An “other” mother…

I remember the first day I met him. He was walking with his father and he was only three years old. He was dressed in blue shorts with a red-collared shirt. He was holding his blankie. He looked up at me and said, “Hi. Who are you?” As I answered him, his beautiful blue eyes and his long eyelashes held me spellbound. He was a compact little boy who would take several years to grow into his feet. He was always running, always laughing, and always with blankie in hand. After a few months, he and I were fast friends. He would get so excited to see me that he would throw his blankie — and believe me, that was a big deal. At bedtime, he would beg for just one more story. I can’t tell you how many times I read aloud his favorite, “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,”* or one of the many Berenstain Bears books.

I remember when this little guy officially became my stepson. It was an honor. Times had changed since I was a child. None of my friends had step-parents. Skip forward twenty years. It seems that my stepson actually felt left out. He was just about the only kid in his class without a step-mom, and now he had one. To him, having three parents was normal. He deftly maneuvered the tricky trail of loving two moms: his real, biological mom, and then me, his “other” mother. I admired him for his big heart. There was plenty of room for everyone, and he never felt conflicted. He just loved. It was that simple. He made being a step-mom special and rewarding. Sure, we battled with each other at times. It was a part of the process...the parenting process.

I helped this free spirit learn how to tie his shoes and how to read. When it was appropriate, I let him drive a car for the first time (my new car). He was a tough one. He was both a rebel and a leader. Talk about marching to your own beat — he marched to his own band. It was challenging to deal with him on disciplinary issues, as we didn’t want to squelch his wonderful, independent spirit. Every year at back-to-school night, his teacher would say “Your son is a great boy. He’s very intelligent, very caring, but he’s very social.” The word social was not a positive. It meant too social. By the time he went to high school, my husband and I would finish the teacher’s sentence, with a “Yeah, we know — he’s social.”

I’ll never forget the time our little rebel couldn’t sleep, stopped eating and complained of an upset stomach for over a week. His mom took him to the doctor and everything checked out fine. This was odd. He was a tough kid. He never complained of discomfort, even when he had a dislocated shoulder. I took him to the beach one afternoon and discovered the cause of his mysterious ailment. He was only 10, but he was suffering from a broken heart. After the beach, we went to lunch and he told me the whole story. It seems that he had a girlfriend (his first). It lasted two weeks and then he broke up with her after he saw her holding hands with another boy. She told him that it was his fault because he didn’t spend enough time with her. He told her that he had Club Hockey after school and homework in the evening. I remember thinking that he just wasn’t ready to fess up to the parents (and the older brother) that he had a girlfriend. In fairness, his time was limited. In addition to sports, he had family obligations - two families worth. Two days after the breakup, the little girl talked him into getting back together. He said he forgave her because she cried. Plus, he liked her and considered her his friend. Here’s where the heart breaks, both his and mine. It seems the little girl only wanted to get back together so that she could officially break it off to save face. He was devastated. He thought she was his friend. He couldn’t understand how someone you cared about could be so cruel — so manipulative. He told me then that he would never ever let this happen again. I almost believed him.

Things became more complicated as this independent spirit collided with puberty. Keeping him challenged and interested in school was also our biggest challenge. Trouble found this kid in the strangest ways. Some of the stories I could tell sound too far-fetched to be true. The rabbit story is a good example — as in the high school mascot that he tackled and accidentally knocked unconscious. This happened at an assembly in front of the entire school, including all of the teachers and the principal. The unconscious rabbit was taken out of the gym on a stretcher and in full costume. I'll never forget the call from the school. The rabbit was undergoing a brain MRI and the rabbit attacker was suspended pending further investigation. Thank goodness that rabbit was okay. When the costume came off, and he could talk, the battered bunny verified that the tackle was prearranged...a part of a senior skit. It was supposed to be funny. I guess my reaction was delayed. But hey, it made a two page spread in the yearbook.

Throughout his high school years, my stepson never dated anyone seriously. Not because the opportunity wasn’t there — he was one of the most popular boys in school. The combination of his winning personality, natural sports ability and good looks had girls calling at all hours. Somehow, he managed to walk the “just friends” tightrope perfectly for four years. We have hundreds of photos of him at Prom, Homecoming, Winter Formal, and other events with beautiful young girls who were all just good friends. There was one he almost fell for...she was very intelligent and beautiful. It was short-lived. He later told me she wasn’t a very caring person, she didn’t have enough heart.

I will always cherish the time I spent with my stepson through the years. He and I traveled to New York for a week when he was 13, and spent a month, after his high school graduation, in France and Spain. His quest was to see every Picasso, Dali and Van Gogh on display — and to hear the music. Guitar was his current passion. We even went to the Paris grave-site of Jim Morrison. I had a different quest. I tried not to “mother” too much. My stepson handled the situation well, including all those pretty girls. There were so many, from all over the world, who wanted to get to know him better. We balanced our time together and we each had fun. We had a deal and we kept it. Whatever happened in Europe was to stay in Europe. This trip will remain with us both forever. Maybe someday we’ll share all of our experiences with the rest of the family. For now, “mums” the word.

