Rainy Day Ramblings

I haven't seen my stepson for the past five days. That's the way our shared custody works--five days on, two days off. Then, two days on, five days off. It's such a weird dichotomy to feel like a carefree newlywed couple for five days and then be completely kid-centric for the next five. As someone who doesn't want kids herself, it's always a tough adjustment. It's not that I don't like my stepson; it's just that I don't always enjoy all the trappings of pseudo-motherhood. And, compared to many of my stepmom peers, I have it easy. But, after five days of quiet relaxation and a clean home, I struggle with the opposite end of the spectrum. I'm sure many people enjoy the sound of "Spongebob" or endless car motor/bomb/rocket noises, but I prefer the quiet. After five days of working in a school, I need some silence. I'm a "calm activities" kind of gal. I love to read, listen to music, watch movies, take long nightly baths, go for walks. I'm solitary, a touch of a neat freak, and quixotic, which I believe, makes me a horrible candidate for motherhood. At least I figured this out before I popped out a few kids.

On the weekends and weeknights when we don't have stepson, we try to do things that are more difficult when he's here. For example, we'll grocery shop, go to the movies, and have a few nice dinners out. I watch TV and play music as loud as I want (a treat). I get to sleep in past 6 A.M., and I don't have to worry about whether or not everyone's going to like what's for dinner. And, I try to take advantage of one of the biggest things I miss about our childfree days--my ability to walk around naked or partially clothed. I'm no nudist or exhibitionist, but with a female-body crazed six year-old wandering around, I feel the need to cover all bare skin at all times.

It bothers me when people assume that I don't like kids or think that I'm selfish because I don't want children. Yes, I have some selfish tendencies (see above), but how can someone who's selfish and hates children be an effective public high school English teacher for the past ten years? I know that every school has those old hag teachers who never smile and are waiting to either die or retire, but I'm not one of them. I love my job, and the kids like me. I have oodles of affection and concern for them, and I spend every minute of my work days, from 7:45-3:15 with the nearly 200 kids I teach, for very little pay. I've won teaching awards and (sorry to brag here) have been named more than once as one of Los Angeles' most inspiring teachers. I would hardly say this describes someone full of selfishness and hatred.

I do love kids, but, I love myself more. I love that I know myself well enough to know that I would feel lost and depressed in the role of "mommy." I admire those who can do it, but with the stress and anxiety I put myself through on a daily basis, I know I couldn't be both a good mom and teacher. I know my career would suffer, and to me, being a teacher is who I am. I don't want to sacrifice my career, where I feel I make a difference in the lives of students. They would most definitely suffer if I became a mother, as I wouldn't have the time and energy necessary to be an effective teacher. Right now, I need to stay who I am.

And, now, for more important things: "Jersey Shore" and Heidi Montag. Okay, I live in L.A., so, of course, I get sucked into the entertainment machine. I'm embarrassed to admit that I was pulled into the black hole called "Jersey Shore." I'd heard so much about this mindless show, that I had to watch an episode or six this past weekend. I'll admit that I like reality TV as a mindless escape. I'll take a Kardashian or a bachelor or a Hugh Hefner centerfold or a slut from Staten Island any day. Real people (although edited and altered for TV) are so interesting to me. If you haven't been able to watch this gem, I highly recommend it, if only to see an idiot who actually nicknamed himself "The Situation."

Heidi Montag: I was never one to follow "The Hills," but her face has been plastered all over TV and magazines for a couple of years. Have you seen her lately? Whoa! She had 10 plastic surgery procedures done in one day, and she looks nothing like she did a year ago. I know this is round 2 of plastic surgery for her, but I thought she looked good after the first bout--like a subtly improved version of herself. But, now...she looks absolutely plastic. It's gross. Take a look: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/01/14/heidi-montags-10-plastic_n_423855.html

I'm a vain person. I spend ample amounts of time and money on my hair, cosmetics, clothes, anti-aging products, and I am not against cosmetic surgery to approve one's appearance. But, after seeing a parade of photos lately of stars who have gone under the knife, I've changed my mind. Seldom do these people look better--they just look scary. Look at Priscilla Presley, Kenny Rogers, Courtney Love. Reel in horror at pictures of Joan Van Ark (remember her?!) Be sure to scroll all the way down. http://plasticsergeant.com/celebrity/joan-van-ark-face I personally think that even Madonna looks freakish these days, although I've debated this much with my friend who thinks she looks great. I want to stay fresh and young looking, too, but I don't want to look grotesque, and I thank all these stars for paving the way for people like me who are too vain to risk looking like these ghouls. I'm going to attempt to age gracefully and see what time deals me.

