Hello?

Has it really been almost a month since my last post? Have I given up? Am I really that lazy when it comes to keeping up with the tool that has helped me stay sane these past 6 months!!

Apparently yes. And if you're reading this right now, I owe you the biggest hug. Thank you for continuing to check up on me.

This month has been crazy. As I'm sure it has been for all of you.

This Christmas, I have been volunteered to host the festivities at our place. Not that I mind so much - but wow! Talk about stress.

So...I'm going to cheap out on this WAY overdue post and instead of giving you an update on my life, I'm going to ask you for your favorite appetizer recipe. You know...finger foods, coffee table snacks, etc.

If you've got some gems hidden in your recipe box - and are willing to share - I would be in your debt!

Why I might be a terrible person, reason #2

My Brady Bunch family is a tad different from the original Brady Bunch.

I'll state the obvious: we have more than one bathroom, we don't actually have a live-in housekeeper, my step-kids don't call me Mom, and Mr.Brady isn't an architect.

But what really seperates us from TV's fantasy family are the dynamics between the kids. In the original series, Jan is second to Marica. Marcia Marcia Marcia. Jan pretty much found a not- so-great place in Marcia's shadow.

In my Brady Bunch, it's quite the opposite. Jan is bossy, aggressive, and extremely demanding! Marcia on the other hand is quiet, polite, considerate and contemplative.

I have witnessed WAY to many situations where Jan fully walks all over Marcia. Does Marcia do anything about it? Nope. She just says, "I'd rather give in to her than have to hear her cry for hours on end."

How sad is that.

And what would this post be without a classic Jan example.

:: ahem ::

Last week, Marcia and Greg were sitting on the couch. Jan was sitting on the floor, playing with her toys. Mr.Brady walks in the room and notices that there is still one plate on the dinning room table that hasn't been cleared. He calls over to Jan, "Take your plate into the kitchen, please." Mr.Brady exits stage left.

I, in the laundry room, can hear everything - but has remained to be seen. Jan gets up, walks over to Marcia and says, "Thanks for getting me in trouble!"

"How did I get you in trouble?" Marcia asks.

"You could have taken my plate into the kitchen with yours, but you didn't. And now I'M in trouble!" she replies in a (for lack of a better word) bitchy tone.

Marcia says nothing. I step out of the laundry room and say, "It's not her responsibility to clean up after you. You are 6 years old, you know how to take a plate into the kitchen."

Jan's face goes red. She's horrified that she has been busted. Marcia smiles at me.

So...that's a typical bossy-Jan situation.

WELL - today may have been the FIRST morning that I actually enjoyed the sound of Jan crying.

7:45am - I hear screaming coming from the kitchen.
7:55am - Still screaming, crying, yelling. (All Jan).

I hear Mr.Brady go in there and ask what's going on.

"MARCIA WON'T GET ME MY CEREAL!"

"And?" says Mr.Brady

"I CAN'T GET IT!"

"What? Of course you can! It's right infront of you".

"NO! NO! NO! I CAN'T! IT'S TOO HARD!"

"Marcia, why won't you help Jan?", he asks.

Marcia's response: "Because, Dad...I am not her slave. She cried last night when I wouldn't bring her bag in from the car! I can't do everything for her! She is 6 years old, she can get it herself. I was getting cereal for myself when I was 4. I'm not doing it anymore."

"Fair enough", says Mr.Brady, "Jan, you're on your own. You'll have to open the cupboard by yourself, and prepare your own cereal."

Yelling ensues.

Now, I know that some of you are going to disagree with what happened. Maybe 6 is still young enough that a parent should be be pouring her kids cereal and milk, but I'm in the school of thought of, "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime." Hot food? of course we take care of that. Cereal? Not so much.

So, even though I'm a terrible person for actually enjoying the sound of Jan crying this morning, I am damn proud of Marcia for standing her ground and speaking her mind.

I know I'm just the step-mom, but...

I'd like to know how my fellow step-moms feel about their in-laws and the relationship they have with the ex-wife.

I encourage healthy relationships in general, and I think it's great when everyone can get along. But I can't help but feel a little left out at times. :: sigh :: Sounds childish, huh? But I need to confront this issue...Whether his family means to or not, I feel like an outcast.

Let me make one thing clear, I know that is MY issue. It's probably all in my head, but that doesn't lessen the fact that it's still something I struggle with.

Examples?

BM sends Mr.Brady emails that say things like...

"I've seen your family a lot latetly, and they feel like you are (fill in the blank)"

"Your sister and 2 nieces are moving in with me..."

Ok. I get it. Just because he got divorced, doesn't mean the rest of the family has to disown her. After all, she is still the mother of his children. I suppose I'm finding it difficult to "warm up" to them, when I know that she is still so close with all of them. Yes. Yes. I know that this doesn't mean that they can't be close to both of us. But it's difficult for me to put down my guard, to open up, to not watch what I say around his sisters. I wan't to say, "HEY! I'm cool too! I know you've known BM for 17 years, but I'm pretty sure I can be fun to get to know too!"

The only comfort I can offer myself is time. I know, that with time, everything will settle into place. I won't feel like such an outcast. But until then...I'm left to wonder...is there room in the family for the second wife?

Message in a bottle...

Thank you all for the support emails that some of you have sent. They have ranged from, "Where the hell are you?" to "Are you alive? Has the Brady Bunch finally driven you crazy?"

I'm here. And very much alive.

I'm just really busy with work, and havent had a good opportunity to post. But thank you! It means so much to me that people care about where I am. Please keep in mind that just because I'm not posting, I am definitely still reading YOUR blogs everyday. It helps me to feel connected. Strange as it may sound, this little group of step-moms is an important part of keeping my sanity. So often the words I read put a huge smile on my face. I can't even begin to count the amount of times I've yelled, "OMG...I know EXACTLY what she's talking about".

My point is...even though I suck and often go a week (or two) without posting...I still read yours. I'm a slacker. I know.

:: Hugs :: & smiles!

Banana Bread Goodness

I looked in our freezer last week and saw that we had an abundance of ripe bananas. I decided it was time to make some banana bread. I'd like to share my recipe with you because I did something different this time and, oh my gosh, it is delicious. So if you've got some ripe bananas sitting lonely in your freezer...you might want to give this a go.

Traditional Recipe

1 1/2 cups Flour
1 teaspoon Baking Soda
1 teaspoon Salt
1 cup Sugar
1/2 cup
3 ripe bananas

Added:

1 teaspoon Vanilla
1/2 cup Milk
1/4 teaspoon Cinnamon

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly grease an 8x4 inch loaf pan.
2. In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar. Sift in the flour, baking soda and salt. Blend in the mashed bananas. Pour batter into pan.
3. Bake in preheated oven for 60 minutes, or until a knife inserted into center of loaf comes out clean.

Voila.

****

In other news....

Another exaple of Mrs.Brady's strage and unusual thought process.

