stepmothersmilk.com

I am no longer a single woman who can decide at nine o’clock at night that cheese and crackers is a more than sufficient dinner. I can no longer sit for hours on end, enjoying the sound of my own silence, pondering what life has in store for me. Not anymore, chickie.

These days, I’ve become responsible, at least 50 percent of the time, for the well-being of my two, new step-kids. And these aren’t little kids, mind you, but medium-sized boys who have big ideas of their own regarding what it means to be well.

Fortunately, I’ve got two things going for me: A) they don’t hate me yet and B) I was a surly, step-kid myself. I speak the language.

I have the street cred.

It is my own upbringing of schlepping from Mom’s house to Dad’s, splitting holidays and carrying around two house keys that makes this new life of mine less scary. In fact, it feels oddly familiar.

I’m no expert, but I do know a thing or two about being a step-kid and so, I feel like I have the street cred to make this bold statement: the step-family unit gets a bad rap.

If it hadn’t been for my own step-kid upbringing, I wouldn’t have gained two brilliant sisters who I adore, learned how to fry bologna and boil top ramen (as an unaccompanied minor) or heard time and time again why The African Queen is “such a great goddamn movie.”

Becoming part of a stepfamily is a huge life changer for a kid, and truly, it can feel like being blown out of a hot cannon into a freakish, other world. That said, tables now turned, being the step-matriarch of one such frantic circus can be a less-than-glamorous gig.

And very far removed from my recent, and very Izzycentric lifestyle.

What I try to keep in mind these days is that we (the man-children and I) are not all that different. Our childhood stories have a similar plot line, anyway.

So, to The Tall One and The Young One, I encourage you to hang in there.

Life under the big tent can be chaotic, overwhelming and a tad crowded. But, I promise you; it can be magical, too. I’m not going to stock the house with cotton candy and caramel apples, but can I offer you smoked gouda and water crackers instead?