On Birthdays and Breakups (Part II)

Prince Charming, Cinderella and Hansel all have July birthdays.
Last week, my ex-husband and ex-stepdaughter came to my house to celebrate Hansel's 9th birthday.
This past weekend it was Hansel and Gretel's turn to visit their Dad's to celebrate his and Cinderella's birthdays.
But before that, presents needed to be purchased and cards were made.

I know the subject of birthdays is a hot topic amongst divorced and stepparents.
Admittedly, my own opinions on this subject have changed over the years. In the early days of this blog, when I allowed myself to be bitter and angry over situations I had no control over, I had a total  FUCK YOU attitude and played the tit-for-tat game with Maleficent. If *she* didn't take Cinderella to get a gift for her Dad, then *I'm* not taking Cinderella to get a gift for her.
Later, as I stepped into the role of acceptance and rose above the pettiness - I let go of the things I couldn't control and focused on what was right for my stepdaughter, I found greater peace within and so did Cinderella.
If a present needed to be bought, I took her. If her Mom didn't help her pick out a gift for her Dad's birthday or Christmas, I took her shopping for one.
Likewise, I took Cinderella to pick up gifts for her mother because it didn't matter how *I* felt about Maleficent.
It wasn't about *me.* It was about my stepdaughter.
What right did I have to deny her the pleasure of showing her love for either parent? What would it prove by refusing to take her shopping? Who would I be hurting most?
I try to live by the mantra: Love your kids more than you hate your ex.
This applies to ALL ex's... your spouse's ex too.
In keeping with this mantra, both Hansel and Gretel were taken out this past week/weekend to pick out birthday presents for their Dad and their sister. And they were excitedly dropped off to celebrate with them on Sunday.
Though, in all honesty, it wasn't that difficult of a task.
I'm thankful I don't have the kind of relationship with my ex that *he's* had with his ex. Where celebrating birthdays, or simple acts of compassion, are forced.
I know my kids are happy about that too - for it creates a safe environment where they can express and show their love for their Dad.
Yesterday was Prince Charming's actual birthday. I made sure my kids called to wish their Dad a happy birthday, and when they handed me the phone, they heard me wish him the same.

On Birthdays and Breakups

"I don't know why [he] wouldn't want to be my Mom's boyfriend anymore because I think she's the most beautiful woman in the whole world."

Honest words spoken by my now 9 year old to his therapist, over my recent breakup with my (rebound) boyfriend.
Aside from the whole "AWWWW!" factor to his statement, it was also a glaring reminder that a follow-up conversation was needed to set some issues STRAIGHT over the how's and why's of my newly single status.
I forget that simply telling kids something ONCE, doesn't guarantee they hear me or they GET IT.
I mean, how many times do I have to tell them to brush your teeth/wash your hands/clean your room/get to bed/stop licking your brother!!! before they actually LISTEN??
D'uh.
(And if you leave a comment saying that YOUR kids listen the first time you ask them to do something, I will SOOOOOOO delete you!)
*ahem*
Anyway...
My son expressed sadness over this recent loss of another man in his life. And Hansel blamed himself for this breakup. It's no wonder, really, considering the last time he had seen the ex-boyfriend, we were disagreeing over his opinions on my LACK of disciplinary tactics and HIS lack of respect for me as THE parent.
Relationship over. Respect reclaimed.
Despite one of the first things I said to the kids regarding the break-up was that YOU DID NOT DO ANYTHING TO CAUSE THIS, Hansel blamed himself. And admitted to feeling sad about it.
So Hansel was told again - and again that HE wasn't to BLAME. That brownups break up for grownup reasons and not because of other people.
My son then admitted to being a little mad at the ex-boyfriend assuming that HE broke up with ME.
I set him straight on that one too.  The ex-boyfriend didn't break up with Mommy.  It was Mommy's choice, and it had nothing to do with Hansel or his sister, or any arguments they may have overheard. So he didn't need to be mad at him.
Hansel was then again reminded that the ex-boyfriend was still their friend and they would still see him.
"Oh really? Then I want him at my birthday party."
(And once again the lesson of doing what's right for the kids is tested, as it so often is when one is going through a divorce or breakup. GAH!)
And... so, there in the parking lot of my kid's therapist's office, I put my own personal feelings aside and texted the ex-boyfriend to extend the invitation from my son.
And this past Saturday, my 9 year old lived and experienced the lessons *I* have learned about divorce.
He, the son of a girl whose parents divorced at a similar age and whose Mom, Dad and Stepmom came together regularly for her own birthday and other celebrations, caught a glimpse into what divorce DOESN'T HAVE TO BE.
This year, Hansel's 9th birthday was spent surrounded by the people who meant the most to him, because we are all able to put aside our personal feelings for the sake of one child's happiness.  Some of those people included PrinceCharming, Cinderella, my ex-boyfriend, my Dad, my Mom (Dad's wife #1), my Stepmom #1 (Dad's 2nd wife, now divorced) and my Stepmom #2 (Dad's current wife). All of us smiled together, tossed water balloons, helped assemble gifts and stood shoulder-to-shoulder to watch this uniquely intuitive and sensitive child blow out the candles on his homemade icecream cake.

