New Kid on the Block

Our engagement period was a short one before I chose to move my shoes, my dogs, and my life to Mi Hombre’s city. As much as I dreaded giving up my house with it’s Zen garden, it was the only way our relationship could work. Super-girl could not be relocated like a prized piece of furniture although; the thought had crossed my mind. I sadly boxed up my things, said goodbye to life as I once new it, and moved an hour south to a fresh and upcoming little city.

Yep, I was the new kid on the block. His tiny house was cute in a craftsman’s sort of way. It was completely urban central and located in the middle of a quaint little art district. At first, I thought that trading in my country escape for city central may not be so bad. There was no longer a need for delivery-you can walk, when you can’t sleep there is usually a local band playing on the corner or a show at the neighborhood theater. Gallery hops bring fresh faces, the pubs bring comical wandering drunks, and the transitioning of the area always houses its fair share of displaced hobos. I know all of this paints a wonderful and hip new beginning…great locale, good food, gallery hops, and of course new shoe stores…and it was…short lived.

With my announcement to the neighbourhood came the Welcome Wagon. Not the flower basket and apple pie that one may traditionally hope for, this Welcome Wagon consisted of the ex wife, the ex friends and the many remnants of the ex life. I felt like a display item, a circus show freak, like a complete outsider. As I explored the neighborhood shops and boutiques it was like everyone knew who I was before I ever had a chance to introduce myself. It never failed that everywhere I went I either ran into the ex or her friends surrounded me. It was strange, unsettling and very foreign to me. The stares, the insincere hand shakes, the silence, the gossip, it all felt very much like I had walked into the movie set of “Mean Girls.” I was in her territory, on her block and she wanted me to know it.

Well, I heard it loud and clear, and when the poisonous arrows began to fly from the little green house around the corner it was time that Mi Hombre and I listed the house for sale. You see it isn’t that we don’t enjoy a challenge-we have plenty. It is not like we were bowing down and being bullied out of the neighborhood, because she isn’t that powerful. It is because we both have a low threshold for toxicity, and toxic was what it was becoming. The frequent boundary violations, the incessant calls, the inappropriate emails, the unwelcome visits had me at my whit’s-end and Mi Hombre summoning the ex back into mediation. We want a happy and healthy future for our remarriage. This includes a sanctuary, a home that is ours to symbolize our new beginning, serve as a pillar of hope and inspiration-absolutely nothing remnant of the past.

…It has almost been two years, we are still living in the cute little craftsman-and around the corner from the ex. Granted, I have done what I can-I have made the best of it. Admittedly, some days my tolerance is better than others. Some days I curse it as a toxic hellhole and have a tantrum about the fact that we are still here. Friends? Sadly, it seems to be true that as you age they seem harder to find. There are many acquaintances though, and as a stepmother there are plenty of biomom’s to befriend-that is, if they welcome you to their clique, given that you aren’t a real “mom.” With all negativity aside, I have on several occasions been able to enjoy the hip little neighbourhood for what it is and without disruption. I have spent hours getting acquainted to this quickly growing fresh new city. Without any hesitation I can say, that I have come to enjoy it quite nicely.

And, on those days when I feel confined, unbalanced or stressed, I spend a lot of time back in my old stomping grounds where friends are bountiful, the atmosphere is sweet and the wine is fruitful. I hold tight on hope. I keep dreaming of that beginning when my life will have privacy and be uniquely ours. I believe, that one day, when the economic river begins to flow again. I will have my house, with a new Zen garden and sans the ex wife, the ex friends, and the ex life.

Meet Me in the Parking Lot After School!

Not long after the bomb, I was summoned for my very own Sermon on the Mount with Mi Hombre’s ex. It was disguised as, “I want to get to know YOU better.” A harmless meeting of two seemingly level-headed women. Naturally, being committed as I was I quickly reached out to the ex to schedule my “quid-pro-quo” session. After all I was dedicated to my relationship and ready to face the complexities that come with being in love with a man, with a child and an ex. I told myself, “She is just a ‘mom’ wanting to meet the woman that has been playing with her kid. No biggie…right?”

