Five weekends.
Between December and January, for five weekends in a row (plus various weekdays), we were going to have my stepkids at our house. And I was a little nervous.
Normal moms would look at that statement and laugh. “Five weekends?” they’d say, “with days off in between? And you’re complaining? Uh, welcome to Life With Kids. Wimp.”
Because that’s kind of the idea, of having kids: Once you start, you don’t stop.
When you sign up to have little minions of your own, you’re not supposed to get days off. It’s supposed to become your life; they’re supposed to become your life.
That’s motherhood.
But stepmotherhood is a little different.
While my life has definitely been forever changed -- my idea of what love and fun mean, my concern with setting a good (or at least less-than-horrendous) example, my sudden influx of knowledge regarding important things like slime recipes and video games -- my actual day-to-day expectations changed only partially.
It’s a full-time brain and heart commitment, but a part-time schedule commitment. At least, in my particular version of stepmomming.
And, in my particular version of stepmomming, five weekends in a row is a lot more than our usual routine.
This is a good thing, I know. I was looking forward to spending the time with the kids. But in a small, remote corner of myself (…OK, maybe not all that small and remote…), I was possibly also lamenting losing some quieter, personal time.
Because I’ve gotten used to our regular pattern of plans.
Patterns are weird creatures. You train your brain to get used to certain things, expect certain things. And when those expectations get upended, no matter how much you tell yourself that other people handle stuff like that all the time, it’s still a little ... weird.
And I’m not the only one who noticed it.
“We’re seeing you guys a lot this month,” my 10-year-old stepson observed after the second weekend. He didn’t sound upset about it, just pointing it out.
And in that moment, the point he’d made prodded a little at my self-absorbed bubble. We’d had a good two weekends so far, a very good two weekends. But still, regardless of what happened, mine wasn’t the only routine that was being swapped around.
The kids’ was, too. They might have been enjoying it this time, but it still happened.
And it made me think a little about what it must be like for them, having their schedules changed around all the time, being carted from one place to another, and not really having any say in the matter.
Or even more, what it must have been like a few years ago, when their everyday was turned completely upside down with the divorce of their mom and dad.
Once upon a time, they got to see both their parents every single day. Their parents got to see them every single day. Now, all their worlds shifted sideways.
THAT was a change in a “regular routine.” So me, worrying about how I was going to handle five weekends in a row of kids-time without as much time to recharge as I was used to, seemed a little ridiculous.
I mean, yes, I was giving up some days of quiet, but I was trading it for bonus time of hanging out with two of coolest little people I know, who actually want to hang out with me and their dad. Sure, routines are all well and good, and maybe not the easiest to move around – but maybe that's all just in my mind.
Presently, we still have a couple of weekends left, of this schedule switcharoo. In the immortal words of Bon Jovi, we’re halfway there (and yes, I suppose livin’ on a prayer, too).
And for the remaining weekends, I'll try to embrace this slightly-more-full-time version of stepmotherhood.
It's a good version to have.