The other day I called up the kids and asked if they were ready for Halloween. They were all very excited about their costumes and agreed to give me any of their candies that had nuts in them :)

I then inquired about pumpkins. "Did you guys carve pumpkins yet?"

Greg replies, "Not yet. Mom doesn't have money for pumpkins."

Give.Me.A.Break.

I bought a pumpkin last weekend and it cost me a total of $2.00.

Again....2 dogs....pumpkins...WTF!

Nutshell

This was originally a long winded post, but it gave me a headache when I re-read it. Since I love you all so much, and don't want to torture you with my venting, I'm going to give you the nutshell version of my weekend.

Saturday

- The kids are thrilled. Their mother has bought a $600 dog from a Montana breeder, and it arrives at 2pm.
- Two weeks ago she was complaining about not having enough money to buy food. Um....ok....
- We take kids over to visit the dog. The house is a disaster (not suprising). The dog is not house trained and pees on Jan, Mrs.Brady and various objects around the house (which I know is normal, but it doesn't help when there is so much crap on the ground that can't tell where the dog did a do-do).

Sunday

- Greg's 13th birthday. We take him and his friends bowling. Afterwards, we take them back to Mrs.Brady for cake and presents.
- When we get there, the kids run around the house trying to find their new dog.
- Mrs.Brady announces that she's lost the dog. It wiggled its way out of its collar and ran away.
- Mrs. Brady is devastated. Kids are sad.
- Marcia calls to tell us that Mrs.Brady is going to take them to look at more dogs on Monday. We ask about the one that's lost. She says that if it comes home, they'll just have 2 dogs.

I know it's none of my business. I know it's not my home, nor is it my decision. But it does become my business when her decisions affect the children who live in my home 3 days of the week.

A week ago she could barely afford to feed the kids. Now she can afford to drop $600 on a dog, plus whatever she spends on the second one?

I am beyong confused.

(BTW - thank you for all your comments about the Birthday Blues. I have since decided that from now on I'm just going to take them shopping myself. If he gets two sets of presents, so be it. It's better than seeing him not get anything at all).

Birthday Blues

Again, another 2 weeks without a post.

Work.Has.Been.Nuts.

The last few weeks have been quite eventful – and also a huge dissapointment. Not necessarily for me, but for Mr.Brady.

Before I go off on todays rant (which isn’t all about Jan – yay), I’d like to say again how much appreciate all of your blogs. I look forward to reading them everyday and they bring me so much comfort – especially in a situation that can leave you feeling very alone. So…thank you.

October 13 was Mr.Brady’s birthday. It was a big one, he turned 40 years old. We had the kids Wed, Thur, and Fri that week, so I planned a family bday dinner on the Friday. We had Chinese (the food, not the people), German chocolate cake, and the kids made cupcakes. We all sat down and enjoyed the feast.

It was about this time that I noticed that the kids hadn’t brought out any presents, cards, or pictures/paintings – so I held off on bringing out the present I had gotten him. I brought out the cake, we sang (horribly), he blew out the candles and we all stuffed ourselves silly. An hours passes, and still…nothing.

Mr.Brady and I begin cleaning up the table, and the kids go off into the TV room. I begin to wonder if this is some sort of family tradition that I don’t know about…maybe they don’t give gifts at the table? Maybe they give them on the hour they are actually born? But no, I’ve been with them through birthdays before, this was definitely not the case.

What is going on???

An hour later, the kids are in bed. Mr.Brady is sitting in bed reading. I use this opportunity to give him his gift. He opens it. Loves it. And then says, “Did my kids forget about my birthday?”

It was the saddest thing I have ever heard him say. It broke my heart.

The next day, Marcia told me that her mom would take them shopping for their dad. Next week arrives, still nothing.

Here is my question. Actually no. It’s not a question, because I already know the answer. It’s more like a statement that I need to have validated.

I should not have to assume that I am buying Mr.Brady presents from his kids. That responsibility is Mrs.Brady, who has them 4 days out of the week.

If she couldn't afford it, or couldn't find the time, I would have been MORE than happy to take them shopping, but she didn't communicate anything to me.

Mr.Brady always ensures that the kids have something to give to her on her bday, so why wouldn’t she do the same?

Breakfast, by Alice Nelson

Knock, knock.

“Yes?” said Mr.Brady.

“I’m hungry!!! I want breakfast now!”

“We are sleeping. Breakfast is at 9. Eat an apple if you are hungry”

Screaming, kicking, yelling ensues.

Alice groans and rolls out of bed, “I am not starting off my day to the sounds of her screams”. She grumpily slips on her robe and opens the door, “Jan, get in here and take a seat.”

Jan sits on the floor and crosses her legs. Tears stop. Alice kneels down, “If you are that hungry, all you need to do is say so. You don’t need to scream and cry. You scream and cry about everything so often that I’m not even sure when you’re serious anymore. Are you really that hungry? Are you screaming so that we all wake up? My point is, you don’t need to scream. If you don’t want an apple, and would prefer eggs, just say so. You are far too pretty to always be crying. Why not show that beautiful smile of yours instead?”

Alice gets up and takes Jan’s hand. Together they walk to the kitchen, where Alice makes Jan a breakfast of toast, eggs, and hashbrowns.

Jan eats one fork-full of eggs and says, “Is this the best you can do”.

Alice takes a deep breath and grabs her plate back, “…Oh! Well if you don’t like them, I’ll gladly eat them. I think they’re delicious.”

“NOOOOO! I want them!” she yells.

As Alice walks back to her room, she lets out a small laugh.

She has decided to take this kid on with a sense of humor.

...or she might go insane.

I think I missed the chapter on dealing with tantrums...

Is it common for a 5 year old girl (turning 6 in November) to cry, scream and have a tantrum every single day? I am not exaggerating.

Like I've said before - girl is moody. Her behavior can go from 0-60 in 3 seconds.

Is this "normal"?

Am I completely discombobulated for no reason?

Do I need to be a bio-mom to truly understand and sympathize with these tantrums?

S.O.S

The kids have been here for 3 hours and already Jan has had 2 crying sessions, and 1 tantrum. She's currently in her room, screaming her head off and banging on the door.

I feel like I'm tucked away in the trench of some Lord of Flies battlefield.

...send wine.

K-I-S-S-ING!

I'd like your opinion on this matter. Mr.Brady and I received this email from Jan's kindergarten teacher. I'm not sure I agree with the punishment for showing affectiong, but I'd like to know your thoughts...

Hello Parents

While normally I would save classroom discussions for my Friday reminders email or Monday newsletter, I feel we have an issue on our hands in kindergarten that I would like to nip-in-the-bud with your help. We have developed a kissing problem in our classroom, which I see mainly outside at recess and in our lines before school. The kissing has occured over such a range of students that I felt it necessary to send out a quick email in search of support.

