Where is that pure love
You once said you had for me.
It left with the wind.
Photo from Pixabay
When I met my now second husband “D”, I was close to fifty and had never had kids of my own. My first husband and I met at age fifteen and we spent twenty-one years together. Post divorce, I spent the next fifteen years as a serial monogamist but decidedly single. I had never had the “Mom Bomb” go off and for years I fought the prejudice that goes with the childless choice. I love kids but never felt compelled to have my own. Anyway, I was divorced at thirty-six and most guys I met in the combat trenches of the dating years had kids, so by the time I was forty-seven I was used to the family package situation. D had three kids. To be specific, he had three teenagers. Well, soon to all be teenagers and I was about to get a lesson in trial by fire (yet another story for another time). The oldest daughter was sixteen, the “Irish Twin” brother was fifteen and the youngest boy was twelve going on thirty. D and I had dated for a little while before I met his kids because he was not interested in having me meet his kids until he knew me well enough to trust me around them. Not personally experiencing a parental divorce (I had the dubious honor of being the first in my family to get divorced) I figured they had already been through a lot and I respected this rule. I thought it quite sweet because a man that protects his kids is a good man. Not to mention that we had both dated our share of wackadoodles and we were both exercising a wackadoodle buffer period policy.
Over the years of dating men with children I developed a mantra about being a “girlfriend”, “significant other” and “stepmom” to kids. It goes like this: “I don’t care if you like me, I don’t care if you love me, I love your Father and so I love you unconditionally as a package deal. I don’t expect anything in return. You can ask me anything and I will answer honestly and appropriately. I will ask you questions because I want to get to know you better but you do not have to answer any of my questions unless you are comfortable answering them.” Note: this does not mean I am a pushover but I will always be the adult in any given situation. So now that I’ve given my “stepmom mantra”, understand that I am not beyond taking complete advantage of any “Superwoman” situation when it presents itself. On this particular occasion I was over at D’s house for the first time. This was only the second time I had met his kids, the first being in a public forum. D and I were fixing dinner and the three kids were at the kitchen table chatting and getting to know me better. I walked closer to the table so that I had eye contact with sixteen. I was talking and out of the corner of my eye I saw a fly buzz by my head. Without missing a beat or losing eye contact with sixteen, I reached out and snatched that fly right out of the air. I knew I’d caught the fly because I felt it wriggling against the palm of my hand.
My eyes stayed locked on the kids, my face fit for a poker game. I watched their eyes get round and their jaws slowly drop open. I just kept talking as if nothing happened, but the underlying vibe was “Yeah, I’m a Bad Ass Superwoman so you better watch your step ’cause I have lightning reflexes.” I nonchalantly opened the back kitchen door and escorted the fly out, all the while still maintaining eye contact and talking with the kids. Of course on the inside I was going, “Whaaat da fuuuck?”, but they’ll never know that. As this incident perpetuates as a family legend, I want them to always think I’m that Bad Ass Superwoman with lightening reflexes.
And for my next act I’ll be catching a bullet with my teeth.
Have you ever done anything so crazy you even amazed yourself? Has anything you’ve done become a family legend?
There’s a vicious rumor goin’ round,
A certain appendage isn’t sound.
I’m a Flying Fox for more than one reason,
When the ladies are in season.
Otherwise it’s tucked away,
Saving for a rainy day.
But when the luscious fruits abound,
Well then, us bats be gettin’ down.
Yesterday I came across a wonderful blog at:
proudmommaofgirls, Bohemia NERD*. The piece that caught my eye was: A Short but Challenging Writing Prompt. My only comment to her was that it was clever, but that did not begin to give her or this piece justice. It is not only clever in its use of using the first letter of the alphabet in single to a few word phrase, but the piece tells a short story. I also admire the fact that she gave herself an internal challenge and then met that challenge eloquently as well as cleverly. I dug deeper into her work and bio and discovered she had recently moved to Maryland. That is where I grew up so I immediately had a connection to what she is currently experiencing. My family harkens from Indiana, my Grandfather working on the railroad (another commonality) but my parents moved to Massachusetts soon after I was born and then to Maryland when I was five. Maryland is a small but wonderful state to grow up in. You have the Chesapeake Bay on one side, the mountains on the other and the wonderful museums in Washington DC all right in your backyard. I did not appreciate all it had to offer until I had moved away. Her girls are indeed lucky to be growing up with such rich surroundings. But more about her: I have not had the time to give her work the proper attention yet, but be assured that I will. She writes about memories, death, sex and random thoughts all with her unique perspective. She is clearly a wordsmith well worth following and I can’t wait to see what she writes next.