December 1, 2014
I love my stepdaughters. I can say that with full and honest conviction, though the love isn’t always coursing through me. They certainly test my love, at times making it difficult to find. But it is always there.Now I might be extraordinary in this way; I’m some super-human-benevolent-lover-of-other-people’s-children, but I don’t think so. I do love other people’s kids, but I’ve always loved that they’re not mine. It’s different with these girls, with my girls. I feel extraordinarily blessed to have them in my life and thankful for the light and purpose they bring to me much of the time. We laugh together, stress together, cry together, and just try our best to love through it all.
Even in our darkest times, like 10:30pm on Christmas break when they’ve been screaming in a coordinated mutiny/melt-down for 2 hours, pulling things off the wall and ripping books, when I know my life would be much simpler without them, I don’t wish them away. I wish the situation were different. I wish they were being raised differently, but I don’t want them gone. They were given to me, and I’ll be damned if I don’t love and serve them with everything I’ve got.
If you’re looking for my revolutionary tips on how I’ve been able to love them, here they are.
- Pray like crazy
- Delight in them
- Remember their circumstances
- Fake it ‘til you make it
Pray Like Crazy
I come home from a stressful day at the office. Politics are running high, and I’m not sure how to fix them. I’m emotionally tired already. Inside my house is a husband who would be pulling out his hair, if he had any, over the extreme demands of two little girls who are starving for positive attention but will take it however it comes, positive or negative. Those two little girls will be excited to see me, but in the throes of an insecure life situation, their moods are volatile. And it can get rough sometimes.
I turn off the car, breathe deeply and feel this last moment of silence. I reach up with my thoughts and pray that I can love them enough. Please help me to have greater love, greater insight, to know what to do and what to say. Please help me to be enough.
One more deep breath, a smile on my face, a brisk walk inside and huge hugs for everyone. Shanna is home, and there’s nothing she’d rather do than play hide and seek tag and Uno, listen to endless stories about who is sitting where at school and what drama happened at daycare this week.
I pray a lot in my car but also morning and night and in the heat of some ugly moments. I pray out loud, in my heart, in my mind. And miraculously, my heart expands; in comes the love for these two little women. I am enough.
Delight in Them
My older girl is exceptionally athletic for a 9-year-old. I’ve told her so, and my husband and I have bought her a softball bat and mitt so we can encourage that. We race each other, play tag, do YouTube kids’ dance videos together, and wrestle.
My 5-year-old is a zany, creative, hilarious little leftie. For her, we do hours of art projects and dress up, and when it’s not important, I let her choose her own outfits and put on her own makeup. She usually looks like a combination of transient and drag queen, but she’s delighted to be creating in that way.
I look for these positive attributes, focus on them, and communicate them often. In this way, I delight in my girls as they are and seek to not hyper-focus on the struggles they/we have.
Sometimes when my girls are around, I pause to really look at them. They are BEAUTIFUL. Like stunning, can’t stop looking at you, totally enchanted by your eyes, get out the shot gun Daddy gorgeous.
My little one has perfect baby teeth all in a row with wet
cherry lips, light hazel eyes, and flawless, fair skin. Our older girl has a darling, unruly row of freckles that dances across her nose, and a different
color of translucent hazel eyes, made even more stunning by her naturally tan
skin and dark hair.
I didn’t make them, but I can appreciate perfect art when I see it.
As a part of delighting in the girls, I can’t overemphasize the benefit of paying sincere compliments.
We’d had a particularly tough day with our little one. After a profound meltdown at the zoo and constant competition and bickering between the girls, we were finally near bedtime. Bless you bedtime, for your existence, and for being at 8pm in our house. I could feel round 2 coming on of the little one’s meltdown because she started trying to control her Daddy and wasn’t motivated by our sticker chart to make any changes in behavior.
Taking a page from my husband’s book of parenting, I dragged the little one over to me by her foot, which she thought was pretty funny. I rubbed her tummy and quickly came up with something I just absolutely loved about her. I don’t remember what that was now, but I do remember her mood softened, she felt secure again, and she went to bed without a problem.