Boy was I wrong! Apparently, the idea of a woman entering her daughter’s life was enough to have her acting like Jekyll and Hyde. Our initial chance public meeting with Super-girl present was cause for celebration. She was cordial and voiced an overt happiness for Mi Hombre. Then strangely, the ex wouldn’t communicate directly with me afterward. It was as if she were in denial and suddenly I simply did not exist. Instead she communicated through Mi Hombre with an unsettling doom and gloom attitude. Her anguish accompanied every correspondence with him.

Irreverently, she came up with every excuse she could conjure up to delay our meeting from happening. Confiding in Mi Hombre that she felt things with me were moving too fast for her daughter – we understood it as it was moving too fast for her. We caught on to her ploy when conveniently every date I offered up to meet her there was some sort of conflict with her schedule. According to her, it was just never a good time. I felt that she was being catty and selfish, but I respected Mi Hombre’s vow to take the high road. We went along with it for the summer and when fall arrived all patience was lost.

I was angry at Mi Hombre for the ex’s complete avoidance with me. Obtusely I believed that having been married to her he should be able to influence her behavior. “Who am I kidding! He has no clout with her.” I reprimanded myself when I began thinking clearly. Exasperated by the ex’s intentional delays,  Mi Hombre told her that we were going to move forward with sleepovers because it wasn’t fair to Super-girl to have to commute the distance between our cities in a single day. Finally, she agreed to meet me…ALONE.

I could not understand why it was necessary for us to meet alone. What couldn’t she say with Mi Hombre present? When her email arrived I felt as if I had just received a note from the school bully that said, “Meet me in the parking lot after school…Just YOU!” I experienced the same hair-raising effect I did as a child only her correspondence actually read, “Meet me at my house after work.” Inquisitively, I questioned her agenda. She played it off as not being able to “be herself” in Mi Hombre’s presence, that she would inevitably censor what she wanted to say if he were there. So I obliged.

It was an eye opening experience, and in all honesty a little unsettling to say the least. I listened to the 2 hour monologue on how Super-girl passed through her Va-jay-jay (au naturale), how great she was as a “mother,” how no one can possibly know anything unless the are a “mother,” how she would never ask Mi Hombre for child support because she had ended the marriage and most importantly, how she wanted everything and everyone to be in her daughter’s life. Incidentally, there was not a single question about me.  Not even, “Where are you from?” or “What do you do?” Nothing.  It was one of the few times in my life that I was rendered speechless. In my silence, I remembered that bullies bully because they are afraid and if I weren’t truly in love with Mi Hombre I would have just stood up and walked away.

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God Help Me, What Have I gotten Myself into?

I would never have conceived in my wildest dreams that I would find myself an independent career woman jumping into the stickiness of a ready-made family. “God help me, what have I gotten myself into?” I say it over and over as if I still haven’t come to terms with the idea. It feels at times so surreal and foreign to me.

I find myself wondering how I have gone from romantic candle-lit dinners to carpooling and endless mountains of laundry. Whatever happened to dessert and coffee before an X-rated nightcap? Now the only nightcap we seem to get are bedtime stories and falling-tree hugs.  Don’t get me wrong it is very endearing… But come on! Really? Somebody pinch me!   Have I actually morphed into Insta-mom? —fully equipped with a soon-to-be  shiny new Hubby and my very own sassy and needy 5-year-old daughter.

Initially, I was such a proactive wanna-be-mommy determined and hell bent on abolishing the evil connotation that comes with the label stepmother. I am going to be different…because after all I am different! I thought it would be easy, Super-girl likes me…hell she even Loves me!  I had no worries until reality bitch–slapped me in the face…I met her “mom.”