Andrew talked about this a couple of weeks ago on his vlog, that no matter how many square feet of living space we have, our kids always seem to follow us around the house and cram into whatever room we're in.
We picked this home for the reasons that it had enough bedrooms to accommodate our blended family of eight as well as the advantage of having a rec room in the basement for where the kids could all hang out together (read: GIVE US FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD). Yeah, sure, they hang out downstairs in the rec room from time to time to play gruesome murder video games or to have the occasional standoff at air hockey, but for the most part they're well, wherever we are. And yes, that includes the toilet.
Andrew and I were cooing at Callum while he was splashing in the bathtub (Callum, not Andrew) and then Freddy sauntered in to ask me to look over his math worksheets. Shortly after that Katie waltzed in to get me to sign her planner for school and then Ethan followed them both in to see what the fuss was about. So at one time we had six people all crammed into our bathroom, happily, which was nice, as nobody was fighting at that particular moment so we can't really complain. But STILL.
I just think it's so ironic that people search high and low for that perfect home with an added rec room or space to accommodate a play area for the kids but then once we're settled, that play area becomes cold and drenched in the cobwebs of un-use.
I guess it just proves that humans are created for communion, for connection. That as we grow older, through years of experience and pain and hurt we start to put up emotional barriers and isolate ourselves further into independence. Being alone is not how we are wired but instead how we are misfired. It's not right. It's off. And so we constantly yearn for that connection but with our arms protectively outstretched in a manner of stay away, not too close, and then before too long we are alone in our mancave or alone in our living room and we wonder why our children, our own primal beings follow us into the bathroom where they can just breathe in the air we breathe out.
And we wonder why. But we know. Because at the core of who we are, we want that too.
Showing posts with label BFF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BFF. Show all posts
Friday, December 5, 2014
Friday, November 28, 2014
BFF: Heat Rises
We see a family counselor to help us with healthy family management and he told us that discipline without relationship can be destructive. That the relationship needs to be at the same level as the discipline level. The first level (babysitters, distant aunts, etc) is where kids get away with farts and saying "shut up" and eating whipping cream and chocolate chips for dinner. Instead of being banished to their rooms for such behaviour, they are allowed to stay up late watching movies with swear words. But in this level there is also not a whole lot of bonding, or relationship.
As the levels climb we find more long-term type relationships with more conflict, but more hugs (grandparents, close family and friends). Each decision these caregivers make regarding their relationship with the kids has an impact on their lives forever--not just the next hour and a half. So they invest more energy into helping them grow into healthy people, even if it means a little discipline here and there. This is where the kids are forced to eat their vegetables, where they're disciplined for talking back, and reprimanded for farting at the table. But it's also where the caregivers show up to soccer games in the wind and rain during the only free time they've had all week. It's where the kids know they're safe enough to cry and pour out their hearts.
The parents are found in the top levels. This is where we find the most love, and the most mess. Poopy diapers don't make us gag because in this level, love dulls the stink. It's in these parts where there is a divide between a stepparent and a biological parent but over time, this is also where the most growth happens. It's a delicate balance on a relational tightrope and one false move can cause a lot of pain. But as we wade through each mess together, if we handle it well, we become closer and closer.
Friday, November 21, 2014
BFF: Wobble
Having children spread out from the ages of fourteen to infant presents all sorts of challenges (and opportunities, depending on the mood du jour and whether or not we have any Coronas in the fridge). As you can imagine, it's a huge transition for our older kids to have a baby brother come along later in life after all the other changes they've been through: divorce, remarriage, and moving (houses, cities, schools). While they all love him to bits and fight over who gets to hold him and give him kisses, it hasn't always been easy. Never mind the fact that my body feels one hundred years old compared to how I felt when I had Jake at twenty-two.
Parenting a baby and a fourteen year-old and all the ages in between can be a juggling act at best (an all-out circus act most days, but without the beer tents and bikinis). However, despite the age gaps there are a lot of parallels. Callum is learning how to stand on his own, which is super cute. His chubber legs weeble and wobble and he ever so slowly loosens his grip on my fingers and lets go. When I hold onto him he almost swats at me, batting me away from his independence. Go away, mom. I've got this. But when he stumbles, I catch him. When he hurts, I hold him.
The older kids are the same way as their emotions jerk and sway through this huge world. They wear shirts with bikini babes printed on the front. They dye their hair green, practice the "F" word, and tell each other to shut up. Jake is literally sitting beside me right now begging for thirty British pounds to buy a membership to the Iron Maiden fan club. I seriously think they wake up each day for the sole purpose of halting our circulatory systems.
They ever so slowly loosen their grip on our fingers and let go. When I hold onto them, they almost swat at me, batting me away from their independence. Go away, mom. We've got this. But when they stumble, I catch them. When they hurt, I hold them.
