On Being a Mom, Part 2

So, my Mother's Day post the other day only felt half finished, half finished and totally self-indulgent. Because on every Mother's Day, I'm aware of how lucky I am to be a mom, even though I feel like I do a crappy job most of the time. I'm also aware of how lucky my kids are that, despite the health issues and various crises that seem to come our way, our family is generally in tact. I know so many people who are not nearly as lucky--people who want kids but can't have them, people whose kids have died leaving behind gaping holes in their lives, people who've been abandoned by their moms, people whose moms died way too young. And, so I've always struggled a bit with Mother's Day, for in many ways it feels excessive, exclusionary, and completely unnecessary.

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The first time my stepdaughter met my friends, one of them asked Big Sissy, "So, what's it like to have Moe as a mom? Is she more like your sister or is she more like your mom?"

At the time, Big Sissy was probably 13, and she gave the perfect answer to an incredibly insensitive question by a too-curious friend. She said, "I don't know. I've never really had either."

The first few years of our marriage, we lived in Japan. Poor Big Sissy, who was in junior high at the time, had to deal with someone who was obviously not her birth mom, tagging along to various school events. And, while the novelty of her dad's American friend might have been fun when we were just dating, the reality of a non-Japanese stepmom was something else altogether. It marked Big Sissy as different in ways she'd never had to deal with before.  It couldn't have been easy, though she never said as much.

When Ren and I dated, if Big Sissy called me anything, she called me by my first name. But our marriage necessitated the need to call me something else. After all, I was part of the family. And, I was always there. Problem is that there really isn't a good word for stepmom. I mean, there are formal terms for such a person, but nothing that works well in daily conversation. I was her father's wife and she was the daughter from another marriage. I suppose the issues are similar in the US, but in our case, it led to a complete inability for Big Sissy to address me as anything but "ne, ne," which translates something like "Hey, you."

For the longest time, I was simply "ne, ne."

Then we moved to the US. At the time, Ren and I'd been married for nearly three years and were still very much struggling to figure out how to be a family. Briefly, Big Sissy considered staying behind to live with her grandmother and finish school in Japan. I may not have done many things right those first few years, but I will always be glad that I managed to convince her she belonged with us.

One of the many unintended consequences of that move was Big Sissy's ability to finally give me a name. Mom. I was never Mama or Okaasan or even Mother or Mommy, but I did finally become Mom. It's not a name either of us use lightly, but it is the name we use.

2013 Mother's Day card from Big Sissy, edited ever-so-slightly

I've written a little in the past about being a stepmom. In my experience, there's nothing that's easy about it. There were days, months, and even years with Big Sissy that felt like a total slog. And yet. And, yet. I know that being a stepmom is probably one of the most important things I've ever done (and maybe will ever do). I also know I can never really be Big Sissy's mom. I mean, I try to fill those holes that the early loss of her birth mom left, but I also know there are some things that just can't quite be fixed.

And, I guess, in a way, that's why I may never wear the title of mom comfortably, not from Big Sissy, not from Sky, Pink P, or Stow. Being a mom is major.  None of us deserve the weight of it, nor are most of us prepared for its challenges.  I can only always be grateful for the chance to mom these four kids--that and to pray with all my might that I don't totally screw it up.

On Being a Stepmom

Recently, a few of my friends have become stepparents. Before I became a mom, I was a stepmom, so hearing they were starting on this journey made me remember my first years as a stepmom. When I married Ren, Big Sissy was in junior high. Junior high! Those early years were a big adjustment for both of us, and nothing from that time was easy. It took us awhile to grow into our new roles, and I learned a few things along the way.

There are plenty of websites out there that give great advice on step-parenting and blended families, and if you are really seeking guidance on this topic, you should probably go to those sites. Just like every kid with autism is different from every other kid with autism, so, too, every blended family is different from every other blended family. So, much of what I learned was specific to our situation, but here are a few of the more universal lessons I picked up along the way:

1. The kids didn't choose the situation they are in. 

There's nothing glamorous about going from no kids to having stepchildren. They will use your toothpaste, dirty your furniture, break your dishes, hog your bathroom. You will feel annoyed and cramped and little bit of everything else. Get over it. When you got married, you were agreeing to become a family, a family that not only includes your spouse's kids but that should be focused on them. I'm not saying it's easy; in fact, it can be horrible at times, but you still have to bring your A game and be the parent your stepchild deserves.

2. If you put your spouse in the middle, he will choose the kids. 

He has to, and, really, you should want him to. I don't know what else to say about this except don't put your spouse in the middle.

3. American pop culture gives stepparents, and especially stepmothers, a bad rap. 

Think Cinderella. I can't tell you how many people have gushed over how great I am as a stepmom. I'm sure I make mistakes, and I'm sure there were times I resented the struggle of those early years, but compared to the stepmoms we see in the movies, I'm a saint. And, to be honest, I'm not comfortable with that (See point number 1).