Please remind your kindergartener that kissing is reserved for home: parents, grandparents, and pets. At school, we have discussed that this will be an automatic turn-to-red card change with a loss of 5 minutes of recess. This early in kindergarten it is so important to set social and personal boundaries at school, which is why I am really trying to curb this behavior.

Thank you for your help and support!

While I can see the issue at hand - my suggestion would be to encourage the kids to bond in a different way. Why not teach them a secret handshake/highfive, that only their class knows? Or hugging instead of kissing?

What do y'all think?

It's a small small world...

Hello. Remember me?

I sincerely apologize for the two week sabbatical that I took – but things have been crazy! We have just returned from our 7 day trip to Orlando (Disneyworld), and before that I was up to my ears in work – trying to tie up all the loose ends before I left.

Oh. Yes. There was also that huge urge to choke every time I thought of our Disneyworld trip. Why? Because it wasn’t just a trip with Mr.Brady, the kids and me. It was a trip with Mr.Brady, the kids, his niece, Mrs.Brady & Mrs.Brady’s boyfriend.

:: crickets ::

It wasn’t as horrible as it sounds. We obviously stayed in different rooms, and we rarely saw them except when we met everyday at 3pm to “hand-off” the kids. But it was still…weird. The important thing here is that the kids had a great time, except maybe the little one. Jan hated the rides, and refused to go on any. She warmed up as the days went on, but it was impossible to get her on Splash mountain, or Buzz Lightyear. Instead, she would rather take a few roundtrips on “Small World”.

Sweet Jesus. I forgot how much I hated that ride. Even as a kid I disliked it. That song. That horrible horrible song. I close my eye and all I see are kaleidoscope images of animatronic puppets from around the world, swaying to that evil 2 verse theme song.

Other than that – I thought the other rides were great. There were tons of learning stations for the kids, and so many interesting attractions to wonder through. Epcot was by far my favorite part.

On a more parent-related note, and less Disney…

Mr.Brady and I had some excellent opportunities to chat about the group-vacation-experience as it was happening – and I had some excellent opportunities to vent my brain out. He listened well, and was increadibly patient when I tried to put my feelings & emotions into words.

There are a dozen funny/sad/strange Disneyworld-stories I could write about, but let me focus on a climatic point ... Jan (yes of course the climatic point is about Jan) was being fussy and impatient while we ordered lunch – she started hitting her sister (for no reason). I asked her to stop. Futile. I ask her again. No response. Mr.Brady’s niece grabbed Jan’s arms and stopped her from hitting Marcia. This upset Jan greatly. She decided to take her restraint-frustrations out on the nearest person. That would be me. She smacked me (hard) across the side of my body.

I can put up with a lot. But hitting? This may be the only time I swear in my blog, but this is what was going on in my head, “You just fucked with the wrong step-mom, Kid.”

I kneeled down grabbed her shoulders, looked her in the eye and said, “Jan, don’t ever hit me again. Ever.” I picked her up and hauled her off to a nearby table, sat her down and walked away. Mr.Brady was in shock…everyone was in shock. It was like they had never seen discipline in action. She got up immediately and came back to the table, I said calmly, “Are you coming back to apologize for hitting me?”

“No.”

I picked her back up and sat her at a different table. She came back 3 times, all with the same answer. She cried. We ignored her. Finally she came back and mumbled something that may have been an apology. I asked her to repeat. She finally managed to say “I’m sorry for hitting you.”

I smiled and said, “Apology accepted.” She sat with her head down for the rest of the meal.

I’m not trying to promote shame here – but talk about pride! I began to wonder if Jan had ever been taught to apologize. Later that day I asked Mr.Brady – his response, “Not really. I actually was really impressed with how you handled that situation. I would not have done that.”

Mr.Brady has this habit of just rolling with the punches (know what I mean?). If she’s a brat, he’ll say “Knock it off”, or “Stop that”….and that’s about it. Two minutes later she’ll be all happy and bubbly, and he’ll roll with that. Seems like an easy going way of dealing with her behavior, but I don’t think she learns anything. I strongly believe that rolling with her punches is just teaching her that she can act however she wants.

One minute – Mad
Next minute – Happy
Following minute – Crying

…and it doesn’t matter, because this is how Mr.Brady will react.

Mad – “Uh oh…she’s mad…I better tell her to quit acting like that”.
Happy – “Yay, she’s happy, let’s see how long I can keep her like this.”
Crying – “Well that didn’t work. I wonder how I can please her and make her stop.”

Do you see what I’m getting at? There is no reason for her to stop hitting her sister – because there is no real consequence. She knows that in 2 minutes, if she smiles and laughs, her dad will think she’s the cutest thing on the planet again, regardless of what she’s just done.

It.is.so.irritating.

The good news is – Mr.Brady and I had a long talk about this and it looks like we want to be on the same path. There is hope.

Alright – I’ve been incredibly random in this post – and I’ve talked your eyes off – but there is more. A.lot.more. Funny stories!

Again, thank you for being so supportive!

In the picture: Jan, Greg, Alice, Mr.Brady's niece, Marcia.

Bring out yer dead!

I'm still here. Alive. I apologize for the lack up updates - I will be back in action soon (most likely later today).

Calming

Living in the boonies has it perks. Today I looked out my living room window (aka my home office) and saw this..."A doe. A deer. A female deer"

It's quite the change, considering I am used to looking out my office window and seeing this...

Vancouver's beautiful, don't get me wrong - but...I think I'm starting to like this place.

This is not a test...

The last week of my life has been one roller coaster of scheduling. Summer is officially over and the kids are all back in school. Along with this comes a new schedule. Back and forth, back and forth – trying to figure out a schedule that meets everyone’s expectations is tiring.

Nevertheless, we now have a schedule that all the kids like, and Mrs.Brady has no problem with. We will be alternating between Wed, Thur, Fri, and Thu, Fri, Sat, every other week.

To be honest, I’m glad that they are only here 3 nights a week. Harsh. I know. But I think it’s a good start; for all of us. I’m not a huge fan of shuffling the kids around every other day and I think alternating weeks would be hard on Mr.Brady (I’m not sure he could go 5 days without seeing his kids). And on a more selfish note, I think this gives me a better chance to adjust. That is, adjust to living in a house with 4 other people.

God help me.

There are times when I retreat into the back room – and it’s not because I’m trying to be rude, it’s basically because I can’t handle the “too many cooks in the kitchen” feeling. Especially with a 5 year old who doesn’t listen.

:: sigh :: Can we talk about that for a minute?

Example, I was in the kitchen making dinner and she was walking around all over the place (see diagram). I asked her three times to stop. Finally I said, “Jan, how many times have I asked you to stop running around in the kitchen?", "3 times." "So, why are you ignoring me?”

You know what she did? Giggled.

I took a deep breath and thought to myself, “there is no way she is playing the cute card on me”. I explained to her why it was dangerous – she listened – nodded – and walked out of the room.