Parenting a baby and a fourteen year-old and all the ages in between can be a juggling act at best (an all-out circus act most days, but without the beer tents and bikinis). However, despite the age gaps there are a lot of parallels. Callum is learning how to stand on his own, which is super cute. His chubber legs weeble and wobble and he ever so slowly loosens his grip on my fingers and lets go. When I hold onto him he almost swats at me, batting me away from his independence. Go away, mom. I've got this. But when he stumbles, I catch him. When he hurts, I hold him.
The older kids are the same way as their emotions jerk and sway through this huge world. They wear shirts with bikini babes printed on the front. They dye their hair green, practice the "F" word, and tell each other to shut up. Jake is literally sitting beside me right now begging for thirty British pounds to buy a membership to the Iron Maiden fan club. I seriously think they wake up each day for the sole purpose of halting our circulatory systems.
They ever so slowly loosen their grip on our fingers and let go. When I hold onto them, they almost swat at me, batting me away from their independence. Go away, mom. We've got this. But when they stumble, I catch them. When they hurt, I hold them.
Friday, November 7, 2014
BFF: The Textbook
Just like everyone else, when I first became a parent I didn't have a clue what I was doing. We don't get manuals with children. It's like we're given a map to where we are going and then all of a sudden we find ourselves in New Mexico with bum rash and a missing finger. It's not much different when we become stepparents. I can't count how many times I've asked myself, "where's the textbook?"
There is none. I mean, there are books that we can read and people we can ask about the cold, hard facts of any kind of parenting but figuring out humans is much more complex than following a recipe. What works for one combination of people won't work for another. We typically need to feel around in the dark and just do whatever works to help us get around. And even that tactic can change from person to person, day to day, moment to moment.
So all I can really share is what works for me, which happens to apply to all of our kids, biological and step.
The first and most important? Love them. I love them when I don't feel like it, when they need me to. I love them against wind and through fire when it burns and bends my body until it breaks and heals and breaks again. I love them under water can't breathe give them all the oxygen love. I love them when they hate me, when they interrupt my sleep, when I give too much and have nothing left. I keep loving them.
And then I laugh. There are more awkward moments in a blended family school function than at a grade 9 dance. If we can't laugh at ourselves (not at each other... that's the next rule), then we won't survive.
Be kind. Any of my kids will tell you that I say this to them all the time: that we are hard enough on ourselves; we don't need anyone to help us. And that when we say something hurtful to someone, it says more about who we are than who they are. We are to never speak poorly of each other, especially our ex-spouses. Save it for counseling, or the running trails, or whatever. Saying shitty stuff about people just makes us shitty people.
And lastly, fart together. Compare them. Do them and lock the windows of the car and laugh. Let a hot one go and walk into the room while they're watching a movie then plunk down a bowl of treats so they're stuck there, and then leave. Farting brings people together because it crosses cultures, generations, stepparents or biological. And if I ever get to write the textbook, I will be including this chapter, with a CD.
There is none. I mean, there are books that we can read and people we can ask about the cold, hard facts of any kind of parenting but figuring out humans is much more complex than following a recipe. What works for one combination of people won't work for another. We typically need to feel around in the dark and just do whatever works to help us get around. And even that tactic can change from person to person, day to day, moment to moment.
So all I can really share is what works for me, which happens to apply to all of our kids, biological and step.
The first and most important? Love them. I love them when I don't feel like it, when they need me to. I love them against wind and through fire when it burns and bends my body until it breaks and heals and breaks again. I love them under water can't breathe give them all the oxygen love. I love them when they hate me, when they interrupt my sleep, when I give too much and have nothing left. I keep loving them.
And then I laugh. There are more awkward moments in a blended family school function than at a grade 9 dance. If we can't laugh at ourselves (not at each other... that's the next rule), then we won't survive.
Be kind. Any of my kids will tell you that I say this to them all the time: that we are hard enough on ourselves; we don't need anyone to help us. And that when we say something hurtful to someone, it says more about who we are than who they are. We are to never speak poorly of each other, especially our ex-spouses. Save it for counseling, or the running trails, or whatever. Saying shitty stuff about people just makes us shitty people.
And lastly, fart together. Compare them. Do them and lock the windows of the car and laugh. Let a hot one go and walk into the room while they're watching a movie then plunk down a bowl of treats so they're stuck there, and then leave. Farting brings people together because it crosses cultures, generations, stepparents or biological. And if I ever get to write the textbook, I will be including this chapter, with a CD.
Friday, October 31, 2014
BFF: Gonch
See, I have this post all set up for auto publishing for Blended Family Friday but it's boring as hell. All of my posts lately have been so serious and sentimental, and it's time that I just really tell it how it is.
