survivor stepmother island
August 9, 2012
It’s complicated. And explaining it to you is like trying to explain why my puppy rolls in her own poop.
Here’s a brief recap–it started out bad and got worse… quickly. Think Titanic.
Despite my best efforts to avoid that nasty iceberg, the ship started taking on water before all the alcohol was ingested.
75% of women say if they had to do it again, they wouldn’t. After experiencing it myself, I understand why. I’m convinced that sailing on the Titanic may have been much more enjoyable than dealing with an enraged ex-wife the rest of my life…
If you met her you’d never believe it. She’s nothing like me. She’s unattractive, sloppy, and dresses like she’s on her way to her grandmother’s funeral. She’s older than me and thinking about the 2 of them ever being together brings bouts of nausea and projectile vomiting. And yes, I thought all of these things before she became my nemesis.
In the beginning, my strategy was simple.
Kids first. Get along.
Seemed logical.
Face it. I was naive. Maybe even delusional. I underestimated my opponent and hadn’t taken my pills. I kidded myself into thinking I was dealing with a rational female.
I reached out on several occasions…
Sending cards home on Mother’s Day made by the kids…only for them to spontaneously catch fire.
Baking goodies adorned with the kids’ decorations…only for them to find their way into the garbage upon arrival.
Purchasing Christmas gifts with the kids’ approval…only for them to be labeled “evil” after taking flight.
When school began, I typed a note thanking her in advance for acquiring the rest of the necessary school supplies…only for the wadded up list to take aim at my face.
Did I say rational?
Fun school functions are now fair game for public displays of aggression.
Peaceful church gatherings have turned into potential combat zones with a single ‘Amen’.
Weekly trips to Wal-Mart have become grounds for potential ambush attacks in any checkout aisle.
Nothing is off limits…
Track meets are filled with contempt and pettiness.
Parent conferences are full of resentment and spite.
Field trips are grounds for erratic behavior followed by awkward silence.
You’re never quite sure of her next move.
Time to change tactics…
When her creditors called my number after telling them it was hers, I politely answered their questions and promised to make payments.
When she convinced the children no child support made it her way, I pulled out statements and explained them line-by-line.
When the kids showed up with yet another undiagnosed illness, I supercharged their diets and made a break in resistance impossible.
When she stole my stepdaughter’s cell phone racking up a huge bill, I called back each number and told them off using her name.
Time for tribal council…
You’ve underestimated me, thinking I would give in. You’ve tried to compete but you’re way out of your league.
There isn’t anything I can’t cook better, clean harder, or launder fresher.
If I were you, I’d start looking for that immunity idol.
Face it. I’m younger, smarter, and have way more connections in the pharmaceutical industry than you.
No matter what you do to me I’ll still be here. And whether you like it or not, I’ll outwit you, outlast you, and outplay you…
There’s only room for one survivor on this island honey and her name is…stepmom.
for pete’s sake
January 16, 2012
They’re in trouble, I told him. He looked at me in disbelief.
Call it intuition, call it a sixth sense, or call it a bad night of chili. Everything in my gut was telling me this was the end of the line. This was where the sidewalk ended. This was where goodbye really meant forever.
The water being shut off was a red flag that couldn’t be ignored. Money was tight and someone had to pay.
Sad really when you think about it. They had no say in their home life. They had no say on the shortage of food. And in the end even they were not immune to her bouts of irratic behavior and selfish actions.
It was the typical vicious cycle of life and death. In just a few short hours their fates would be upon them. And what was about to happen was completely out of their control. How could they know they were living with such a cold and calculating person. All that consumed me was the carnage she’d leave behind and those of us who would ultimately pick up the pieces.
Believe it or not, we’d been here before. Yes, there had been others who had met the same fate. Not too long ago really. Less than a year since disaster had struck and sent shockwaves. That time it was a spontaneous power outage that had led to their demise.
Nobody had really fully recovered from that disaster yet. She didn’t care though. It wasn’t her life anyone was taking…
No good-byes. No farewell furry friend. Just gone.
It’s about time for another epidemic, I thought.
And just like that…they disappeared…one-by-one. No more furry faces to greet them there.
No more Pete the bird…
No more Angel the hamster…
No more Spot the dog…
Just sad faces full of tears that arrived at our house on Friday with heavy hearts knowing the truth…
the momster had struck again.
hair force one
October 29, 2011
He sauntered out of the car and I watched as his chin ricocheted off the pavement. His body language was all out of sorts. Obviously something had pierced his self-esteem and forced the confidence right out of his lungs.
Pick up day.
She said it would never happen again, he said.
This was her 9th offense by my calculations.