:: Exhale ::

Example two, last Friday we all went out for pizza. By the time we had finished, the kids still had full drinks. They piled into the car, all holding their cups. Jan asked if I could put it in the cup holder upfront. Sure. Why not.

10 minutes later.

We park the car and get out. Mr.Brady is unloading some stuff from the back of the car, while I open the front door. Jan comes running up behind me. The conversation goes a little like this:

“Jan, did you grab your cup from the car?”
“No.”
“Ah. I see…well can you go grab it from the front and bring it inside?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I have to do it?”
I nearly choke.
“Because it is your cup. Your drink. Your responsibility. Now go get your cup.”

She pouts, turns around and walks slowly back to the car.

These are only two examples out of a hundred. Call me crazy, internet. Because I may just have been born yesterday, but do all kids act like this? Is it normal for them to be testing the waters so much? Is it because I’m not her bio-parent?

I’m not completely naïve. I didn’t honestly think this would be easy. I wasn’t fantasizing about living in a home with my boyfriend and his three charming, angelic kids. I knew there would be challenges, and I definitely knew there would be a lot of learning. But what’s with all the back talk? And I'm not the only one she does it to.

We don’t believe in spanking, or yelling. But how do I get it across to her that she’s driving me insane!? I've tried the art of explanation. I've tried to explain to her that her actions will affect her relationship with the people around her. Meaning, if she’s cheeky and rude, people won’t want to play with her.

Does that seem weird? Does it work?

Each day I learn something new, and I suppose that’s the point of this blog. To keep a record of what this journey is all about. Until then…I cherish the quiet and peaceful days. Like this one below…taken last Sunday, while canoeing with Mr.Brady on Lake Washington.

ARE YOU CRYING? There's no crying! THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!

We (Mr.Brady and I) were off to a good start. Sure, sometimes caring for the little one is like setting my hair is on fire and trying to put it out with a hammer, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s pretty trivial. I can tell that Mr.Brady has been harboring some guilt – he feels guilty about the divorce, he feels guilty about how sad it makes the kids, he feels guilty that he doesn’t get to see them everyday – but he understand that these feelings are a normal reaction to everything that is going on. It. Will. Get. Better.

Everyday his life is changing. There really is no room for routine – everybody is still settling into this new life. We’ve passed the point of dipping in our toes, but we’re still cradling our arms, cringing as the cold water creeps up our bellies.

Out of everyone, Mr.Brady seems to be handling it the best. Sure, there are things he could be doing better, but he never gets mad, frustrated or angry. That is until….last night.

First, let me introduce this story with a little background about myself. I am from Canada. Contrary to popular belief, I was not raised in an igloo, I don’t eat blubber and I don’t own a dog-sled. I do however love hockey. I understand hockey. I get it. I completely understand why hockey mom & dad’s get up at the butt crack of dawn to drag their kids to early morning practice. There is no shortage of hockey fans in Canada. What we do have a lack of is football fans. Yep. That’s right. Football doesn’t hold a candle to hockey in Canada. In fact, the majority of Canadians (that I know) could care less about the NFL.

I moved here with the understanding that Mr.Brady spends every Saturday afternoon (from September – November), at the high school stadium, watching his 12 year old son play football. It is, without a doubt, a highlight for him. He LOVES watching Greg play. I was quickly intiated into this Saturday tradition. At first I had NO idea what I was watching - after all, I had never been to a football game. Mr.Brady was excited to teach me the game, he'd enthusiastically wave his hand around, pointing to the field, using Greg as an example whenever he could. He once pulled out a pen and began drawing on his pretzel napkin. I looked down and replied, “But what does building a nuclear reactor have to do with football?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Now, the guys at the back of the offensive formation are called backs. So far, so good. Now, the guys in front of the backs (at the front of the formation) are not called fronts or front men. They are linemen, although one of them (the center) is in front of the rest of them, which means they are not really in a line. The most important back is the quarterback. This would imply that he is one of four backs. But there only three, which should make him a thirderback. He often hands the ball to the half back (2/4) who is actually the 2nd of three backs, and should be the twothirdsback. Somehow in all this, logic reasserts itself and the third of three backs (3/3) is a "full" back. Ironically, he is not even 1/3 as important as the quarterback.”

:: blink blink ::

“Now, there are six linemen. The linemen block for the backs. So, they are called blockers, right? No, two of them are called tackles. The rules of the game do not permit the tackles to tackle. If a tackle were to tackle his team would be penalized. Two are guards, although all five linemen guard the quarterback. The center has three players to the left of him and four to the right. This means he is not, in fact, the center but the "slightly left of center".

:: yawn ::

“Having a center implies there are two ends, one on the left and one on the right. But there aren't. There is an end on one end and no end on the other, because there is a flanker there. One is split and one is tight. How he got tight is anyone's guess, since he is actually the last lineman on the right, which ought to make him the right tackle. That is if tackles could tackle, and he can't because he's offensive. Well, not personally, but in a general sense."

You catch my drift, right? My point is…Mr.Brady loves football. Greg seemed pretty excited to play this summer, but his attitude quickly changed after the first practice. He came home saying things like, “The coaches are mean. I can't breath when I run. Why do they make us run so much?”

Mr.Brady would respond with, “You’re just out of shape, keep going to practice and it will get easier”.

This went on for a few weeks - each Monday beginning with Greg’s dread. The coaches approached us and suggested we have him checked out for sport induced asthma. We were skeptical of this theory because Greg has no problem running in basketball, but we took him to the doctor anyway. He was diagnosed with a sinus infection. Doctor prescribed him an inhaler. I am still skeptical.

Anyhow. 2 days ago (Monday) Mr.Brady gets a call at work from Greg. He’s crying and does not want to go to practice. Mrs.Brady gets on the phone and says, “He’s only doing this because you want him to. If he wants to quit, you should let him!”

A few hours later, Mr.Brady picks up Greg from his moms with then intention of taking him to practice – no go. Greg won’t get geared up and he refuses to play.

I have never seen Mr.Brady so upset. He barely says a word all night. Later that night, he asks for my opinion. I take a deep breath and say, “It’s only been 3 weeks of training, he hasn’t even had his first game yet. He’s already made a commitment to this season; if he didn’t want to play he should have expressed that before we signed him up. I would make a compromise, and start with a big one: complete this season, and if he still hates it, he doesn’t have to go back next year. But can quitting be an option? I don’t think we should be sending him the message that when something gets touch, it's OK to quit?”

Mr. Brady nods and says, “Yep. I agree".

The smaller compromise would be to have him attend this week's practice schedule, play one game on Saturday and then decide after that.

It’s a dilemma, internet. We don’t exactly want to force him to play, but is quitting an option?

What a feeling! Keep believing!

I’m not exactly sure when, how or why it happened, but a couple of weeks ago I found myself surrounded by Alex Owens wannabes. Leg warmers, tights, and spandex jumpers are back. I’d prefer to say back-in-black, but NO! Apparently the women at my gym prefer the jumpers that look like Christmas puked all over them. I’m talking, ruby red, porno pink, grassy green, neon-frickin-burn-your-eye-sockets-out yellow, all of which seem to be complimented with glittery patterns and stripes. It's hot. Real hot.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a straight face in a yoga class with 10-12 women who are wearing rainbow legwarmers and headbands?