You know what it's like over here? Here's a perfect example of a typical blended family. I got a text from Jason (ex-husband, father of Jake, Freddy and Katie) telling me that he found a pair of women's underwear stuck in Jake's shorts that he packed in his bag. And because I had Callum balancing on one hip and a pot of pasta boiling on the stove in the kitchen, I couldn't totally freak out and instead could only stare at the texts on my phone while my blood pressure rose to a deafening roar. It's those moments where I visualize the years of my life dropping off the edge of a cliff: there goes year 73, now 72, 71 just took a nosedive, and so on and so forth.
Because Jason knows all of this, he gleefully sends me a picture of the underwear and they look hauntingly familiar. They're mine. It's a Victoria's Secret aqua-blue lacy thong and I want to die right there at age 36 because a) my underwear is in the pocket of my 14 year-old son's shorts and b) my ex-husband just took a picture of it and it's at his house. Jason's grossed out, Jake is mortified, and I want to die. And then of course Andrew is like, why is Jason texting pictures of your blue lacy underwear? And why are they in Jake's shorts? And the ripe old age of 71 just isn't coming soon enough.
But then? But then. I exhale with relief because they're my underwear and not some random woman's blue lacy thong in my 14 year-old son's shorts. It's a simple laundry mix-up, and really the only thing that I need to worry about is that the pot of spaghetti on the stove not boil over.
And everything else in the whole wide world.
You know what it's like over here? Here's a perfect example of a typical blended family. I got a text from Jason (ex-husband, father of Jake, Freddy and Katie) telling me that he found a pair of women's underwear stuck in Jake's shorts that he packed in his bag. And because I had Callum balancing on one hip and a pot of pasta boiling on the stove in the kitchen, I couldn't totally freak out and instead could only stare at the texts on my phone while my blood pressure rose to a deafening roar. It's those moments where I visualize the years of my life dropping off the edge of a cliff: there goes year 73, now 72, 71 just took a nosedive, and so on and so forth.
Because Jason knows all of this, he gleefully sends me a picture of the underwear and they look hauntingly familiar. They're mine. It's a Victoria's Secret aqua-blue lacy thong and I want to die right there at age 36 because a) my underwear is in the pocket of my 14 year-old son's shorts and b) my ex-husband just took a picture of it and it's at his house. Jason's grossed out, Jake is mortified, and I want to die. And then of course Andrew is like, why is Jason texting pictures of your blue lacy underwear? And why are they in Jake's shorts? And the ripe old age of 71 just isn't coming soon enough.
But then? But then. I exhale with relief because they're my underwear and not some random woman's blue lacy thong in my 14 year-old son's shorts. It's a simple laundry mix-up, and really the only thing that I need to worry about is that the pot of spaghetti on the stove not boil over.
And everything else in the whole wide world.
Friday, October 24, 2014
BFF (Blended Family Friday)
When most people find out that we have a blended family of eight, the first question they ask us is if our kids all get along. At first we felt pressured to not only lie and say yes, (ha!) but then to somehow force everyone to be happy together. But then we were like, wait. What? Do blood siblings of regular typical families all get along? I know two brothers who fought each other to the near-death while they were growing up and now they're in their forties and closer than ever. Andrew will tell you that he drove his sister nearly mad, taunting and antagonizing her, but was their family life a flop? No. Not at all!
Fighting is normal and expected in every family, however, there needs to be a foundation of love and respect, and that takes time. It also takes trial and error, hurt feelings and sore shoulders, but at the end of the day, each sibling needs to have the other one's back, in some capacity or another.
The more people in the family means more issues and more work, sure. But more people in the family also means more opportunities for learning, and more rewards. There are growing pains, but we can either focus on the word "growing" or the word "pain." I recently read somewhere that divorce doesn't really end family life; it just reorganizes it.
Fridays will be the days that I focus on our blended family. I'll write about everything from our struggles to our favourite recipes that feed a bazillion people for cheap.
Enjoy the show!
Fighting is normal and expected in every family, however, there needs to be a foundation of love and respect, and that takes time. It also takes trial and error, hurt feelings and sore shoulders, but at the end of the day, each sibling needs to have the other one's back, in some capacity or another.
The more people in the family means more issues and more work, sure. But more people in the family also means more opportunities for learning, and more rewards. There are growing pains, but we can either focus on the word "growing" or the word "pain." I recently read somewhere that divorce doesn't really end family life; it just reorganizes it.
Fridays will be the days that I focus on our blended family. I'll write about everything from our struggles to our favourite recipes that feed a bazillion people for cheap.
Enjoy the show!
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