adjusting to new roles, new responsibilities, and a new home in a foreign city, we would also be thrown into a whole new family.  I was not deluded enough to believe that our beginning would be without hiccups.

 As I prepared for the big move, I googled information about blended families, about how to be a step-parent, and how to make life work with a family of SEVEN.  Apart from a handful of articles penned by wannabe Stepford-moms that obviously live in High-Levels-of-Xanaxland, there wasn't a lot of information out there.  The only useful tip I stumbled upon was to invest in a divided laundry hamper and teach the kids how to sort their whites from their darks - that momma deserves a medal!  Laundry business aside, there just aren't a lot of people out there willing or able to share their stories of surviving in a BIG blended family.  I assume that they are not able… after experiencing the chaos of this lifestyle.

None of the kids had met each other before we all moved in together.  His kids live primarily in northern Michigan, but are spending the entire summer with us.  We did our best to get them acquainted via video chat prior to the big dump into the blender.  Each of the girls were excited about having a sister and the boys were excited about having new boxing opponents. I felt as though I was walking blindly into a human laboratory, naively preparing for the fallout of what might happen when all of the different personalities were mixed together.

Our "experiment" began with a 12 hour car ride when we picked up his kids for summer break.  Surprisingly, the trip went extraordinarily well.  The novelty was our saving grace.  The few weeks that followed were also drenched in newness and excitement.  And then the honeymoon phase fizzled out - with a vengeance. Seemingly overnight, they were siblings.  They were emotional.  They were whiney.  They were kids. It was like someone took the lid off our blender and set it on high.

 We are slowly regaining control of our household and teaching the kids how to communicate and express their feelings without someone winding up in tears or in time-out or in the emergency room.  They are learning to share, to take care of each other, and love each other.  I have had to learn to give them grace and time to adapt. All in all, life is wonderful and never lacking excitement.  Thankfully, safety goggles and radiation cloaks haven't (yet)  been necessary.

For more on Your Crazy Mom visit us at www.yourcrazymom.com.

Your Crazy Step-Mom?

The last we saw of that crazy mom eL., she was single and living in Tennessee, chasing after a tiny princess and a very mischievous frog/pirate/Batman.  A lot has happened over the Your Crazy Mom hiatus… it's called life.

My existence on this planet has always had a flair for the dramatic.  I've often lamented that the stuff that happens to me just doesn't happen to normal people.  The recent twist my life has taken is no different.  Though this time, rather than being something resembling a scrap from the floor of a horror flick editing room, I got the fairytale.

Here's a brief synopsis of what has happened in 2012.  For some, this story might be old news, but it is one that I love telling…

Back in high school I met this boy named Chris.  He was the quarterback who dreamed of someday becoming a cop.  I was the girl who frequently shaved her head and got suspended for smoking in the bathroom.  He wore polo shirts; I wore tie-dye. We were a strange combination, but we were best friends.  After graduation, he joined the Army and I chose a less favorable (and less legal) path.  We were still close, frequently writing letters and making long distance phone calls, but he disapproved of my new lifestyle and friends.  Ultimately, I chose the party life over our friendship and it has been a choice that I have regretted ever since.

When I finally put my life back together and defogged what remained of my brain cells, I tried desperately to find him.  For years, I wrote letters that were returned undeliverable and made calls to disconnected numbers.  I asked all of our mutual friends about him, but no one knew how to contact him.

Eventually, I moved on and started a family of my own.  But I never forgot him. Seven years later, he found me on MySpace.  We were both married with children and living on the opposite ends of the US.  We stayed in contact for about a year until life pulled us in separate directions again. Four years passed since last we talked and then I received a random message on Facebook, "Hey stranger.  How have you been?"

Six months later, I am living in a brand new house at the beach.  Now, rather than having just two rugrats tattletaling, drawing on the hardwoods with Sharpies, and incessantly screaming "MOM!" I have FIVE.  I also have the man that I have loved my entire life here to help me from losing what remains of my brain cells.

This is a new journey and it's going to be a fun one.  Hilarity will certainly ensue.  What else could be expected of Your Crazy Mom/Step-Mom? Stay tuned...


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