Oh.my.god.

Stepford is a strange place to live in. But never did I think I would be living in a “city” where 80’s workout fashion was making a come-back.

I asked one of the women in my class why everyone looked as if they were on the set of Jane Fonda's workout. She explained to me that every monday & wednesday after yoga there is an 80’s jazzercise class, in which everyone is expected to wear 80’s workout clothes.

Oh.my.god.

I stayed and watched the next class.

And there they were.

20 women, all maniacs on the floor, and they were definitely dancing like they’ve never danced before.

I was hooked.

I’ve been going for three weeks now and up until today I haven’t really had a chance to rock any 80’s spandex. But tonight that all changes. My gym bag now consists of:

1 pair of black leg warmers
Black jumpers
Grey sweatshirt (cut at the neck, of course).
Black sweatband

So , I'm not as colorful or creative as the other "dancers", but I am still without a doubt eightylicious.

Why I Might Be A Terrible Person (Reason #1)

Reason: Little one was supposed to come over yesterday with her brother and sister - sadly - their mom decided it was OK for her to spend the night at her grandmothers. She decided this without discussing with Mr.Brady (on a night that Mr.Brady is supposed to have the kids).

Mr.Brady was pissed. He went off. I tried to be supportive, but I was secretly thinking to myself, "Hallelujah! A night with just the older kids! How lovely!"

And I'm not going to lie...It WAS lovely. We went swimming, played some games, relaxed, and laughed!!! Not one single fake crying, screaming, hitting, yelling, whining moment all night. Thhhhank yoooou, BioMom!

I.suck.I.Know.

...just saying...

The first rule of StepMom Club is - you do not talk about StepMom Club

First off, let me say THANK YOU to all you lovely ladies (and man) who commented on my last post. Words cannot express how much I appreciate it – it’s the kind of support that really makes me feel less alone, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Second…I’m going to give a shout out to Izzy over at stepmothersmilk.com , because it was her most recent post that inspired me to write this one. Not that this post is a mind blowing piece of literature, but it’s certainly something I need to think about.

The House Rules.

After the whole pool incident, I had a lengthy chat with Mr.Brady about the youngest one’s behavior, and how I’m not sure I can live in a house where fake crying, yelling, hitting and bad words reside. I took all of your advice, and talked to him about everything. I explained that I don’t want to come across as the evil girlfriend who won’t tolerate anything but best behavior, but I do need a balance.

And I finally admitted to myself that most of my “issues” revolve around the youngest. The older two (11 & 12) are great, they are easy to talk to and rarely ever give me reason to run and hide in a different room. The youngest is a menace. Like I mentioned in my last post, she is the baby of the family and she knows it. Not a day goes by where she isn't crying, whinning or yelling about something.

The other day, while her dad was out, I witnessed her hit her sister. I asked her to come over to me. She began to tell me why she hit her sister. I let her vent and then calmly said, “In my home, which is also your home, there is NO hitting. I will not tolerate any hitting from anyone. It is disrespectful, and a very mean thing to do. Your sister and brother do not hit you, and I expect the same from you. Do you understand?”

She stared at me, gave me a confused expression, turned and walked away. Her older sister called after her, “Walking away from someone when they’re talking to you is rude, Jan!”

I’m chopping the confused expression up to…well…just that…confusion. After all, it was the first time that I have ever pulled her aside. It was the first time that I did it, instead of letting Mr.Brady do it. It was the first time that I’ve ever put my foot down.

I let her walk away, and think about what had just happened. An hour later, she came out of the backroom and helped me make sushi.

Now the hard part seems to be enforcing rules. I don’t like idea of having to remind her of my rules right after she’s broken one of them - that doesn’t seem fair.

Here’s where Izzy comes in.

I love that Izzy has the house rules on her fridge. And the more I think about it, the more I think I need to adopt my own list. I ran the idea by Mr.Brady and he said, “Too bad Jan can’t read. But sure, post them up”.

I don’t want it to be too lengthy, or too short. So I’ll start with what’s most important to me.

We always…

Take our shoes off at the door

Put our dirty clothes in the hamper.

Rinse our dishes and put them in the dishwasher

Say please & thank you

Put away our toys when we’re finished

Knock on closed doors

We never…

Say bad words

Hit each other


Do any of you ladies have House Rules? If so, what’s on your list?

Swimming Lessons

Let me first put a huge disclaimer on this blog entry.

I don’t feel like editing today.

Today I am purely spouting verbal diarrhea.

Amd with that, I shall begin. Mr.Brady and I spent Saturday afternoon at the pool with the kids - it was, for lack of a better word, an interesting two hours.

It started off well. We collected the kids’ towel and bathing suits, put two coats of sunblock on them, searched high and low for ALL the pool toys and then (finally) proceeded to walk the 20 feet to the complex pool.

First Hour.

It was all smiles, giggles and laughs – everyone was having a grand ol’ time, and then Marcia (age 11) asks me, “Alice, do you think you’ll ever go back to Canada to live?”

My immediate internal reaction was, “OH MY GOD, she hates me and wants me to move away!” Thoughts poured into my head, scenarios, “what ifs”, you name it! In the 5 seconds it took me to process her question, I must have come up with a million, very negative reasons as to why she may have asked that.

I swallowed hard and replied, “I’m not sure. Maybe one day.”

She smiled and said, “Oh ok. Do you want to jump into the deep end with me?”

I looked over at Mr.Brady. He shrugged.

After much more thought and consideration, I have come to the following three conclusions.

1) She asked because she wants to know if I’m here to stay, or if this is just a temporary arrangement.
2) She is worried I am going to move back to Canada and take Mr.Brady with me.
3) There is no deeper reason other than she just wants to know if I ever plan on moving back to the great white north.

I know I can’t let things like this stress me out, but holy-moly do they ever.

Second Hour.

Jan (age 5) is a cute kid. Let there be no mistake. The problem is, she knows it. And trust me, she uses it to her every advantage. Like I’ve said many times, I grew up as an only child, so I’m not entirely familiar with “the oldest”, “middle child”, “baby” dynamics of siblings. My mother, bless her heart, has tried to educate me in the way of siblings (she comes from a family of 4 siblings), but nothing beats experience, and I just .cant. seem. to. get. it.

I feel like Mugatu in Zoolander.

“The man has only one look, for Christ's sake! Blue Steel? Ferrari? Le Tigra? They're the same face! Doesn't anybody notice this? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!”

Except mine goes like this:

“She has you all wrapped around her little finger!! Doesn’t anybody notice this? I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!”