It was hard watching the boy go off to college two years ago, but it was time. His first year away from home was rocky. He tried to juggle too many social commitments with classes and homework. No surprise here. My husband and I worked with him on balancing his time. We knew that all study and no play would not work, so we had to get him to understand his commitment to his future, and still allow time enough for fly-fishing or snowboarding. Sophomore year started auspiciously. Then, he met his first true love since that fifth grade heartache. He fell hard. It seemed as if she did too. A year went by and they were still together. He loved her caring heart and spoke of the butterflies he got whenever he saw her. I worried that he was getting serious — too fast and definitely too young. But he was happy and he kept his grades up, so I chalked it up to a college flame that would burn out during the summer. That flame burned brighter (and longer) than any of us expected.

Just before Spring Break, my husband and I were relieved to hear that he and his flame were also “taking a break” from each other. When I asked my stepson what prompted their breakup, he said that his classes were harder this semester and that he had a lot of homework. His girlfriend felt they were drifting apart. It was her suggestion that they cool it for a while, but not see anyone else. He agreed. My “other mother” antennas didn’t care for the plan. I wished it were a clean break with no dangerous loose ends, such as “not see anyone else.” I also worried that this was a bluff on her part to get more attention. But this wasn’t the fifth grade anymore, so I didn’t elaborate.

For a few months everything seemed to be fine. I felt bad for thinking the worst of this young girl — and stupid for worrying. Then one day I heard something in my stepson’s voice that made me ask how things were going with the “just friends” thing. He said it was getting tough, because she really wanted to get back together. He said that he really cared for her, but the break made him see that they weren’t meant to be together...forever. But then he also said he couldn’t stand to see her so sad. Whack! My antennas went crazy. This time I warned him at length. He listened, but I knew his heart. My own heart was heavy as I hung up the phone. Like father like son. He may have wanted to leave the fair early, but he would stay longer than he cared to rather than ruin the good time for someone else.

The call finally came when he should have been studying for finals. He couldn’t eat or sleep and he complained of a terrible stomachache. Sound familiar? Yes, it was fifth grade all over again. It seems that he gave in because she cried and he couldn’t stand to hurt anyone, ever. There was only one problem. It seems that the girlfriend only wanted to get back together with him so that she could officially break it off and get even. She was upset that he agreed with her “take a break” bluff, even though he didn’t know it was a bluff. But that’s not what made him sick. While they were supposedly “taking it slow” and “giving it another try,” she decided to make him jealous with another guy. My stepson’s voice was ten years older than the last time we had this conversation at the beach, but his words were pretty much the same. He thought she was his friend. He couldn’t understand how someone you cared about could be so cruel — so manipulative. He told me that he would never ever let this happen again. This time I was inclined to believe him.

We talked for over an hour. I tried not to get emotional, but I lost it when he asked me, “Why do I have to be this way? Why do I have to care so much? I would never do this to her, whether we were together or not.” Can you believe that he actually thought that something was wrong with him? As I smiled through my tears, I told him that he was perfect...that he has true heart, character and integrity. I told him that she’s the one who has a problem, and better that he should know sooner, rather than later. Before we hung up, I asked him if he remembered the mouse in, “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.” Intrigued, he asked why. I reminded him that many people are like that mouse, as in, “If you give a mouse a cookie, he’s going to ask for a glass of milk. When you give him the milk, he’ll probably ask for a straw. When he’s finished, he’ll ask for a napkin. Then he’ll want...” You get the point. So did my boy. After a long pause, he said, “I’m not the mouse am I?” I said, “No, you’re not the mouse. You’re the cookie, but you’re a tough cookie.” He rewarded me with a “sort of” laugh with a little snort at the end. It was music to my ears.

It looks as if he’ll be home in time for Mother’s Day and “Other Mother’s” Day. I can’t wait to give him a big hug. I’ll probably need to fatten him up a bit. I guess I could give him a cookie…and maybe a glass of milk. I might even throw in a straw, a napkin, and whatever else he wants. Why not? He’s all grown up now. He knows that some butterflies won’t live forever. He also knows that a broken heart hurts worse than a dislocated shoulder.

Postscript: Of course it’s all the girlfriend's fault. What did you expect? Isn’t there only one side to the story when it comes to our own? Besides, this is my “other” mother story and I’m sticking to it.

Dedicated to Mrs. Cox. Thank you for being my sounding board on this one. I owe you a mojito or two, or three, or four...

.*If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Laura Joffe Nemeroff, Illustrated by Felicia Bond

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta