Well, Guy and I have gone and done it. Tomorrow will mark the first day of Our Blended Family.
We are moving together with our six children, aged 6 to 12, to a big house in a small town exactly halfway between our current homes.
I know. Shut up.
Jiminy, I got tired just typing that. I’ve been writing all these great posts in my head, and then mentally editing them down to nothing to respect everyone’s privacy. Not sure how much longer that will work; may have to come up with nicknames (Things 1-3? Thing-Ex?). Or maybe I’ll just start telling stories about “friends.” Will that do? ‘Cause there is some funky shit going down around here.
For today I’ll just make introductions, since you can’t tell the players without a program.
Me: No intro needed.
Guy: Not his real name. He may be crazy enough to yoke himself with me but not crazy enough to blow his professional cover. One year my junior. Devastatingly handsome. 3/4 inch shorter than I, on a good day. Funny as hell. Sharpest business mind I’ve ever encountered, VP of Sales for a global operation. Smokes, but vowed to quit when all legal ties were severed from his Ex. Years later, unbelievably, there are some strings hanging on. You know how you always try to get that first piece of hot deep-dish off the tray and onto a plate and that one, stubborn string hangs on as you raise the slice higher and higher until it’s over your head, and then you move sideways with it and it starts to sag so you quickly jerk it up again and some new string starts to form and now you can’t get it transferred without splattering everything with pizza sauce and having strings of cheese trailing off the plate, over the table, looped a couple times around the spatula because you thought you could fake it out, and then back to the pan where you have to start all over again but can never quite get it right and someone always gets burned? It’s like that. So, down to one pack every three days and still tapering. Unlike the legal fees. My God, how many times can you follow up on the same email? You could spend five thousand dollars getting one question not-answered and have nothing to show for it but five grand less in your pocket. Makes me want to hug my Ex for having hammered it out with me for three grand, one mediator, two afternoons, and a high-five on the way out. Anger and power-hunger…man it takes a lot of energy to sustain that over long periods of time. I choose life. Moving on.
Thing Three: Ten, male, kind, volatile, sweetness aching to get out if only he could have the quiet to do it. The kind of kid who could finish all his schoolwork for the day by 10:30 a.m. and still knock out five levels on his PSP before dinner. And that’s with a timer because they only get so much screen time per day. Such a grown-up in a little body, a virtual empath with animals. Maybe not so much with people (classic Asperger’s), but animals are frankly more satisfying to deal with most days. Honor student, struggles with a brain too precocious to reconcile with his biological age and emotions. Takes care of his brothers when they aren’t trying to kill one another. Totally first-child in so many ways.
Thing Two: Nine, male, a Mini-Guy in every way. Already into the ladies, fashion, hip-hop and skating, forever trying to make his skinny jeans skinnier, has three times the wardrobe of his two brothers combined. I just unpacked all their clothes into the drawers built into the closets. I know what I’m talking about. Also sharp as a tack, always pushing the envelope. He’s Vinnie Barbarino in a crew cut: “What? Why? Why not? So?” So lovable it hurts. Always telling me his misses me and wanting to know if I’d really like to be an alien-detective like the Men In Black. (I so would.)
Thing One: Six, male, so incredibly bright that we are afraid to fully test the boundaries. No, really, they stopped giving him puzzles to solve when he hit the fourteen-year-old level. For now, you’d just like to get clothes on his upper and lower body simultaneously and keep all of his blood on the inside. Like Batman, runs everywhere he goes, even if it’s only five feet to get his eleventieth clean cup of the day for yet another sip of water. Says he hates me but is forever begging me to watch him play with his Lego creations and describing what they do and then crawling onto the couch between Guy and me for a movie. To be honest, I’d be worried if he didn’t express hostility. He’s six and loves his mama. Good on him.
My kids: Logan, Dylan and Daphne. Twelve, ten and nine. Mine. Love. Eight years of archives right over there in the sidebar.
Exes: Two, one male, one female. Couldn’t be more opposite in approach to co-parenting but still rally when the chips are down. Kids first, always. My ex is very friendly with Guy; Guy’s ex…not going there. ‘Nuff said.
Stay tuned as I struggle to write without stepping in it, alienating anyone, or provoking legal action. I’ve got eight years of success under my belt but this past year has been very challenging, and until now I have chosen to leave it completely alone with the upshot being that I HAVEN’T BEEN WRITING. Which is bad when you’re trying to support a family on your own. I’ll still stick to my usual standard of never saying anything here that I wouldn’t say in person or on a megaphone or on the news, and hope that’s good enough for now.
Time to catch a quick nap before filming a project and then packing the last of Guy’s things before the movers come at eight tomorrow morning. We are both terribly sick, Guy in his first week of this beast of a cold, me in my fifth. Yeah, it’s getting old, but history has shown that I must remain sick and/or overtired during any and all moves. Or life-events. Or days. Whichever.
Someday this will make a good flick, or a case study. Either way, one for the books.