Case in point. Jan seems to cry/whine at the drop of a hat.
- Her dad gives her a sister a shoulder ride instead of her = she cries.
- Somebody picks up a toy and she notices; she suddenly wants it = she cries.
- I get out of the water and tell her I’m going to rest for a bit = she whines.
- Her dad gets out of the water and tells her he’s going to rest, she replied with, “then come in when you’re done resting”, he replies, “We’ll see”, she replies with a screeching, “NOOOoooooO!” and proceeds to…yep, you guessed it…cry.

I’m not kidding here, people. She was screaming, screeching, crying, and whining like nothing I’ve ever heard before. And I know it can’t be “real” crying, because when she DOES get what she wants, she’s all smiles and laughs.

I lean over and quietly say, “Are you really going to let her get away with that behavior?”

He replies, “Well, what do you want me to do, put my hand over her mouth and force her to stop?”

I am appalled. He can’t be serious. Can he? I mean, for all the times he’s said to me, “you’ll understand when you’re a parent’, I would THINK that he’d be able to figure that one out. I take a deep breath and go back to tanning.

30 seconds later…

“Greeeeggggg! NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Jan is now yelling at her older brother because he is playing with one of the toys. Mr.Brady does nothing. I pick up my towel and say, “…and with that…I’m going back to the condo.”

“Can’t take anymore of Jan screaming?” he asks.

“That. I also can’t take anymore of you letting her get away with it.”

“What am I supposed to do? Tell me!” He asks, quite sincerely.

“What every other parent in the world does, Mr.Brady.”

“And that would be?”

“Ask her calmly to get out of the water so that you may speak to her; explain to her why screaming, hitting and yelling is not acceptable behavior. Give her one more chance. If she does it again, playtime is over and its time to go home.”

I walk away.

10 minutes later, Mr.Brady and kids come trucking back into the condo. Jan comes up to me, crying. She waits for me to look up. I ask, “Why are you crying, Jan?”

She replies, “Dad said that the next two times everybody goes to the pool, I can’t go.”

…I am not sure what to make of this.

I am curious if he’ll actually go through with the punishment. I also feel bad.

Like I’ve said many times, these aren’t my biological kids, so I feel like I don’t have a right to say anything.

I know I do. I know. This is my home too – I have a right to voice my opinion, but it goes back to Marcia’s question about me moving back to Canada. I don’t want them to hate me.

Do you ever have those days where you feel like you just can’t win? I don’t have the luxury of knowing that they’ll always love me. I don’t have the child/parent bond – and yet, I feel like if I don’t take that risk from time to time…I’ll never earn their respect.

I promise I'll try not to bitch too much in the posts to come - but give me time, internet - this is all VERY new to me.

Just smile and nod....smile and nod...

I’d like to consider myself an open minded woman. It isn’t that often that you will hear me say out loud, “Oh my god. That is so inappropriate. What the hell are they thinking?”

Tonight, however, was one of those moments.

You may have noticed the picture in this post. The lovely picture of the belly baring woman who, I am sure, is a beautiful and talented belly dancer. Now, I can’t see her face, but I’m pretty sure that this woman is older than 5. Would you agree?

Now why would I say something so ridiculous? Here’s why.

Mrs.Brady has been taking belly dancing classes for the past year and a half. A couple of classes into it, Mrs. Brady asked Marcia if she would be interested in learning how to belly dance. There was no objection from Mr.Brady. My first reaction went a little something like this,

“She takes WHAT kind of dance??”

I kept this to myself, of course. I discussed this with a friend, who pointed me towards this link:

www.shira.net/dearshira/girlsdancing.htm

It cleared up a lot of misconceptions I may have had about young girls taking belly dancing classes. But it still never really sat well with me - there are just too many perverts out there. Suffice to say, I let it go. Marcia isn’t my daughter and I certainly am not going to throw in my two cents if both Mr & Mrs Brady are in agreement that this is an appropriate activity for Marcia to be doing.

Fast forward a year later and the fit hit the shan (at least in my head). Mr.Brady calls me and says, “Greg will be over tonight at 6:30pm”.

“Ok, great. What about Jan?”

“Jan is going to dance with Mrs.Brady and Marcia.”

“To watch?”

“No, she’s going to dance.”

:: crickets crickets ::

So here’s the thing. I am not a parental. I am not yet a step-mom. I am simply the girlfriend. I don’t want to stir up an argument by voicing my opinion on the matter. They are, after all, not my bio-kids. I don’t really feel it is my place to be giving parenting advice to two people who have 3 kids. But – come on!! Taking a 5 year old to a belly dancing class? I really don’t want to see her practicing belly rolls, chest thrusts and hip gyrations. Would you? Or am I being WAY too paranoid and close minded. To be completely honest, I’m a little confused as to how Mr.Brady is OK with this. My first thought is, he doesn’t want to get into a fight with Mrs.Brady, so he doesn’t object. But still…these are his little girls!! Would it kill Mrs.Brady to wait until they are at least 16 (maybe older?).

Call me old fashion, but I can’t help but feel protective. I can’t help but feel “icky” about the whole thing.

Am I doing the right thing by not getting involved – or should I risk an argument and voice my concerns?

And please, by all means, if you disagree with me - I welcome your comments and opinions.

Warning: White Trash in Stepford

The car door has been fixed. Sorta. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, refer to this post click here.

I say “sorta” because although my door now opens and closes – it does not match the rest of my car. The important thing here is that my door works, right? I refuse to buy a brand new door (a new one costs more than my car is worth), and I absolutely refuse to buy a new car (this was suggested by a few people after they saw the state of my current car).

Now, before I go on let me explain something to you; I was born, raised and lived (up until 1 month ago) in the heart of the city. I am a city girl. I am completely at home in the city and can fall asleep comfortably to the sounds of cars, sirens and airplanes. For my entire life, my home has been the asphalt jungle. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy nature – I love camping, scuba diving and hiking – BUT – my home has always come with the comfort of knowing that my local convenience store, Safeway, and bar would be open until (at least) 2am.

I now live, in what I lovingly call “Stepford”. I have never been surrounded by so many houses with yards and swing sets in my life! I realize this isn’t a bad thing – but the effort and care these neighbors of mine put into their homes is mind boggling! Where do they find the time? I won't lie to you, I'm stoked if I can remember to take out the trash on garbage day.

And I swear – I saw a woman grocery shopping in a classy black pair of Jimmy Choo’s. I WISH I was kidding.

I was rolling out the recycling box yesterday when my friendly neighbor came running over and greeted me (more like scared the shit out of me – where I come from, you just look down and keep on walking…rarely does anyone go out of their way to say hello) with a chipper,

“Goodmorning, Alice. How are you today? Say, are you going to the Stepford town hall discussion regarding the new playground design for the lake?”

I stared. Blankly.

I finally managed to mutter something that sounded like, “Umm….I like lakes.” Stupid response, I know. Luckily, being the overly friendly neighbor that she is, she simply smiled and said, “We all do! Which is why this playground is so important. I hope you can make it!”