I guess I’ve learned that playing together, looking at them, praising them, and overall just delighting in the people they are right now, flaws and all, has helped me to love them the way they need to be loved.
I didn’t make them, but I can appreciate perfect art when I see it.
As a part of delighting in the girls, I can’t overemphasize the benefit of paying sincere compliments.
We’d had a particularly tough day with our little one. After a profound meltdown at the zoo and constant competition and bickering between the girls, we were finally near bedtime. Bless you bedtime, for your existence, and for being at 8pm in our house. I could feel round 2 coming on of the little one’s meltdown because she started trying to control her Daddy and wasn’t motivated by our sticker chart to make any changes in behavior.
Taking a page from my husband’s book of parenting, I dragged the little one over to me by her foot, which she thought was pretty funny. I rubbed her tummy and quickly came up with something I just absolutely loved about her. I don’t remember what that was now, but I do remember her mood softened, she felt secure again, and she went to bed without a problem.
I guess I’ve learned that playing together, looking at them, praising them, and overall just delighting in the people they are right now, flaws and all, has helped me to love them the way they need to be loved.
Remember Their
Circumstances
It seems that children of divorce have widely varying experiences. But a consistent theme is that Mom and Dad are no longer together. The family is broken apart. And that brings up a lot of questions and potential for insecurities, shifting loyalties, fear of the future, and anger. Often the parents are so self-centered that they exacerbate the damage that is already done by the dissolution of a marriage. My girls are blessed that their Daddy keeps himself aloof from pettiness and selfishness.
So it’s important to me to remember where my girls are coming from. When they’re in constant competition for the attention of their dad and me, or they’ve staked claim on one or the other of us, I remember the insecurity of their circumstances.
When they yell at each other and throw things rather than communicating effectively, I remember that’s what they see modeled for them for 12 out of every 14 days.
When they’re failing their school subjects, being held back grades, and have no attention span, I remember that they live by constant short-term entertainment at their low-quality daycare, with their personal TV set in each of their rooms, their own Kindle with mind-numbing games, and an utter lack of development happening in their other home.
When my 5-year-old drops the F-word at dinner and my 9-year-old flips off my husband, I remember that they see that from adult figures in their primary home, on the adult-rated movies they’ve been exposed to, and, of course, from their peers.
I remember all this so that I can structure my discipline better, not so I can excuse their bad behavior. The standard is the same. We treat each other with love and respect in my home. If you don’t abide by that principle, you will lose privileges and be separated from the family who will have a wonderfully loving, fabulous time without you.
I can often be found saying some variation of, “I know other people make those choices, but I expect better of you. You’re my good, smart, wonderful little girl, and I believe in you. Now, please make good choices so you can come be with us. We miss and love you."
In this way, I acknowledge their circumstances, but I ensure they understand my standard is unwavering.
It seems that children of divorce have widely varying experiences. But a consistent theme is that Mom and Dad are no longer together. The family is broken apart. And that brings up a lot of questions and potential for insecurities, shifting loyalties, fear of the future, and anger. Often the parents are so self-centered that they exacerbate the damage that is already done by the dissolution of a marriage. My girls are blessed that their Daddy keeps himself aloof from pettiness and selfishness.
So it’s important to me to remember where my girls are coming from. When they’re in constant competition for the attention of their dad and me, or they’ve staked claim on one or the other of us, I remember the insecurity of their circumstances.
When they yell at each other and throw things rather than communicating effectively, I remember that’s what they see modeled for them for 12 out of every 14 days.
When they’re failing their school subjects, being held back grades, and have no attention span, I remember that they live by constant short-term entertainment at their low-quality daycare, with their personal TV set in each of their rooms, their own Kindle with mind-numbing games, and an utter lack of development happening in their other home.
When my 5-year-old drops the F-word at dinner and my 9-year-old flips off my husband, I remember that they see that from adult figures in their primary home, on the adult-rated movies they’ve been exposed to, and, of course, from their peers.
