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?