4. You're always the stepparent. 

When push comes to shove, when your stepchild is in trouble, your opinion won't always hold the weight you think it should. There's nothing so demoralizing as pouring everything you have into your relationship with your stepchild only to have your motives questioned when things get dicey. But, it happens. Be patient, be consistent, and be tenacious, and eventually those moments of mistrust will disappear.

5. This isn't the movies. 

You know those heart-warming romantic comedies where the single dad suffers alone raising his kids until the perfect woman stumbles into their lives, filling the void, and helping everyone live happily ever after? This isn't that story. It's not that easy. Between the stumbling in and the happily ever after, you'll have a lot of work, a lot of frustration, and a lot of tears. Chances are, your stepchildren will never figure out how to thank you for all of the sacrifices you made (and shouldn't have to, really). And you'll probably never figure out how to love your stepchildren as unconditionally as you think you should. So, here's what you do: you stop worrying about it. You stop worrying about it and just do the best you can.

The Conversations We Have at Our House

This is the conversation we had at dinner last night:

Ren: (in Japanese and then self-translated into English) This has baby bamboo in it. (take no ko = child of bamboo)
Sky: (Mortified) We're eating bamboo babies?
Mom on the Edge: (to Dad in effort to calm Sky) In English, they're called 'bamboo shoots.'
Pink P: Why do people shoot bamboo? Won't they hit the panda bears?

This got me thinking about some of the other odd conversations we've had lately, so I thought I'd post a few.
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As he left me to board a plane to Japan this summer, meaning we'd be apart for several weeks, Sky: "Mommy, my spit makes my throat numb. And, it tastes like greens." (Since we're not from the south, I wondered if he knew what "greens" were. He did.)

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My first conversation of the day:

Pink: [Bang, bang, bang!] "Mommy, open the door!"
Me: "I'm in the shower, what is it?"
Pink: [Bang, bang, bang, bang!] "Mommy, hurry!"
Me: "Honey, what is it?"
Pink: "I think my bed is too small."

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Sky, reflecting on the big questions in life: "I just don't know if I believe in Jesus (pause) or Santa (pause) or Curious George (pause pause pause). Wait, Curious George is a cartoon so I KNOW he's not real..."

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Sky has a tendency to wake up super early. This gives him time to think about things. Here are some examples of the first words I have heard, usually at about 5 a.m.:

"My spine is useless."
or
"You should really wear more dresses."
or
"Mommy, I don't have a girlfriend."
or
‎"Mommy, did you know that a toilet is a type of chair? It's a type of chair that has a hole in it..."

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A typical response to any new haircut I get:
‎
Sky: "I liked your old hair".
Pink P: "Mommy, you're not a BOY."
Ren: "Did you MEAN to do that?"

(Pink P was relentless. On day two she asked why I didn't put it back on in the shower, and on day three she declared I was her "best boy!")

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After explaining to Sky (upon being questioned) that I don't wear skirts because I have always been a tomboy and prefer pants, and after explaining, against my better judgment, what a tomboy was, he said (exactly what I expected him to say): "Then I'm a tomgirl--I like doing girl things and boy things."

***

Pink P: Knock, knock
Me: Who's there?
Pink P: Strawberry Pink P because you eat them!

***


Excerpt from a conversation on the way *home* from school (after a call from the school nurse): "We both threw up on the same table. Ryan threw up first, but I threw up more!"

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‎"Mom, Pink P doesn't know anything. She doesn't even know what 'alliteration' means!"

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Sky, as we are walking out the door to school, "When I grow up, I want to own a store that sells hats, gloves, and sweater pants."

***

Sky: Dad have you ever seen a rainbow?
Ren: Yes, I walked on top of one once.
Sky: (after a brief pause to consider this) No you didn't! Rainbows are made from water and sunlight. You'd fall through. Only angels walk on rainbows because they have wings.

***

"Mom, boys have pennies and girls don't."

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"Mom, first there were dinosaurs and then people. What do you think will come when people are gone: robots or aliens?"

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There are all sorts of reasons communication is challenging at our house. There's the bilingual thing, the pragmatic language thing and the verbal processing thing. Still, it makes for some pretty interesting conversations!

Take Off Your Shoes for Goodness Sake!

One question I used to get asked when I visited Japanese elementary schools was: "Do Americans sleep with their shoes on?" What an absurd question, I thought. That is until I realized the question about shoes, like the questions about guns ("Do you own a gun? I heard everyone owns a gun!" and "Aren't you afraid you will be shot?") can be tied directly to the programs my students were watching on television. When I first lived in Japan in the 90s, the selection of US television programs airing on the national networks was puzzling to say the least. There were a lot of Steven Segal movies, Full House, and A.L.F. For someone desperate to watch television in English after a long day of speaking Japanese, these were slim pickings to be sure. I mean, did anyone ever watch A.L.F.? And can you imagine a whole generation of Japanese viewers gleaning their understanding of the US from these three sources?

