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The word alone brings shivers to my spine: stepmother. Being a child of Disney movies, the ultimate stepmother was Cinderella’s dear Mommy, and I didn’t want to be linked to her in any way, shape or form. She was mean, cold, unforgiving and selfish. She treated Cinderella like a third-class citizen. All stepmothers who came after her are still having a hard time erasing her bad name! I swore I would never be in her league.
I love my stepson with all my heart. I don’t even refer to him as a ’step’ except when required. To me, he is simply my child, just the same as the daughter I carried in my tummy. Unfortunately, stepchildren, like any children, get in trouble, and when stepmom has to step in to set things right, the ‘wicked’ hat is tossed on her!
While my husband and I were still dating, I wore the hat twice. The first time was a test; my husband had to work, and his son and I had the day off from school. “Of course I’ll watch him,” I said. I was excited to take him to the movies, the park, and out for ice cream. I couldn’t wait. Anyway, he was only five years old. How bad could it be?
I took him to the movies. For the life of me, I can’t remember which movie, but I can remember exactly where we parked in the parking lot. That’s because the parking lot was the source of our troubles. Before the movie, he refused to hold my hand. I insisted, because he was running around in the parking lot, splashing in puddles, paying no mind to oncoming traffic. One chance was all he got where safety was concerned!
After the movie, it was more of the same. I gave the ultimatum: hold my hand or we’re going home and skipping ice cream. So much for ice cream! The problem compounded with a bloodcurdling tantrum all the way home and into the late afternoon. By the time my then boyfriend came home, his son was red-faced and sitting on the edge of his bed in Time Out. Mean Daddy’s girlfriend!
The second time was months later. We were visiting my parents and my now fiancé was mowing the lawn. I don’t even remember the cause of this outburst. All I remember is his refusal to sit in Time Out. After a few talk backs and screams, I found myself removing a tall six year old from the situation via the over-the-should carry. Up the stairs we went where Time Out could be spent behind doors. Evil stepmother-to-be!
By the time I became a stepmom we had things straightened out pretty well, and anything that isn’t, I pass the buck to Daddy. Nice stepmother!