I wondered in that moment if she knew how devastating and thoughtless her actions could be. I wondered if she ever stopped to think of how a seemingly minor selfish act could be absorbed into the layers of this innocent heart and devastate any shred of dignity in this naive life. I wondered if she even cared what everyone would say at school. I wondered if she ever- for a single moment -thought beyond her own actions and embraced the shame she was causing by this act. I wondered if she was ever sorry.
Why would she care? She wasn’t the one who had to face the world with this hideous, horrible, disgraceful hair cut.
When did she say that?, I asked.
When she was cutting my hair last night, he said.
and the emmy goes to…
September 19, 2011
She pulled her glasses down past her nose and started. At that moment nothing could’ve pulled me out of my seat. Not a tornado. Not a typhoon. Not even a rabid dog gnawing off my leg and puncturing my femoral artery would’ve prevented me from hearing what was next…
To date we were 423 days into our never-ending-why-won’t-you-sign-the-papers-you-crazy-psycho journey. This was her 3rd attempt.
Her voice was shaky as she held back the tears. I was staring so hard I was sure she could feel the rays from my eyeballs burning the back of her head. Your honor, she started…
I was on the edge of my seat. Or maybe I was just a donkey on the edge…
Face it. She’s good. She’d had lots of practice. She’d mastered the trade and received acclaim. She’d already had many successful roles in her polished career…
In her role as an abandoned single mother she’d received money. In her role as a victim of domestic violence, housing. Her prize-winning performance as a single Christian woman just- tryin-to-make-ends-meet had profited not only food and money but had also gained her notoriety. She was truly a victim in the public eye.
She’d memorized the script. Had the jargon down. Phrases like concern for my safety; fear for my life; victimized; and violated rolled off her tongue with such conviction that had I not known the truth I would’ve been obliged. She even used the necessary tactics-throwing her children into the mix whenever deemed necessary to add to the dramatic effects.
This wasn’t just any performance, though. This was the mother load. A pivotal role that shaped future income potential. She’d obviously been studying those lines…
He’s stalking me, she continued. I rolled my eyes in that typical sarcastic way and tried to hold back the laughter. You wish! I thought. My eyes met the baliff’s. He looked like he was about to spontaneously implode. He fake coughed.
And you have proof?
Yes.
Has he ever hit you?
No.
Has he ever threatened you?
No.
Has he ever raised his hand to you?
No.
What has he done to you exactly?
He showed up to the garage sale I was having last week your honor.
And who owns the house where the garage sale was being held?
He does.
And who’s stuff exactly were you selling?
Well, she hesitated. His.
what’s in a name
September 16, 2011
On day 483 I decided to put a name on it. Seemed to work for the 7 dwarfs, I thought. Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Grumpy, Dopey, Doc, Bashful.
Simple. To the point. No room for question. Nobody ever asked afterwards, Well, what EXACTLY does Sleepy do?
I immersed myself in article after article about it. This one was not going to be easy, I thought. I rationalized my in depth research. It’ll be easier to deal with if it has a name.
Face it, I’d heard all the names she had for me…
Bug-eyed freak. Totally unfitting! My eyes DO NOT bug out!
Weirdo. True! I am definitely a non-conformist!
Mistress. Yea right. Last time I checked a mistress had authority AND her expenses paid for. Truth is, I’d love to be a mistress! That means I’d still have money in the bank! My retirement fund would still be intact! I want my money back!
I started where any rational person would I suppose- mental health disorders! I began…
Alcohol, substance abuse. I wish! Then maybe she’d make sense!
Anorexia, bulimia. No chance. Last time I saw her she’d gained 20 pounds and had a bag of cheese puffs under 1 arm and a snickers in the other…
ADHD. Well, she does seem to have trouble focusing on doing the right thing…
Bipolar Disorder. Likely, there are bouts of complete and total instability followed by bouts of…oh never mind…
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. She’s definitely obsessed with destroying her children’s childhood and is rather compulsive in her erratic behavior…does that count?
Panic Disorder. Possibly! Symptoms seem to appear when bills come due…
Schizophrenia. Oh! Now we’re talkin’. There’s definitely more than one completely unstable person inside that non-anorexic body…
Seasonal Affective Disorder. Hmmm. Never heard of it but now that I think of it she is affected seasonally in her ability to keep employment…
Female Sexual Arousal Disorder. Ewww…Never gotten close enough to ask but thanks…
Alzheimer’s. That’s a tough one. There’s definitely some memory impairment going on there…especially when it has to do with the truth…
Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Ding! Ding! Ding! She’s definitely convinced her size 16 ass looks good in spandex …
Brief Psychotic Disorder. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it brief…
Delusional Disorder. Bulls eye! She’s definitely delusional about having to work EVER again…
Avoidant Personality Disorder. Um, I’m thinking yes. She’s definitely avoidant of creditors, work, selflessness, …
So many symptoms, I thought, so little time…
When I got to the end of the list I was confused. So many mental heath disorders seemed to fit. How do I go about naming it when there seems to be so many?!