I remember all this so that I can structure my discipline better, not so I can excuse their bad behavior. The standard is the same. We treat each other with love and respect in my home. If you don’t abide by that principle, you will lose privileges and be separated from the family who will have a wonderfully loving, fabulous time without you.
I can often be found saying some variation of, “I know other people make those choices, but I expect better of you. You’re my good, smart, wonderful little girl, and I believe in you. Now, please make good choices so you can come be with us. We miss and love you."
In this way, I acknowledge their circumstances, but I ensure they understand my standard is unwavering.
Fake It ‘til You Make
It
A couple of weeks ago, I was dropping off our little girls to their mom in our gas station parking lot. Those exchanges still feel weirdly like a drug deal from TV. Anyway, my little one ran back to me, jumped into my arms, and gave me a big, wet on-the-lips kiss. In my peripheral vision, I saw her mom rankle at that, and I thought, “You and me both, sister.”
We’re not lip-kissers in my family, and certainly not outside the genetic bond. The only exception to that rule is my husband, of course. But when these two girls burst into my life and wanted to kiss me on the lips, it became my prerogative to pretend it was the sweetest and most wonderful thing.
Same with our weekend morning ritual. Two fuzzy-headed, halitosis-bearing little girls stumble into our bed every morning at 6:30am. My big girl is on my left, and the little one sandwiches between Daddy and me, on my right. They lean in and tell me all about their dreams, and then they repeatedly ask for me to get up with them and start the day, all with their morning breath and occasional snotty noses, which are often being picked. And I hug them and rub their backs and pretend it’s my greatest joy.
I’ve clipped toenails, stopped bleeding wounds, and wiped a poopy bum on numerous occasions. No big deal, if they’re yours, or if you’re a nurse. I didn’t go into nursing for a reason!
The bottom line is that it’s not about me and what makes me comfortable. My role in their life is as a mother figure. Not their mother, but another figure of a mother. And as a mother, I want to be patient and loving, to delight in hugs and kisses and be willing to do the dirty work all as an expression of love. Sometimes it’s a sheer sense of duty that motivates my behavior.
I have ample genuine moments of tender affection for my girls. But when that affection is absent, or the task at hand grosses me out, I’m a major advocate of fake it ‘till you make it.
It’s not about me, after all. It’s about them.
A couple of weeks ago, I was dropping off our little girls to their mom in our gas station parking lot. Those exchanges still feel weirdly like a drug deal from TV. Anyway, my little one ran back to me, jumped into my arms, and gave me a big, wet on-the-lips kiss. In my peripheral vision, I saw her mom rankle at that, and I thought, “You and me both, sister.”
We’re not lip-kissers in my family, and certainly not outside the genetic bond. The only exception to that rule is my husband, of course. But when these two girls burst into my life and wanted to kiss me on the lips, it became my prerogative to pretend it was the sweetest and most wonderful thing.
Same with our weekend morning ritual. Two fuzzy-headed, halitosis-bearing little girls stumble into our bed every morning at 6:30am. My big girl is on my left, and the little one sandwiches between Daddy and me, on my right. They lean in and tell me all about their dreams, and then they repeatedly ask for me to get up with them and start the day, all with their morning breath and occasional snotty noses, which are often being picked. And I hug them and rub their backs and pretend it’s my greatest joy.
I’ve clipped toenails, stopped bleeding wounds, and wiped a poopy bum on numerous occasions. No big deal, if they’re yours, or if you’re a nurse. I didn’t go into nursing for a reason!
The bottom line is that it’s not about me and what makes me comfortable. My role in their life is as a mother figure. Not their mother, but another figure of a mother. And as a mother, I want to be patient and loving, to delight in hugs and kisses and be willing to do the dirty work all as an expression of love. Sometimes it’s a sheer sense of duty that motivates my behavior.
I have ample genuine moments of tender affection for my girls. But when that affection is absent, or the task at hand grosses me out, I’m a major advocate of fake it ‘till you make it.
It’s not about me, after all. It’s about them.
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