Finally, I decided to ask one of the third graders who posed the sleeping shoe question why she thought Americans slept in their shoes. After all, I can understand how Japanese kids would think it was odd to wear shoes in the house, but I couldn't imagine why they had the absurd idea that we slept in them. The kid's answer was simple: "Because, on t.v., we never see people take them off, and we never see where they put them. Besides, they already wear shoes in the house." (And by this last part, she meant to say that wearing shoes inside was already a filthy habit, so why wouldn't they wear them to bed?)

Most Americans know that Japanese take off their shoes when they go into the house. They assume this is to keep the house clean and to protect the tatami mats. They don't quite realize, however, how important taking one's shoes off is to maintaining proper etiquette. Japanese people, throughout their history have been concerned with keeping the pure and the impure separate. Have you ever seen a shrine gate like this?



It demarcates the separation of the unclean larger world from the purity of the shrine compound. That's why just inside the gate you will find an ablution pavilion (something that looks like a horse trough full of water and is used for washing oneself before proceeding).



There is a similar clean/unclean demarcation line in the entryway of the house and a designated space, therefore, for removing one's shoes which carry on their bottoms the uncleanliness of the outside. So, yes, taking off one's shoes is meant to keep the house clean, but no, it's not that simple.

Most visitors to our house here in the rural US don't seem to mind when we ask them to take off their shoes, though there is the occasional disgruntled person who comes with holey, smelly socks, or who is wearing laced-up boots. The problem is, though, that many of our American friends and family don't seem to get the spirit of the shoe-removal habit any more than my Japanese elementary kids understood why and when Americans wear shoes inside.

Here are some common mistakes they make:

1) They don't take off their shoes in the designated area, which is usually a swath of tile or a floor mat just inside the door. Instead, they assume that the entire entry area is like a mudroom and can therefore be tracked with shoes. They walk across the mat, across the carpet, and sit down on the steps to take their shoes off. The space for taking off shoes is almost always limited to just inside the door.

2) They take off their shoes, and then realizing they've forgotten something in their car, they go out in their socks to get it. After all, putting shoes on and taking them off again is a lot of work (she says with the slightest hint of sarcasm).

3) They get distracted and walk into the house with their shoes on anyway.

Now, don't get me wrong, I completely understand where these mistakes originate. After all, our visitors do take off their shoes as requested, even though it makes some of them uncomfortable to do so. So much of my family's cross-cultural existence is about meeting half-way. But the thing is, on some issues, there is no middle ground. There are some beliefs/cultural habits that one or the other of just us has to maintain for whatever reason. In my experience, the challenge of an international marriage (or any marriage, for that matter) is figuring out which of these beliefs/habits is non-negotiable and respecting the resulting boundaries. Sure, it gets old having to ask people to take off their shoes, and there is no easy, non-confrontational way to point out that taking off ones shoes and then getting one's socks dirty by walking outside without shoes defeats the purpose.

Sometimes Ren wonders whether people just lack common sense, and I remind him that we have common sense, it's just that the sense we share in common doesn't cover proper shoe removal etiquette. And then I remind myself that there are just certain times where it won't do any good to push him to see things my way. After all, who's to say my way is right, anyway?

Defying Definition

It's funny how complete strangers need to make sense of things that are really none of their business. Being a mixed-race, blended family can be a fun way to mess with people's minds. This was not my primary goal when I decided to marry Ren, but it has been an entertaining side effect.

During the first years of our marriage, when we still lived in Japan, I had the distinct pleasure of being a "Japanese" mom to my adolescent stepdaughter (we'll call her Big Sissy since she's the oldest). Maybe in future posts I can go on and on about what it's like to be a newlywed foreigner in Japan trying to step-parent a Japanese junior high school kid (and get her safely through high school entrance exams, for example), but that's not this post. Anyway, Big Sissy was having trouble seeing the chalk board, so I went with her for a comprehensive eye exam. After what seemed like hours alone in the waiting room, the nurse called for me to see the doctor to hear the results of their tests. When I, a twenty-something foreigner, walked into the examination room, the doctor asked me, "Are you her mother?" "Yes," I replied, as formally as possible, while asking myself what foreigner in her right mind would wander in off the street and pretend to be mother to a Japanese junior high school girl? After giving me a dubious once over, she turned to Big Sissy and said, "Is this your mother?" Big Sissy responded in the affirmative as politely as I had. At this point, the doctor appeared to be waiting for a hidden camera to appear and reveal the joke; obviously we were both lying. When no camera appeared, the doctor resigned herself to giving me the results of Sissy's eye exam.

Years later, Ren, Big Sissy, Sky and I were at the Japanese consulate in Chicago. At the time, I was 6 months pregnant with Pink P, wearing a god-awful paisley shirt purchased desperately from the women's section of the local department store. I'll admit that Ren looks young for his age, and Big Sissy slightly more sophisticated than the 20-year old that she was at the time. Sky was 2 1/2, for those of you keeping score at home. When we walked into the passport section, the American man working as the security guard stared at us for awhile trying to work out how we were connected. Finally, he came out with his best guess and asked me, "So, are you the grandma?" I never wore that paisley shirt again.