So basically, this town is small enough that NOT attending a town hall discussion means that I don't care about the lake or its new park.

With all that being said, let's get back to my door. I drove home the other day in my white (with brown door) car, and received some of the most interesting looks I have ever seen. It's like I busted the Stepfords! It was if they were pretending not to notice, yet completely disgusted.

I think I have offended the Stepford folks with my brown door.

I'm pretty sure that if I park in the driveway we are going to receive a letter about how we've lowered their property value.

I am trying not to be too judgemental here - but this is all very very new to me, and at times can feel a little lonely. Maybe the folks of Stepford really ARE this happy. Make they aren't all fake. Maybe I'm being too jaded. Maybe they could care less about my brown door.

Maybe. But I don't think so.

Regardless, it's entertaining.

Like Jonah and the whale, I’m going in…

How important is it to have a schedule? I’ve been told (and I’ve read) that once kids are added to your “life’s equation”, any sort of routine or schedule that your previously had (in your single life) gets thrown to the wind.

Is this true? And does it apply to me? Me, who is not yet married? Me, who is not yet a step-mom. Me, who has based her entire career on scheduling and task planning. Me, who moved her entire life, so that she could be with her partner and his kids.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say, yes. I'll be honest, I haven’t entirely decided how I feel about this.

Example. Summer is a busy time for everybody. Mr.Brady works full time, I work full time from home, and the kids have nothing to do but be kids. Their mother’s home is their primary residence, meaning Mr.Brady pays child support and the kids spend most nights at her place. This isn’t to say that the children aren’t welcome here anytime they want. If they want to stay over, swim in the pool, play on one of the game consoles…they are always welcome. This, after all, is their home too. But it’s not their primary home, so the thought of them coming and going as they please, makes me feel like my home is more of drop-in club houses.

Is it wrong of me to expect some sort of schedule. To know when they are staying over? To know when we need to prepare a dinner for 5, rather than 2?

Like I’ve mentioned before, I was an only child who grew up in a single-mother home, living with 3 kids is not something I’ve been groomed to greet gracefully - but hey! - I chose this life, so I fully expect to make like a stick of bamboo, and bend when I need to. I am not complaining. What I am trying to do, is understand my boundaries.

Mr.Brady’s biggest issue with a “schedule”, is precisely what I mentioned before. He doesn’t want them to feel like they aren’t welcome at certain times of the week. But the whole “come on by whenever you want”, doesn’t really fly with me either.

If we were their primary caregivers, I would at least know (and expect) them home everynight. Since we are not, I never know when they’ll be over. This makes scheduling a challenge.

The bottom line is I’ve committed to this relationship (the one with him and his kids), and I don’t want to step on any toes, but how do I tell him, without sounding like the evil stepmother, that I don’t like not knowing when they’ll be over.

Am I way out of line, internet?

You're too hot for us!!

The title isn't what you think. Although my boyfriend's little 5 year old informed me tonight that I am "too hot for us", it wasn't about my irresistible charm and good looks. No. It was in reference to my chili.

Apparently children prefer the super mono-saturated flavors of cheese, cream and/or potatoes. They do not enjoy the following spices...

Cumin
Oregano
Garlic Powder
Cayenne
and chili Powder

So, while Mr.Brady and I enjoy my home-made chili, the children will be eating a nice bowl of 4 cheese raviolli.

Can anyone recommend any kid friend meals?

Ants in yer pants...

Well, now I know why the garage door attacked my car. It’s so simple, really. I killed an ant colony, and now the universe is giving me a dose of karma cough syrup. I feel horrible about the whole thing. Do I regret killing the ants? Maybe not. But what if I hadn’t? Would I still have a car door?

Here’s how it happened.

Last week we noticed an abundance of teeny-tiny critters crawling around the bathroom floor. Upon further investigation, it became painfully obvious that we had an ant problem. They were wiggling their way out of a hole between the bathroom tub and the wall, and although they proved to be extremely entertaining whilst sitting on the john, I couldn’t help but be grossed out. I mean, our bed is only 15 feet away; how many ants have we shared a bed with in the last week? Or worse, what if they crawled into my ears, mouth, or nose? If they had built themselves a nice big anthill in the backyard, I would happily leave them alone. But my bathroom?

So, I went to Ace hardware and bought an ant trap. I placed it at the entrance of their bathroom palace, and waited.

And waited. (Yes, I actually sat down and waited to see what would happen - am I sadistic?).

Finally, a little ant came crawling out. He stopped short and stared at, what I imagine would seem like a mammoth cornucopia. I was careful not to move or make a peep. Was this a standoff? He suddenly turned around and scurried back into the ant hole. I figured the ant trap had failed.

But no! Seconds later, 10 little scout ants exited the hole and made their way into the ant trap. It was amazing! Within minutes, the entire ant trap was swarming with ants, food on their backs, taking it back for the rest of the colony to feast. I have to admit, I felt like an ant bully. It was pretty evil what I was doing. Tricking those poor buggers into some good eats.

As of the yesterday there has been no sign of the bathroom-ants. I killed them. But not without a price; they took with them my car door, and karma came around and kicked me in the ass, but there was a lesson in all of this: Next time we have a pest problem, leave it to Mr.Brady to take care of.

Hello?? McFly!!!

I have never wanted a time machine more than I do right now. If bad things happen in 3’s, then I am currently on #2 (the first being Mr.Brady’s “unavoidable” encounter with a soccer ball). I left the house yesterday to meet Mr.Brady at his place of employment; we were planning on doing some evening shopping for Marcia’s birthday, which is today.

Happy Birthday, Marcia!

Let me start this by saying, we only have one garage door opener. Mr.Brady keeps it in his car; he drives more often, so we figured it would be best to keep it in the PT cruiser. That being said, things can get a bit tricky if it’s me parked in the garage - with no garage door opener, I have to make like FloJo, and hurdle over the “garage eye”. If I cross the eye’s path, the door will stop dead in it's tracks, and begin to retract. It’s a vicious cycle, but it's the sacrifice one has to make, if one wants to park in the garage.

Where does the time machine come into play? Well…I was in a bit of a rush yesterday, and knowing full well that I’d have to back my car out of the garage, jump out, hit the garage door button and then leap over the eye - I kinda...sorta...fully forgot to close my door.

Yep. I FORGOT to close the door. It was only slightly ajar, so perhaps my feeble mind made the assumption that all was secure. Nope. Nada. Nilch.

I didn’t notice it was open until I heard the….CRUNCH!

I immediately pulled forward, parked, turned off the engine, and proceeded to yell out something rhyming with the following sentence: Oh for duck’s sake, dog darn mother ducker!

I inspect the damage. It’s bad. Real bad. The impact squeezed the door inwards, causing it to crush along the top. I can’t, for the life of me, close my dog darn door.

I wasn’t even going that fast! How did this happen?

I ventured my way through Mr.Brady’s tool box and found a hammer.