The T-Shirt I Can't Forget

Some of you know that I've taught English at an inner-city L.A. high school for the past nine years. At times it can be heartbreaking. I've seen a student shot to death in the faculty parking lot, and I've had students couldn't do their homework because they were evicted from their homes and had nowhere to live. Fights have broken out in my classroom on occasion, once a kid tried to light himself on fire in my class, and a girl pushed me in the student bathroom and called me "Retard" when I caught her smoking pot. Good times.

On the other hand, I've had some brilliant honors students, who exceed my expectations and write incredibly detailed and creative essays, stories, and poems. I've been amazed at the resilience of a student with a brain tumor, and in awe of the student who missed my class weekly to endure blood transfusions and never missed an assignment. In fact, she finished with the highest grade in the class. I truly do enjoy my job, even though it can be trying.

Today was one of those days, though, when I was taken aback by a t-shirt a student was wearing. As a veteran teacher, it takes a lot to leave me surprised or speechless. I usually have a "bag of tricks" for dealing with undesirable behavior, but I was a tad thrown off guard today. During my fourth period class, one of the quietest, shyest, sweetest students was wearing a t-shirt I don't think I can put out of my mind. I couldn't believe he was wearing it, and all I could think of was that maybe his house caught on fire last night and this was the only shirt he managed to save. The funny thing is that I didn't even notice the shirt until the bell rang and he got up to walk out, even though I recently moved his seat near the front.

This timid, soft-spoken model student's shirt said:

Beaner With a Huge Weiner.

Just in case you live somewhere that lacks diversity or racism, "beaner" is a deragatory slang term for Mexican. Maybe I was sheltered growing up in nearly all-white Iowa, but I hadn't heard that term until I moved to L.A. So, what did I do? Nothing. I didn't know what to do. Part of me was disturbed that this kid's shirt forced my mind to take a trip somewhere I didn't want to go, but the immature, 16 year-old boy in me found it hard not to laugh. And, we English teachers like us a good rhyme (even though I prefer the spelling "wiener"). It's funny. But, not at school.

I know I should've said something--told him to turn his shirt inside out or sent him to the dean. I know the kid is suffering from a particularly hard break-up with a girl who dumped him. Did I mention that both she and her new boyfriend are also in that class? Sucks to be Mr. Beaner Weiner. Does it make me a bad teacher for letting that go? I don't know. It honestly didn't seem to disrupt anyone but me in the class. There's that saying about choosing your battles, and this just wasn't my choice today.

Later in the teachers' break room, I heard two teachers debating the merits of a school dress code (something our school is considering). One insisted that uniforms didn't help curb bad behavior at all when she taught at an inner-city school in Detroit. She said, "When you tried to report a kid, how could you describe him? Well, Officer, he was wearing a white shirt and blue pants...just like 759 other students at this school." She has a point. I'm fairly confident that anyone would be able to identify "Beaner With a Huge Weiner" if he commits some crime in that shirt at school, and that gives me at least a little comfort.

For your viewing pleasure, I now present:

That's What Friends Are For?

Well, I've kept smilin' and shinin', but Dionne Warwick and Friends are nowhere to be found on my doorstep. Yep, I'll admit it. I'm completely lacking in the friend department. Sure, I have some friends, but I'm missing the kind of friend I've relied on in the past--friends you can call when you want to do something spontaneous, like go shopping or go to the movies or just go for a ride.

First, I live in Los Angeles, which is not a very friend-friendly place. Sure, you'll meet all kinds of people, but they live clear across town and hardly leave their neighborhoods. Or, just when you're starting to like them, they move across town, or, worse yet, they move away from Los Angeles. L.A. is full of transplants--non-L.A. natives who come and go when they don't make it big or land that high-paying executive job. You just have to get used to the ebb and flow of people, and I've lost many friends that way.

The other annoying thing about L.A. people is that either they're flaky people to begin with, or, they develop L.A. flakiness in no time flat. You make plans and they don't call, cancel, don't show up. This has happened to me so many times that I've started deleting these "friends" from my cell phone and facebook. For example, last year, one of my "friends" thought it would be a blast to have a girls night out for the opening night of the "Sex and the City" movie. Great! I was excited. "We could get all dressed up, get a limo and champagne, and after the movie, we could go dancing in Hollywood!" she exclaimed. She asked for help planning the night, and like the good midwestern gal that I am, I dug up some fun party hors d'oeuvres and dusted off my vintage cocktail shaker. Two weeks before the party, I ran into my friend, and she introduced me to her neighbor, who would also be at the party. Cool! Another connection, I thought. The week before the party, I left a message with my friend to ask what she needed help with. She never returned my call. The day before opening night, I wondered what had happened. It must've been something bad, right? Had she fallen and couldn't get up? I called and got her voicemail, but opted not to leave a message. Luckily for me, I have a sweet and wonderful husband who stepped up and braved the estrogen-laced theater with me on opening night. I am forever grateful and mention it frequently as something for which I still owe him.

