Life Wife

I’ve been thinking a lot about being a “second wife.”  Personally, I really don’t view myself in this manner.  I like to think of myself as a “life wife.”  After all, we are in this thing together for life.

Eliza used to remind me that she was married to him first as if that made her the winner of some contest that I didn’t know I had entered.  I have no idea why, as I have never had a problem acknowledging that fact that she is his former spouse.

At the inception of our relationship, she had attempted to get me fired from my job several times.  Once she went as far as going down to the superintendent’s office to air her grievances.   When Eliza soon realized that the school administration would not get involved in her personal vendetta against me she grew irate. My boss finally cautioned Eliza that she was trespassing on school grounds.  She also advised her to leave us alone and move on with her life.  She responded that my husband would never really belong to me because she had him first!  I was truly astonished by her immaturity.

I don’t see the glory in being involved in a failed marriage.  True, it is a fact of life but not much to brag about.  The best thing that came out of that particular union are the kids.  That’s it.

At the last court date, Eliza must have gotten tired of hearing the judge refer to me as “his wife.”  She quickly switched from calling him by his first name to “my ex-husband.”  Well, your Honor, my exhusband…My ex-husband said…When my exhusband…I asked my exhusband…we both found this peculiar considering how much she detests him.  Why would she want to lay any kind of claim to him–past or present?    This was my first time hearing her use the term.  Again, she simply threw it about as a reminder to everyone that she was “The First.”  But I think she failed to take into account that the husband she had is not the one I have.  It is afterall, his second time around.  His experience with her has helped him be a better husband to me. 

In our society we are consumed with being number one.  Everyone remembers the first man to walk on the moon, as well as we know that Martha Washington was the first First lady.  Don’t forget that must people want to fly first class.  We live for firsts because we are such a competitive society that second place just won’t do.  I mean look at the world of sports today. It’s only about the title.  But I can say that this is one situation in which being second is the best.

Eliza the Stepmom

Sometimes I think about the fact that Eliza is a stepmom just like me.  So I wonder why she is so difficult to deal with? It seems that she would be much more understanding of my role considering that she knows what it is like.

Her husband, whom she married in 2005, has three children.  The youngest one is currently three-years-old.  I know Eliza had a lot of problems interacting with his youngest son’s mom as well as his daughter’s mother.  His oldest son lived with them for a few months because his mom was in jail.  He  called Eliza “mommy.” 

Ethan and Evan did not seem to like their stepbrother much, Ethan more so than Evan.  I think Evan was being a follower.  Ethan did not like the fact that he called Eliza “mommy.”  Ethan is very jealous and territorial of her.  They also mentioned that Eliza thought he was “bad” and was allowed to discipline him.

Knowing how Eliza always wanted a girl, I think she was pretty nice to her stepdaughter who was six-years-old at the time.

Shortly thereafter, it was discovered that her nine-year-old stepson was molesting the boys.  I can only imagine how she must have felt as a mom.  I do empathize with the fact that she was in a delicate position.  I was concerned about my stepsons and also felt sorry for the child because he was a victim himself a year prior.

We happened to find out about the situation two months later through a third party.  We confirmed the story with CPS and after a few weeks we received temporary custody.  Eliza was furious! 

While in our care she wrote the boys a letter telling them that her stepson would never be allowed in their lives again.  However, she and her husband married six weeks after the boys were placed back in her care.

Eliza shared her perspective of this event with me the last time I visited her alone.  She confessed that she knew it was wrong to hate a child but she couldn’t stop from doing so.  She acknowledged that he even apologized to her saying Mommy, mommy, I’m so sorry!  I already knew that he called her “mommy,” but I was surprised to hear her admit it.  Eliza would not allow the boys to acknowledge that I was married to their dad.  Even after the fact she had them refer to me as “Daddy’s girlfriend.”