Hammer good. Jane beat door with hammer.

Apparently the hammer is over-rated. No use. I couldn’t bend the steel back into place. What!! So I thought I could!! It was worth a shot, no?

Boy, what a stupid mistake! I wanted so badly to go back in time 10 seconds, cause really, that’s all I would need. 10 seconds to close the dog darn door!

I call Mr.Brady and tell him what happened. He says he'll be back soon. I sit. I stare at the broken door. I have no idea what to do. But, I DO know that we have 10 overipe banana's sitting in the freezer. So, I make banana bread.

60 minutes later, my bread is cooling on the counter...check it out!

Mr.Brady comes home and gives me the, "Wow...how did you manage to do that?" look. I sigh. He comes over and gives me a hug and says, "I'm sorry this happened to your car. We'll find a replacement door somehow."

Even though my poor little car is broken and has been beaten with a hammer...I find his word soothing, and am reminded of what a great man I've landed.

...that being said...if anyone has a time machine they wanna loan me...

Man Down! Man Down!

“Some people think soccer is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it's much more serious than that.” - Bill Shankly

Well, Mr.Brady landed himself a visit in the ER last night. Before y’all start to panic, let me assure you that he is a-o-k. It all started at 7:30pm last night, whilst driving down I-5; I received a text message that read the following.

In the ER. Head laceration.

Right. Ok. So there’s nothing I can really do about this except drop a few more dilithium crystals in the warp drive of my firefly, put the petal to the metal and get my ass to the hospital. However, since Washington state seems to have a lack of dilithium mines, and I’m seriously to cheap to pay a $150 speeding ticket, I decided, instead, to text him back.

Me: Are you OK? Is it serious?

Him: 9 stitches. I’ll be fine.

After the longest hour ever - I arrive at my new home and bust through the doors, in such heroic fashion, that even Adam West & Burt Ward would breath a sigh of relief to see me enter. Poor guy’s head is wrapped up in white gauze, which kind of makes him look like Ralph Macchio in the Karate Kid. His forehead is puffy and the laceration runs down between his eyes - it looks painful!

How did this happen? Soccer game. He played in his third match of the season last night, and prior to game one, he hadn’t played (let along kicked) a soccer ball since grade 4. I’m not sure who evoked the Ronaldhinho Gaucho in him, but suddenly he seemed to think that he could gain possession of the ball by heading it away from another player. Sadly (and not surprisingly), he missed the ball completely and instead, headed the other player. Ouch.

Suffice to say, my first night of officially living in the burbs proved to be more interesting than I thought. We’ll see what today brings.

Forecast: Grocery shopping with the stepford wives.

Seattle or Bust...

Before I invite you take this journey with me, I feel it’s only appropriate that I offer some background information. I will now introduce the cast...

Alice Nelson – me
Mr. Brady – My boyfriend
Mrs. Brady – His ex-wife
Greg – His eldest son
Marcia – His eldest daughter
Jan – His youngest daughter

Mr. & Mrs. Brady were married in the early 90’s – and as of today, would have been married for nearly 15 years. They split up. Obviously. They actually get alone quite well – when they aren’t around each other. Mrs. Brady is a very nice lady, and I honestly can’t complain about my relationship with her. She has always been pleasant and sincere to me. If this is a façade, she is a very good actor. I don’t really know much about her, in terms of being a mother. This year has been a busy one, and between school and work, she hasn’t been around much. What she was like before I met her – I have no idea. Mrs. Brady is 10 years my senior, and is currently dating a man 16 years her junior (you keeping up?) Mr. Brady is 12.5 years my senior and is dating me.

I met Mr. Brady last summer (June 2006) at an industry conference. We fell in love immediately. We haven’t spent a weekend apart since. Nevertheless, it’s been a turbulent year. The actual distance was one thing - his long distance availability was far worse. For the first 6 months, we barely spoke during the week. Text messages and msn conversations, lots! But no phone conversations. I put my foot down and said, “I am not your weekend girlfriend”, he immediately put in the effort. We have since spoken everyday, and I’d say our communication skills are pretty damn strong. There really isn’t anything I can’t say to him. (This is so not true, but I figure if I keep saying it, pretty soon we will get to the point where we can be fully-completely open with each other).

He has three great kids! Greg is 12, Marcia is 10 and Jan is 5. I am slowly beginning to understand them. I am also slowly beginning to understand the way siblings function. Myself, I am an only child, raised in a single-mother home. Attention, peace and quiet weren’t hard to come by. You can imagine how frightened I was the first time one of them walked in on me sitting on the toilet. I mean, who locks the washroom doors in their house? Pfftt….

I do…now.

The range of emotions I feel when I’m around them can catapult between joy to jealousy in mere seconds. I look forward to discussing these issues on this blog. I really look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matter, AND if possible, your experiences.

So there you have it…some background on the Brady family. You’ll learn more as I go along. You’ll probably learn way more than you wanted. Or maybe you won’t – because I am the only one reading this.

Regardless, I leave for Seattle in 4 hours. Wish me luck.

The calm before the storm...

Is my title too cliché? Perhaps. But that is exactly how I feel. Today is the day before I embark on a new chapter in my life. Tomorrow is my last day at work. My last day living in Vancouver. And my first official night living in small town Washington, USA. Tomorrow, I leave behind everything I have known for 27 years.

Tomorrow, I move to the burbs.

I can't really begin to explain how this feels. I'm guessing it hasn't really sunk in that I am, in a sense, exchanging my fabulous single life in Vancouver, BC, to be with my boyfriend of 1 year. We are moving in together. "We", can be considered a loose term on this site. For example, when most new couples refer to "we", they are usually pointing the finger at themselves and their partner. When I say "we", I will (from this point on) be referring to myself, my partner and his 3 kids. It's at this point that I usually receive the "woah....that's crazy talk, girl!" look. Believe me. I know. I wake up in the morning, mozy on over to my bathroom mirror and mumble those exact words to myself.

The truth is, I am scared shitless. No exaggeration. I have no idea what to expect. For the past year we have been commuting back and forth on weekends to see each other. With a 5 day break between visits, we managed to keep the "honeymoon" stage alive for quite awhile. We're still there. But now this...now I'm moving, and will be with him nearly every day.

The kid's primary residence is with their mother, but who knows what that means. I get the feeling that they will be over at our place a lot. And you know what? I have no problem with that. But I do forsee some (ok, a lot) of challenges that will be coming my way. I already have a list of questions that I'm asking myself constantly.

1) Are you on crack?
2) How are you going to find time to develop a relationship with a man who has 3 kids?
3) Are you going to be able to cope with his kids and his ex-wife?
4) You grew up as an only child...are you ready to be hit the ground running - living in a home with 4 other people?

I decided to start a blog so that I could keep a diary of my, in-progress, answers to these questions. I welcome comments, emails, and suggestions. It helps to know I am not alone in this. Hell, it helps to just be heard.

So here it is.

The beginning.