And then, it dawned on me…Taylor Swift had had the answer the entire time! It was right in front of my face and even though I had subconsciously known it I hadn’t quite put the pieces together…
Someday, I’ll be, livin’ in a big ole’ city…
No matter the amount of dream killing, childhood stealing, bad hair cut giving, memory erasing, or love taking she tried to do…she’d fail.
No matter the lengths she took to keep her children from having a relationship with their father…they would anyway.
And, whether she liked it or not, her awesome, beautiful, and intelligent children will grow up to be AH-mazing adults.
They’ll be successful despite her best efforts to keep them from it.
They’ll overcome her against her best intentions.
They’ll love me whether she wanted them to or not.
Truth was, there was only one name that was fitting or appropriate. Only one name that would be permanent in her epitaph.
The fact was Taylor Swift gave me the answer long ago but it didn’t click until now…
just a single, solitary word…
MEAN.
dinosaur lasagna
September 13, 2011
She just made this last night, he said. I instantly felt a surge of adrenaline. My heart ramped up to somewhere around 5,000 beats per minute. I felt all the blood vessels in my head on the verge of rupture. The room started spinning and I held onto the counter to keep from falling. It wasn’t possible. This was the first time I’d ever made it yet somehow in the 2 years and some odd months I’d known her, she beat me to the punch.
I’ve known my opponent for quite some time now and never saw it coming…Don’t get me wrong, she’d been clever and underhanded but NEVER in all these weeks had I heard of her doing something that took such time, effort and planning. I retraced my steps starting just days before to prepare this succulent dish. My travels started with meal planning and ingredient gathering. Then, off on my broom I went to acquire those remaining prize fixings. Choice meat. Tasteful spices. I’d checked the recipe a thousand times just to be sure my measurements were up to par.
Of all the meals I’d prepared, this particular one had eluded me. Don’t get me wrong–I’d stared this beast in the face before, but the truth was I was scared. Scared of failure. Scared of rejection. Just plain scared. Then, somewhere inside me I mustered the strength to tame this elusive creature. And now, right before my eyes was the end result of that journey through pasta hell…my very first lasagna.
I gathered my thoughts and held back the sarcastic roll of the eyes. Wow!, I said. How nice of her to finally make a home-cooked meal! Maybe I can take some lessons from her. How exactly did she make it?
Well, he said. It was a little bit different from yours. She cooked the pasta, poured sauce over it, and added dinosaur fingers…
the very first day
September 10, 2011
I’ve known her now for almost 1000 days. I’m a huge fan-probably her biggest. She’s witty, smart, intelligent, beautiful,and probably one of the most captivating individuals I’ve ever met. I’m jealous of her really–and secretly hope to be only a fraction of the girl that she’s become. She’s absolutely nothing like me and honestly that’s probably what I like about her the most. She has style and class. I watch as she dances around a room laughing at seemingly nothing yet everyone seems lost in whatever it is she’s doing. My life is much more complete with her in it. I can’t believe my fortune in knowing her. I have waited for this seal of approval and today-out of the complete blue-I received it. It felt like a cool rain on a warm summer’s day. The silence was finally broken and without hesitation my stepdaughter said those words that seemed would never come…I love you. To her it was just a thing …but to me it was the very first day.
this ain’t my first enema…
September 9, 2011
This might be day 1 of this blog but it’s day 916 of stepmotherhood (not that I’m counting). In just a few short hours, my stepchildren will arrive tired, hungry, and constipated. They will tell tales of places they’ve been and crap they’ve eaten since our last encounter. And, I will ask that burning question that I can’t ignore-So, how long’s it been since you pooped?
My morning started with projectile vomiting and diarrhea-all of which were from total strangers. I give enemas for a living so I guess you could say I have it coming-literally.
My stepkids live with us every weekend and just as the 88 or so weekends before, all meals will be planned and mostly cooked. The house will be clean and laundry will be folded in a bin in the hallway ready for the festivities to begin.
As usual, I have anxiety before they arrive even though I love them just as if they were my own. I feel stuck between my life during the week that’s uninterrupted and the chaos that ensues every weekend they arrive.
I’ve had only 3 hours of sleep since getting off of work at 7am this morning. The Shepherd’s Pie is made and fresh Bread Pudding is baking in the oven.
I have a feeling before the night is over that I’ll hear that magical swirling sound of toilets flushing…
diary of a sarcastic stepmother 