Sometimes I love being a stepmom. Really, I do. It doesn't happen very often, as being a stepmom usually means doing all the work a "real mom" does, only without the recognition and appreciation, but today was one of those days.
It really all centered on Jimmie, husband-dear's youngest son, and his homework. Ever since we started dating, the kids' homework has been husband-dear's cup of tea. I may be in charge of chores, room cleaning, and what-to-wear, husband-dear handles the homework. So unless I'm specifically asked for help, I don't interfere when the kitchen table is covered in hand outs, books, balls of wadded up scrap paper and one (or two) very frustrated boys. I'm really not sure why we divided it up this way, but we did, and so this is how it is.
Now this also means that husband-dear calls the shots as far as making time for homework goes. Which in turn means that our kids don't homework on Friday afternoon, like I used to have to do, but are allowed to leave it until Sunday. I've mentioned the possible problems this might cause (such as, oh, I don't know, running out of time) to husband-dear, but he's decided the boys need a break more than they need to do their homework right away. And I'm OK with that. Really. Because I'm pretty sure husband-dear doesn't really care if the boys' rooms like a nuclear fall-out zone (as they frequently do), but he also doesn't mind that I make his sons pick up their rooms before going to bed. This whole division of responsibilities has worked well for us, so why mess with it.
However, today, I was left to wonder about the effectiveness of our scheme. When Jimmie, husband-dear's youngest son, told us on Friday he had "just a little homework" due on Monday, we believed him. Husband-dear didn't ask to look at it, and told me he was going to let Jimmie have his Sunday morning and start after lunch. As always, I was OK with that. This was husband-dear's cup of tea, after all.
But when Sunday afternoon rolled around, husband-dear, to his utter dismay, found out that the "little bit of homework" were two study guides with 100 questions each, one for math and one for history. Upon hearing that, I decided that now would be a really great time to catch up on my reading. In our bedroom. With the radio on. I was convinced there would tears, slammed doors (Jimmie is, unfortunately, slowly entering the "life's not fair" era), and general drama, and I wanted no part of that.
As I sat in our quiet bedroom, I couldn't help but wonder if Jimmie had been my flesh and blood, I wouldn't have been a lot more upset. Upset at Jimmie for not telling us about the size of the assignment. Upset at husband-dear for not at least asking Jimmie what his homework entailed. Upset because there was no way Jimmie would be getting an A now, as there would be no way he could finish it all.
And I also wondered if perhaps it was a good thing poor Jimmie isn't my own biological child, as my over-the-top focus on academics would have surely rendered him a lot more insecure, a lot less relaxed, and probably a lot less happy than he is now.
And then I wondered if husband-dear and I would be a lot more at each others' throats, because there was no way I would just step back from any school-related responsibilities. My child would be in gifted and talented programs, honors classes, ready to take AP classes once they stepped onto the high school bus, and geared to win at least two scholarships to college. My child would be in the school band, the drama club, and play sports. And not just because my child enjoyed it so much, no, because it would help them develop a "wide variety of skills", as well as prep them for snagging that scholarship.
After a while, I realized I was actually feeling bad for the children I never had. Man, they would be really messed up, and would probably need some serious therapy to get over their controlling mom.
Perhaps it's better for everyone that I'm just a stepmom. At least it allows me to be the cool mom I would -want- to be if I were a bio mom.
And Jimmie's homework? He finished almost all of the questions. Almost. There was no drama, no tears, not even one angry word. He worked diligently until Dad decided he had worked enough, and he would just have to deal with not having completed the entire assignment. It was quiet, peaceful, and a great life lesson for Jimmie.
I'm telling you, I'm much better at this stepmothering-thing.
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