No, my dears. Mine ain't your average fairytale.

In Need of a Muse

It's that time of year again where I put photos to music and create a birthday montage video.
Hansel is going to be NINE.
9.
The number before 10.
N-I-N-E!!

I'll let you ponder that for a moment.

Yeah, I know. I KNOW!
How in the hell did the kid in this post grow up to become this future-heartbreaker:

CHECK OUT THE DAVID CASSIDY HAIR PEOPLE!!!
I mean, really!
*swoon*
Anyway, after nine years of montaging for these damn kids, my music library is tapped.
So, I'm turning to you dear Internet people to help me come up with a song for my soon-to-be-teen hearthrob of a son.
Go ahead. Be my muse.
Please?
Ready?
Go.
COMMENT NOW.

Her 5th Year

Some days, she sucks the energy right out of me.
But she is also the sun that illuminates the words that I cannot find...

(Music: Natasha Bedingfield, "Unwritten")

She's 5

A daughter is a day brightener and a heart warmer.

Her birthday fell on her Dad's weekend. So our family celebration took place the weekend after, when she and her brother were home with me.
This was our first year of splitting the birthdays based on our custody schedule.
Some parents can pull-off combined celebrations. My Mom and Dad did. I remember every birthday, Dad and Stepmom #1 coming over to Mom's house for cake and presents.
Maybe one day, their Dad and I might be able to do that.
And maybe we won't.
The one thing I've learned in my years of being a StepMom, is that what works for some, doesn't always work for others. And that's ok.
As long as I continue to see that smile that outshines the candles on her cake, I know everything is ok.

Today I Believe...

I timed my morning drop off of Hansel & Gretel perfectly.
Cinderella was already at camp, dropped off by her Dad who chooses to handle her transportation himself, despite my offers to help out since I am there anyway with H & G.
She was radiant. Bubbly. Like the Cinderella I know and not the gloomy sour-puss I've seen the past few weeks.
I called her over. She spotted the small box in my hand that was wrapped in golden paper.
I got a present!?!?!?!?
"Happy Birthday. You look so beautiful today."
I hugged her, holding her tight and taking in the scent of her freshly shampoo'd hair, still damp because it's so thick. I cradled her face in my hands, wished her a happy birthday, and kissed her cheek that was pink and glowing from the smiling one should always do on their birthday.
She smiled broader, thanked me and skipped off with her gift and hand-written card in which I told her how much I loved and missed her. She plopped to the floor and opened them surrounded by her friends.
I didn't linger. Didn't wait for her reaction or additional thanks. I wanted her to have her space to process and digest the sentiments expressed in my card and the message of the bracelet.
I had done what I intended to do. I reached out and she accepted.
I sat in my car and shed a few tears. I was relieved. And realized how much I missed that kid.

Today I Believe ... there is hope for our relationship.

14

Cinderella turns 14 tomorrow.
I have not seen or spoken much with her in two months since she and Prince Charming moved out, but I realized that I cannot will not let another milestone go by without acknowledging it in a way that lets her know I am still here for her.
I missed her graduation by my own choice. Driven by my own insecurities. Feeling like I was not wanted. It was a mistake that I don't plan on repeating.
A recent commenter reminded me that my presence in her life is necessary. And while I cannot control her reaction to me or our situation, I can control how I handle it. I can still reach out to her and let her know I am still here. I still love her.
I understand this is a confusing time for her. And so, even if she rejects my efforts, I will still hold out hope that I am reaching her in some way. Reassuring her that she has not lost me, and that she can still count on me to be there no matter what. Maybe one day she will reach back.
I plan to seek her out tomorrow at the camp she is going with her brother and sister, and give her a pewter bracelet for her birthday. The outside is inscribed "Today I Believe..."
On the inside: My possibilities are endless.

Today I Believe... that the possibilities for my relationship with Cinderella are endless, as is my determination.

