Not the Mama

The day to celebrate our Mothers is here - the gifts, the food, the hand-made cards.  The time to look back and reflect on all the things they have done for us - the pick-ups, the drop-offs, the hugs, the band-aids, the tissues to dry up the tears, the advice, the homework, the lunch monies, the permission slip signings, the field trips, the "you're not wearing that out of this house!"es,  the care packages, the late-night phone calls to see what I can use to get the stain out of my shirt, the "you'll find someone who deserves you"s, the wedding planning sessions, the child-rearing talks, the everythings.

That's right, the everythings.  That's what moms do.  

That's what I do for my kids, except there's one small detail.  They're not mine.  They're not mine in the sense that I didn't give birth to them. They're my step-children, they already have a mom.  

I always wanted to be a step-mom when I grew up.  Just kidding, no one says that, but I think that God knows what he's doing and this was part of his plan for me.  And if this is plan for me, I will fully embrace it.  It's the most wonderful awful experience you could every imagine, which I think is probably true with any type of motherhood.

I do all the things - the pick-ups, the drop-offs, the hugs, the band-aids, the tissues to dry up the tears, the advice, the homework, the lunch monies, the permission slip signings, the field trips, and the "you're not wearing that out of the house!"es.  I also do some of the mediation for two homes, the scheduling for two homes, and the "I forgot my stuffed animal, and I can't sleep with out it, can you bring it to me?" for two homes.  

I do all these things not because I have to, but because I want to.  My soon-to-be husband is wonderful to me and to his children.  It is heart-warming to be a part of the little lives that I love so much.  The world changes completely when children are involved.  Their naive hearts bring to life the magic of the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, and Santa. They laugh whole-heartedly at things that aren't even really funny.  Every part of their day is important, each detail is exaggerated to keep everyone's attention.  Their drawings need explanation to be understood, but have been perfectly thought through.  Their imaginations are so colorful and aren't jaded by the reality of this society.  My most favorite parts are listening to them make up words to a book while they are reading and making up lyrics while singing songs in the car. 

It didn't start out this way.  There was a period of resentment that came from both the kids and their mom.  I was unknown territory.  I was an intruder.  I was there to take the place of their mother.  I was called names, the kids were told I was "mean", and I was taken to court.  There was heartbreak, sleepless nights, and there were many, many tears.  

This wasn't about me.  It never was.  It was about a mama bear defending her children.  If the tables were turned, I'd be scared of losing my children to someone new, too.  Things got better as I offered my help despite my pride.  I reached out to let her know that I was only a helper, an extra set of hands and feet, and an extra heart to love her children.  She was receptive and understanding when I made it clear that my intentions were never to take her place.  

This still wasn't about me.  And, honestly, it wasn't about her either.  It was about them.  The three of them.  Each one special and unique in their own way.  Each one with a different perspective of divorce and their mom, their dad, and me.  Each one with a different kind of hurt and confusion of the situation.  

Although I was making my way in to their hearts, there were pictures drawn just for me, hugs where there weren't before, hand-holding, and excitement to see me when I came to visit, there were still moments they weren't sure what to do with me.  

I knew this.  I had felt this before.  I had a mom.  I also had a step-mom.  I had been where they were at their ages.

So when I hear statements like "I wish I only had one mom, and I wish it was her," it stings and my heart breaks a little.  When I don't get 83783847 hand-drawn pictures for Mother's day, it hurts a little. Then I remember, it's not about me, and honestly, it's not about her either.  It's about them.  It's about what it's like to have a family unit.  When their friends in their class talk about what it's like to go home and their mommy and daddy kiss them good night, it's hard to explain why that doesn't happen at our house.  Why both mommy and daddy can't live in the same house any more and why I am here.  Why sometimes they live here and why sometimes they live there.  Why their life doesn't look like the Cleavers.  

There are so many things in this life worse than divorce and living between two homes.  Things like having a mom and dad that hate each other, things like having to watch what you say because it might offend one parent or the other, things like carrying the weight of guilt because you're scared you might be the problem at only 5 years old.  

As a parent - mom, dad, step-parent, or otherwise, it is your JOB to make sure that these things aren't things your children know.  No matter the situation.  They are, under no circumstances, responsible for your feelings.  You are responsible for theirs - your pride comes in last place.  

So when you don't understand why I smile and wave, make friendly conversation, sit next to their mama at school events, send her funny texts about funny things her kids said that day, take them shopping to pick out a very special mother's day gift, help them wrap it and make cards - even when I didn't get one.  It's not about me, and honestly, it's not about her either.  It's about them.  I want them to look back on their childhood and remember a time where they didn't have to choose.  They didn't have to make sure that their mom's feelings were taken care or that my feelings were taken care of, none of that existed.  She is always first place as the woman in their lives, and I am always second and I'm perfectly okay with that.

My job is to love them and show them what unconditional love looks like, a love that did not stem from biology, but one that stems from the deep depths of my heart.  

So cheers to all of you who are "not the mama" this mother's day.  You're not alone and you are loved.  God only calls those who are capable to handle such tasks.