I wish this had been the only time this friend had stood me up. It's confusing, because she's also been there for me during some incredibly trying times in my life. When I separated from my first husband, she brought Thai food and ate it with me in bed (as I couldn't find the strength to change out of my pajamas for weeks). She helped me move out of the home I shared with my ex, and she even got me a couple of sweet television and music video appearances. But, again, about six months ago she invited me to see a concert with her, but I never heard back after the initial invitation. I texted her about two months ago, asking her if she could get together over the weekend. I heard nothing until Sunday night, when she texted, "Had a great time with you guys on Friday night! Love you!" Then, five minutes later, "Oops! Sorry. That was meant for my other friend." Oh. Okay. And, just last week, it happened again. "Merry Christmas! Love you guys!! Can't wait to see you on New Year's Eve!" I assume it was for the same friend, whose name is different from mine by one letter, and therefore, must be right next to mine in her cell phone.

Have I done something wrong? I don't know. I've really thought about it. Maybe I'm no fun anymore since I became a stepmom. Maybe I talk too much and don't listen enough. Maybe I seem to desperate for friendship. Maybe...maybe...maybe...but I know I'm a fun person. I'm honest and friend-worthy, but I can't find a girlfriend to save my life. And, we stepmoms need them sometimes. Sometimes we just need to get out of the house and need a friendly face as refuge. Maybe my "friends" are tired of being my refuge. I just don't know. Another thing is that many of my friends are starting their own lives now, no longer single or childless. Being someone who doesn't want a child, maybe they feel they don't have anything in common with me anymore.

So, last week, I deleted the above mentioned "friend" from my cell phone. It was a big step for me, as I've never had a friend just drop out of my life. There have been long periods of time where we didn't see one another, and then we'd get together and it'd feel like we'd never been apart. Maybe that was my problem--accepting that from the beginning. I guess we really do teach people how to treat us, and maybe that's one of my biggest mistakes on the friendship path so far.

SS Finally Says It

I've mentioned earlier in my blog that I've never heard my stepson actually call me his stepmom before. When kids or adults have referred to me as his mom in front of him, he adamantly sets them straight, each time forcefully saying, "SHE'S NOT MY MOM!" But, there has never been further clarification on who or what I am until yesterday.

When I picked up SS from his winter day camp, the camp counselor said, "M, your mom is here to pick you up." He immediately responded with a gentler, "That's not my mom." And then..."She's my stepmom." Ahh! Music to my ears. A complete outsider no more.

Nothing to Write?

My SS has been on vacation with BM for the past week, so it's been a pretty quiet week here, providing me with little fodder on which to write. DH and I painted and bought some art for our new pad. It's a strange feeling having this sort of Jekyll-Hyde life. Our neighbor (who is married and has two kids) made the comment last week that one of the best parts of being divorced (if something good can come out of it) must be having time "off" from the kids. That can definitely be a plus. As a stepmom, we get the opportunity to test the pseudo-mothering waters, but we also get to have more alone time with our partners than full-time parents. Having joint custody can be a plus, too, as the children don't feel as much like visitors. They're here too often to feel that way. But, it also doesn't allow for that much of a break, and it's difficult to get too comfortable in one situation over the other. But, I guess that's how it's supposed to be. According to research, stepmoms in homes with joint custody usually have an easier time adjusting than those in every-other-weekend or other arrangements.

One weird moment this weekend was when DH read my blog. I hadn't really shown it to him, although I'd often share bits and pieces or describe a story I'd written. Since being "Ms. December" and a guest blogger on Izzy Rose's website stepmothersmilk.com , though, I showed him some of my "accomplishments." While he laughed and said he found humor and some insight, he also worried about BM reading some of the posts. He encouraged me to keep writing and sharing my thoughts, but he said that if BM ever read them, she might get offended and raise holy hell. So, where do I draw the line? Do I censor my true thoughts in case BM reads this eventually? Or, do I say what I think and deal with the consequences if or when they come? It's a hard decision. I actually went back and edited one recent post, and I think I can find a middle ground here. I'm wondering what other bloggers have found success with. Have their BMs ever read their blogs? What was the outcome? Would you censor your blog just in case BM is a mad-Googler on a rampage?