Anatomy of a Stepparent

I have nine kids—for reals. And the first question I hear when anyone learns this not-so-little tidbit of information is, “Are they all yours?”

I try not to wince when I hear this. Of course they’re all mine! my defensive heart screams. Do you think I’ve borrowed one for the day? I do realize, however, that people are simply curious as to the origin of our family when two of my daughters don’t look a whole lot like me (and I suppose the true giveaway is when they hear the older one speak with an accent).

But there is so much more binding this mother-daughter duo than the way we speak or common genes.
 
Her eyes are like her dad’s, a deep, dark chocolate—irresistible on all accounts, especially to the strings of my heart.
 
My eyes are true blue. You get what you see—an imperfect me. And these blue eyes see a child who needs me, imperfections and all. I’m fiercely loyal to those I love. On occasion, I might fight with them (that inevitable battle of the wills), but I will always fight for them. All of my children are a part of me—not a place they’re born into. The only entrance is through the heart.

Her skin is smooth and unblemished—easily bronzed by the sun’s rays yet sensitive to the world’s sometimes harsh realities.

My skin is freckled and fair and not so smooth anymore. Over the years, it’s been exposed to many of those harsh realities of life as well. It’s thicker now—the survivor of stings and scrapes. I don’t want her to experience these stings and scrapes—not yet. So my boundaries might feel overbearing to her. She might think I’m over-protective and it may be a long time before she understands. But remember—I’m fiercely loyal to those I love…and I love her. At the end of the day, this is one thing I know she knows.

Her hair is thick and dark and she complains that there’s nothing she can do with it. She has the most amazing curls that can wind around your finger like the grip of a newborn baby. Oh, how I wish she’d been a part of my life at that time. But that’s not our reality. Our memories are happening here and now…like when she gripped onto my hand during the scary part of that movie, or when she was nervous getting her blood work drawn.
 
My hair is blond, and thin, and getting thinner every day. If I could change anything about the physical me, this would be it—and she knows this. I always complain that there’s nothing I can do with my hair, and she always tells me that she loves my hair. I just think that she really loves me.

So many of our physical characteristics are different—our eye color, our skin tone, our hair… But these aren’t the ties that bind a family. I suppose you could boil it all down to the wise words of The Beatles—All You Need is Love. Our life might be far from perfect, but our hearts are one.


Tamra Torero is wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and Author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her oldest son, Preston Norton. She is perfect at the imperfections of stepparenting. Feel free to share this post if you've enjoyed it.

Something To Say?

What’s in a name?  Will Shakespeare asked this very question a few years back in a little thingy called Romeo and Juliet. He also said that we can call a rose any dang thing we want—a door-knob, a dirty diaper, you name it—and that delicate little plant with thorns and petals will still smell pretty dang great (I’m paraphrasing, of course).

 

Dude’s got a point.

 

So I suppose I could have named this blog, Thoughts of a Middle-age Mother or even Fifty Shades of Breastmilk. (Think I’m kidding? Think again. I marathon nursed for the better part of two decades and even worked as a breastfeeding counselor and lactation specialist.) But I chose Momma Got a Thought: Random Musings of a Sometimes-Coherent Parent because even though I’m an over-scheduled, multi-tasking Momma to nine of the most amazing people to ever walk this planet, Grandma to two darling boys, and hold down a full-time job as a bakery manager, I’m also a woman with something to say.

 

The Sometimes-Coherent part speaks for itself.

 

I’ve been at this Momma gig for the better part of three decades now. And throughout Momma-hood, I’ve lived many’a life—stay-at-home mom, work-from-home mom, part-time worker, full-time worker, homeschooler, public-schooler, night-schooler, breastfeeder, bottle-feeder, cat, dog, and bird feeder, single mom, step-mom, den-mother, and almost always, exhausted mother (again, referring to the Sometimes-Coherent thing). And throughout it all, I’ve always considered myself a writer (sometimes of books, but often just of text messages and grocery lists).

 

Chances are, I can say, “been-there, done that” to just about every aspect of Momma-hood. Am I an expert? Nope. Survivor? Sounds a little harsh for something that has brought me (along with tremendous trials), the most joy one can feel in this life (Disneyland, Colin Firth and dark chocolate included). And, well, I’m still at it. Four of my nine are legally adults and have moved out of the house (two have graduated from college, two are eagle scouts, two are married, and two have tattoos). But I am still nose-deep in parenthood. My husband Paco and I have five “minors” living amongst us, ranging from 11 to 17, and they keep us spinning in circles (need I make the Sometimes-Coherent reference again?).

 

Do I have something to say?

 

I’ll let you be the judge.


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