8

Eight years ago today I was being prepped for induction.
Hansel was 11 days late. The doctors had my due date set for July 4, 2002. (I disagreed, but what do I know. I'm just the Mom.)
After three rounds of pitocin, 12 hours of labor and an hour and a half of pushing, he was delivered at 10pm via c-section.
I took one look at him, and remember thinking how much he looked like Cinderella.
I experienced every possible method of labor and delivery with Hansel on his birth day. And that was how he was meant to come in to this world. I didn't complain or feel sad because his birth didn't happen the way I wanted. I had a healthy and beautiful baby boy. And that was all that matters. I wouldn't trade that scar on my belly for anything else. This is the story of his birth, and I'll keep it.


If that's one lesson I want to pass on to Hansel, that would be it...
Life doesn't always happen the way you want it to. It happens the way it needs to.

And sometimes, all you need in life, is to look at things with a different perspective.
Happy birthday, my Little Man.

My Guy

Oh yeah.
Hansel is now SEVEN!



Funny how life doesn't stop, no matter what else you may have going on.

Count to Three

Three years ago today, I became the mother to a daughter.

Happy Birthday, Stinkerbell.

Birthday-palooza 2008

In case you were wondering where I've been for the past week and a half... I've been planning a party around (and baking) this cake:



Argh.

12th Birthday: By Herself

For the first time in 9 years, I did not bake her birthday cake.

She wanted red velvet cupcakes. And she wanted to make them all by herself.

(And BOY did they ever taste like it.)

I'm so not old enough to have a teenager in the house.

Send help.

Make a Wish: 6th Birthday

I wish my baby boy would stop growing up.



He wanted a Jurassic Park birthday cake.



There is so much frosting piled on the two angel food cakes used to make the volcano. My teeth hurt just by looking at this photo.

Birthdays Are Clothing Optional In Our House

Happy 6th Birthday, Doodlebug.

A Mere Reflection

Her 2nd Year from WickedStepmom on Vimeo.

(Song: "In My Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride)

Two Years Ago Today

I became a Mother to a Daughter.

Birthday Bake-a-thon

I've said it before and I'll say it again, July is the month I love to hate.
Hansel. Prince Charming. Cinderella.
All born in July.
The 15th. The 25th. The 26th.
Each one gets their own cake. On their own day.
(Yeah, I know!)
This year, Hansel wanted a Ghost Rider cake.
(What the hell?)
"Wouldn't you rather have a Pirates of the Caribbean cake?"
Noo-oo, Mommy. I want a Ghost Rider cake!
Feeling uninspired, I took the easy way out. I bought mini-action figures from the movie and decided to recreate an alleged cemetery battle scene on a 9x13 cake. Sprinkled Oreo cookie crumbs to resemble dirt. Printed out black and white photos of tombstones and glued them onto toothpicks.
Viola. Instant cemetary.


Think he liked it?


Cinderella wanted a garden theme cake.
Lucky for me, I just bought this pan and was able to whip up these little beauties in no time.


I add a little green food coloring to coconut to use as "grass" for the bugs.
It was much easier to pipe on the frosting accents than to frost each cakelet.


Each guest got their own cakelet. No cutting. No one fighting over who had the bigger piece.
Each one a perfect serving-size.


Until next year...

Five Things Five Years

Year 1.
When your Grandma (Lulu!) dubbed you "Aflack" because of your big feet.


Year 2.
Your first snowfall.


Year 3.
While now a "Big Boy" still being young enough to allow me to dress you in outfits like this.



Year 4.
Those fleeting glimpses of the man you will become.


Year 5.
Watching as you bravely took on new challenges...


... and succeed. (My you can be a smug little SOB!)


Keep a weather eye on that Horizon, Little Man. And remember wherever the current may take you, I will always be your anchor and your true North.


Happy 5th Birthday, Doodlebug.

A Million Little Details

There are certain events of one's life in which you want to remember every detail. One such event, for me, is the birth of my children. The day comes and goes at such a rapid pace, it's easy to forget those little moments that have the potential to become treasured memories. Here is my account of the birth of my second child; it was just two short weeks ago, but already seems like a lifetime has passed.
...
I awaken. The room is dark but all too familiar. This has been my only place of comfort during these final weeks. I sit up, trying to relieve the increasing pressure and muscle tension that the last month has brought. I put my feet up on the edge of the couch next to me and stretch the blanket along the length of my body. I look at the clock.
It's 4am.
Just 2 hours to go.
A noise from the hall. My mother, and elected keeper of The Boy for the next week, has emerged from her room. She sees I am awake and decides to join me in my vigil.
How'd you sleep?
The same as I have for the past month.
I'll keep you company.
She takes her place on the opposite end of the couch. We both snuggle into our respective blankets and try to pass the time with sleepily idle chit chat, each of us trying to suppress our growing excitement. The stirring in my belly tells me that She, too, is aware of what today will bring.
Today will be Her birthday.
Another noise from the hall. My Husband is awake.
It's now 5am. He makes himself a pot of coffee and goes outside for a smoke.
Hey, wiff.
Yeah.
Come see this.
What?
The moon is bright red.
My Mother and I step onto the front porch. The moon hangs low in the pre-dawn sky and is a beautiful Harvest Moon. Not quite the red my Husband described, but noteworthy nonetheless. I will make sure I tell Her the details of the morning she was born.
(I wonder if it's significant that instead of watching the sunrise, I am watching the moon set.)
I go back inside and decide it's pointless to sit any longer and that I should start getting myself ready. I check my bags for the millionth time and decide that if I haven't packed it by now, then I don't need it. My Husband showers and gathers his things together. Having been through this once before, he wants to be prepared. He fills two thermoses with coffee. Hospital coffee sucks.
6am. It's time to leave. I tip-toe upstairs and kiss The Boy goodbye. Tell him I love him.
We leave for the hospital.
It is still dark when we arrive although the sky is showing signs of its transformation to azure blue. The Main Entrance to the hospital is eerily quiet. The security desk is empty and we realize that we are not sure where to go. There are no signs for the Maternity Ward. We aim for the Women's Pavilion. I don't remember the walk being so long the first time we made this journey 3 years ago. We follow the red and green dots along the floor to the elevators, push the button, and get in. The doors open on the 2nd floor. It is quiet.
We walk through the set of double doors to the Maternity Ward and go to the nurse’s station. No one is there. Computer screens cast a soft glow across empty desks, patient charts and various paperwork.
We look over at the nursery. A nurse spots us and emerges. She has on her face a smile that is as full of hope and excitement as my waistline is full of the infant I am about to meet.
I tell her I am here for a scheduled c-section.
She escorts us to what will be my "labor" room and tells me to change into a gown and that there is an emergency c-section going on so it will be a few minutes before someone is in to see me.
I get changed in the bathroom and emerge to assess my surroundings. This room isn't as nice as the last time I was here. It is smaller. There is no whirlpool tub. But I don't need it this time. Today there will be no unnecessary drugs meant to encourage my body to expel a baby too big for me to handle. No prolonged waiting. Today is scheduled. I know what to expect. Or so I think.
I sit in the chair by the window and begin to rock hoping it will soothe the anxiety that is building inside me.
7:00am. A nurse comes in to hook up my IV and decides against putting me on any monitors. It's too soon to take any vitals.
We are being bumped for the emergency c-section they mentioned when we arrived. Our 7:30am appointment is now looking like it will be closer to 9am.
My husband and I pass the time by watching the news. He takes random pictures of the room: the clock, the TV., me trying my best to look calm and maternal as I rock in the rocking chair.
8am. The nurse returns to hook me up to the monitors. Outside, we hear the circular swooping sounds of the helicopter rotors as it air lifts the newborn infant from the emergency section to another hospital. Husband, the Nurse and I each exchange glances that convey the uneasy awareness of the true fragility of life. That sometimes, no matter how hard you try to do all the right things, things can go terribly wrong. Our thoughts momentarily take flight with the swooping sounds and with the new life carried within, and with the Mother.
We are brought back to the moment by the sounds of our own child's heartbeat from the monitors that are now strapped to my belly. Her heartbeat is strong. She is active. She has been awake since 4am.
8:30am. A visitor. A woman of small stature, dark skin, and middle-eastern accent. She is to be my anesthesiologist and she is here to go over the different types of anesthesia that might be used during my surgery. Epidural. Epidural with sedation. Spinal Block. She tries her best to make it as clear as she can, but I am admittedly too anxious at this time to make note of every detail. I am about to become a Mother for the second time. I trust her explanation and put my fate in her hands and sign my name by the X.
9am. It's time.
I am wrapped in a blanket, kiss my husband and walk out of the room through a set of double doors and into a small postage-stamp sized operating room. It is filled with instruments, large lights looming overhead, and a small bed in the middle. I am told to hop on board and sit "Indian style" slumped over so the anesthesiologist can administer my epidural.
How tall are you?
5'8".
Wow.
You're going to feel some pushing, but it's just my hands right now.
She pushes along my lower spine, trying to feel the gaps between my vertebrae in which to administer the medication that will allow me to remain awake during my surgery.
Now you're going to feel a little pinch and burn.
She begins to inject the Novocain into my spine to numb the area.
They say the body has no memory of pain, but the burning pressure and pinpoint stings instantly call me back to three years earlier during the birth of The Boy.
Another pinch.
Just relax.
Once I am sufficiently numb, she injects the epidural and I am asked to lie down.
Instantly the O.R. staff goes to work prepping me for surgery. Drapes, blood pressure cuff, nasal cannula for oxygen, heart monitor, blankets to keep me warm. I watch the clock.
It's 9:20am.
Then another familiar sensation. My body begins to tremble. Partly due to my increasing excitement and anxiety, and partly from the medication. I breathe deeply to try to calm my body and remind myself that this will be a walk in the park. In 20 minutes or so, I will have a daughter. I keep my eyes focused on the clock and try to control my breathing.
Where's the Dad going to sit?
The staff scurries to find a place for the stool on which my Husband will take his place by my side.
Dad's getting anxious. He wants to come in.
Let's get him in here quickly.
My Doctors are now here. Their eyes smile at me from behind their masks and they begin their prep work.
I feel pinching in my belly. I tell them.
Don't worry. We haven't begun cutting yet. We're just testing to see if you're numb.
I'm not. I feel what you are doing.
Ok. Don't worry. We'll wait.
I keep my eyes fixed at the clock in an effort to calm myself and take my mind off what's about to happen.
It's 9:40am. I struggle to speak.
I'm feeling light headed.
And my throat is feeling a little swollen.
I feel cutting in the left side of my stomach.
No one’s cutting you. Just relax.
The anesthesiologist tries her best to calm and reassure me.
The hustle and bustle of activity continues. Voices, commentary, conversation. Bright white light. The excitement level increases as we all prepare for the new life that is about to enter our lives.
The voices echo and resonate through my mind. The commentary, hustle and bustle continues.
Suddenly I become ware that my eyes are closed. The voices and activity around me sound as if they are coming from a distant hall. Bright white lights rolls overhead. I am being moved.
Where am I going?
What happened?
The questions come, but I am unable to speak. I struggle to open my eyes but I can't. The voices, conversation and commentary continue but I cannot open my eyes. I do not know what is happening.
I cannot see. I am being moved, bright white lights roll by overhead and the voices continue. I fear something has gone terribly wrong.
Am I still pregnant?
Am I dead?
In a coma?
Where is my baby?
Where is my husband?
Where are you taking me?
What the fuck happened?!
My questions go unspoken. Unanswered. Why won't someone answer me!
Then a voice speaks to me.
Your husband is with the baby.
What baby?
Where am I going?
Again I ask the questions but no one hears me. I still cannot speak.
I am sitting up now. I manage to open my eyes enough to see I am in a room. There is a bed next to me. I think I must be in another area of the hospital. What happened to my private labor/recover room? There are voices and people around me, talking to me, but I don't know what they are saying. I look at the clock. It's 11:20am.
An hour and a half has passed.
What the fuck happened?!
Still, I cannot manage to make my mouth work. To formulate the questions that are welling up inside of me. I am panicking, but my panic is suppressed by the sedative veil.
Suddenly a familiar face. My husband comes in to the room and he is wheeling a bassinet. Inside, a small bundle swaddled in a blanket is removed and placed in my arms. I am holding a baby. My baby. My eyes can barely focus. My throat is swollen and I struggle to speak.
What happened?
My voice is thick and slurred.
You had a baby.
But how?
The people in the room find this question funny, but my sense of humor is numbed along with the rest of me. My husband tells me I was sedated during my c-section.
Why?
I don't know. You were out when I came in to the O.R.
I missed her being born.
The tears come. My husband hands me a tissue and tries to comfort me.
You didn't miss anything. She's right here. Look at her.
I try to focus my eyes on her face and take in her details. She is sleeping. Apparently also feeling the effects of the sedation. Her skin is pink, her hair golden brown. She smells of peaches. She is beautiful. More beautiful than I could ever have imagined. Angelic. Innocent. Peaceful.
I try to draw from her peacefulness, and accept that there are no do-overs. I missed her birth, but am reassured to know that my Husband did not leave her side for the 1 1/2 hours that I was in surgery. I am grateful that they had that time to bond and get to know one another. And I am thankful that she is healthy and finally here.
She opens her eyes. Her gazed fixed on my gaze. Her eyes are a deep blue-gray... and I am instantly lost. Lost in love, in hope ... in peace.