She was so adamant that her boys not call me anything other than Morocco.  I thought it was pretty hypocritical of her.  Eliza even went as far as lecturing Evan about never referring to me as this.  She warned, You only have one Mommy.  Don’t ever call anyone but me Mommy.  She many left voicemails that always began with This is Ethan and Evan’s Mommy, with a heavy emphasis on the M-word.

I took the opportunity to reply, so he called you Mommy?!”  She knew the question was loaded and read between the lines. She replied halfheartedly Yes, but that’s because I’ve known him for a long time.  Funny, but she’s known him the same length of time that I have known her boys.

The boys revealed that their stepbrother spent the night with them once briefly after the case.  During this time Eliza did not speak to him and made him wait on the porch while she argued with his dad about him. When she fixed dinner that night she did not fix his plate, her husband had to do it. Ethan was proud to tell this story.  He saw it as Eliza standing up for them.

I am really not surprised at the kind of stepmom she is.  Eliza has so many insecurity issues that she views almost everyone as being a threat to her in some form or fashion.  Her other son has a stepmom, too.  I’ve heard that she has no problems with this stepmom.  But that stems from the fact that she is the puppet master controlling her other son’s father.  Eliza was also still involved with him during their relationship.  It’s really crazy that his wife is okay (I am assuming that she is) with this behavior.  There are three people in that relationship–and Eliza is one of them.

Compared to the other stepmom in her life, I’d bet she thinks that I don’t “know my place.”  I see it differently–I just refuse to let her run my household.

We have both struggled in our walks as stepmoms.  I think this would be a powerful way to learn from each other and offer support.  Unfortunately, she is not thinking what I am thinking.

My Names

Nicholas usually calls me Mom.  Sometimes he calls me Mama or Mommy. 

Mom reminds me that he is growing up.

I love it best when he calls me Mommy.  It makes me reminisce about his baby days.  But it is equally sweet when he calls me Mama.  I picture myself as a Mama bear, and he of course, is my little cub. 

He has created nicknames for me–“Mother-of-Pearl” and “Mutter” (mother in German).  Lately he has been calling me “Mother Goose” and “Mama Mia.”

Jazmine calls me “Mymom.”  She oftens hears Nicholas referring to me in this manner.

To my husband I am “Baby” or “Boobie” and sometimes “Moroccan.”

Evan and Ethan know me simply as Morocco.  But on occassion, Evan has called me Mommy, Mom, and/or Stepmama.

Which do you prefer?  Do your children have any pet names for you?

Meet Christine!

BM has a name and it is Christine.  From now on I will use her name in my posts.  Using her name gives her an identity instead of referring to her as BM.  (See I am growing!!!)  Here are a few things I know about her.

Christine is 40 years old (six years older than me).  She has two chilrdren, Kierra and an older daughter from another relationship.

Christine and my husband were never married.

Christine has a pretty good job and has been there for over 18 years. 

Christine has a two year degree in business. 

Christine likes to read.  (I too love to read)

I just found out that Christine likes doing Sudoku puzzles.  (Also one of my favorite things to do.  I like doing the puzzles so much that Husband purchased a Sudoku game for my PSP.)

Christine likes to shop on Ebay.

I hear  that Christine has a nice personality.

On occasion she has been pleasant towards me: 

 She has sent me cards when I was in the hospital. 

She has given me a Christmas gift, twice.  (I have given her a Christmas gift twice).

She has sent me a Happy Mother’s Day text once.  (I didn’t see that one coming!)

She has sent a Thank You card when I sent her a Mother’s Day package  (a book, some aromatherapy candles, a spiritual bookmark, and a card).

Christine speaks on occasion when we see her at Kierra’s school functions (most times she doesn’t).

These are only a few things about Christine.

Behind the Name

In my Etymology class the kids are currently working on a project regarding the history of names.  They started by finding the meaning of their own names.  I knew already that I share my name with a country in Africa.  But I didn’t know that it is also defined as “a fine, pebble-grained leather made from goatskin tanned with sumac!”

Now I don’t know about the goatskin leather part, but I like that Morocco is described as a beautiful kingdom!

I began to do a little research of my own as I entered various names of people I know into the database.  Eliza was one of them.  Her name in Arabic means “light.”  In Greek it means  “pity.”  

The students had to select five friends and/or family names to research.  Part of the assignement was to determine if the name fitted the  person by including a paragraph containing examples supporting their claims.

Eliza 

Eliza’s name is fairly appropriate.  I find that she does have some “light” in her.  I see her “light” when she faithfully writes her children every week.  She is “light” when she smiles.  Being of help to others is another way that she displays the meaning of her name.  She helped raise her brother’s daughter when her assistance was needed.  Eliza’s “light” shines when she walks with God and tries to find her way through life. 

The other meaning fits as well.  She is a pitiful being–one evoking sympathy.  Even though I am often overwhelmingly angry at her; it is tempered with much compassion.  She has experienced a hard, tragic life.  Eliza’s innocence was stolen and she was forced to grow up too soon. I too pity her because she has yet to realize that she has the power to overcome her past. 

Does your name fit you?

Mommy

Last night an employee from the residential treatment hospital called because Evan wanted to speak with us.  I held the line waiting for the call to be transferred to him.  When Everett told him I was on the line, with excitement in his voice he sang “Mommy!”  I was shocked.  He has never called me this before.  When he got on the phone I asked him what he had said.  He said “Everett told me you were on the phone and I said Mommy.”  So I hadn’t misheard him.  I quickly changed the subject because I was a bit uncomfortable.  I started feeling guilty like I was betraying Eliza in some way.

 

I knew that Eliza would not like him calling me this.  I can’t say that I blame her.  During our conversation I let him know that his mom loved him and asked if he wanted me to relay any messages to her.  He wanted me to tell her that he loved and missed her.  He also asked how she was doing and I assured him that she was fine.

 

Even though I did not initiate the term of endearment, she would never believe it.  She would assume that I told him or better yet, made him call me mommy.  Though I really think it was a fluke or a slip of the tongue on his part.  However, last year in a fit of emotion he did tell me that he wished I could be his mom.  Evan is just so needy right now.  He needs a mother.  I guess I am the next best thing since Eliza is not available.

What’s In a Name?

            Ommy—a strange word I know.  In case any of you readers are wondering, this is not what my step sons call me.  They call me Morocco, as I believe they should.  Actually Ommy is how I think of myself.  I am not their Mommy, but for all practical purposes, I am their “other” mommy.  In the wake of her absence I am the one who prepares meals, does laundry, signs permission slips, attend parent conferences, helps with homework, mediate arguments, prepare snacks, dispense medicine, buy gifts, host parties, arrange outings, plan vacations, assign chores, chastise, share stories, and all of the other chores that mommies do that I am probably forgetting. 

            Occasionally I fantasize about them calling me something other than my first name.  I’ve pondered the possibilities and decided Ms. Morocco is too stiff and formal, Mo too casual, Rocco too boyish Mom—to untrue, but Ommy sounds just right.  But most of the time I have no qualms about them addressing me as Morocco. It makes me feel proud when the little one, Evan, introduces me to others as his mom.  Although his teacher and the rest of the school staff know that technically I am just his step mom, they always refer to me as Evan’s mom.   I know that I will have this job for many years to come.

I use to feel obligated to correct strangers when they automatically assumed that I was Mom.  I did this out of deference to their Mom.  Plus, I didn’t want to offend my twelve-year-old step son because he is a Momma’s boy.  Simply put I didn’t want him to think that I was trying to take her place.  And if I didn’t correct people, I felt fraudulent.   It was like I was masquerading around in a “Mommy” costume.

 But after awhile, I stopped.  It became too tiresome to notify every stranger that we came into contact with.  I was constantly saying, actually I’m not their Mom, I’m their Step Mom.  My husband was the one who reminded me that it was okay to take some credit.  In his eyes I had earned it.