Strangers In The Night (And Day)

When you get married the second, third, fourth, fifth - well really any time after the first you will find yourself in the unique position of being the 2nd wife, or at least not the first.  If there are children his first wife will always be a part of your life.  Being the second wife to my husband there is part of me that wants to throw a temper tantrum when I don't get my way, and yes, you read this right  - tantrum.  A full blow on the floor, screaming, kicking, red face, fists flying tantrum.  Luckily for me, and for my husband, that side of my brain actually did grow up and it tells me to breathe, un-clench my fist, and to use my inside voice.

It is then, and only then, that I remember his ex-wife is a variable in our new life together.  She is someone whose opinion does count, she has a place in our family, and at the end of the day she may be a complete stranger.  About 3 months after my husband and I got engaged he was set to travel.  Normally we would have the kids one night a week and every other weekend.  On the occasion he travels over a weekend we would normally have his children his ex-wife has put her foot down and said "NO".   At first I was taken aback.  Am I not responsible?  She doesn't like me?  How dare she ...!  etc.  etc.  It was my own personal pity party.  Then something she said to my husband shocked me back into reality.  She said, "I am not going to leave my children with a complete stranger!"  She had other choice things to say but that is irrelevant to my point.  It was this single statement that made me realize that while I was not a stranger to the girls, not a stranger to their teachers, or many of their friends, I had never interacted or really even seen her.  She was right.  I was in fact a complete stranger.

Having been truly humbled by her statement I extended an invite to her to come see the house, meet my son, meet me, to get to know each other better.  I thought with my husband out of town this would be a perfect opportunity as they would not have to deal with the awkwardness of being face to face.  While I did not have high hopes we would become best friends, I had hoped we could become acquaintances who could talk when necessary to create stability and consistency between our two homes for the kids.  I thought this was a brilliant idea.  I was excited to be able to help build a bridge for our girls and create harmony where strife had only existed before.  After sending my husbands ex-wife a note inviting over I was certain the olive branch I extended would be accepted.  I was crushed when my offer was declined. I kept trying and keep trying.

It would be so easy to spit fire and venom.  It would be easy to make things difficult, but where would that leave me?  What kind of example would it send to my children?  I may not like some of the parts of being a second wife but the reality of it is I can never replace, nor would I ever want to replace, the girls mother.  I realize I am important to the girls but their mother is their mother and until she decides to not be a stranger I will remain as such.

For all of you 2nd wives out there who are dealing with a first wife, be patient, be slow to anger - quick to forgive, and remember you are a perfect stranger to this person who is entrusting the most precious piece of her heart to you. She may be his ex-wife but she will be the mother of his children for life. 

We Are Family ...

Towards the end of the summer our youngest daughter asked why she had "blonde" hair when all of her sisters, and both her parents, had dark brown hair.  She wanted to know where her light eyes came from, when her sisters had deep brown eyes.  And lastly she wanted to know why on earth she had such fair skin, and why we were constantly dousing her with sunscreen.  My husband lovingly explained that she was the lucky recipient of all of the recessive genes in her gene pool.  She inherited the light hair and eyes from the McMahon/Dunn side of the family.   More specifically that she looked just like her Great Grandma McMahon (Dunn).  Settled with the response from her Father, our strawberry blonde beauty bounced off to play lego star wars versus lala loopsy with her brother.

Later that week our son was comparing his beautifully caramel skin, that had been darkened by the summer sun, with the lighter version of his sisters skin, pink from the warm heat.  He said, "I hate my brown skin, it's so ugly".  Immediately all three of his sisters said, "I wish I had your brown skin.  It is so nice and tan, not pale and blah".  T wasn't the least bit consoled and again verbalized his wish to be "really related" to his sisters so he too could have light skin, instead of brown.  It was in this instance that I realized a bigger conversation needed to be had about how we are all made in God's image and that no one person, or skin color, or any other characteristic is better than any other, but rather that we are simply different, unique.

At dinner that night we talked more about genetics, about how there is a limit to the physical characteristics a person can have and that those characteristics are determined by the ones your parents bring with them.  If both of your parents are caucasian, there is little to no chance that if you are their genetic off-spring that you will be born with the physical characteristics of the Chinese.   The kids laughed and started to give us the examples showing their level of understanding.  I have eyes like Dad.  I have hair like Mom.  I will be taller than you Mommaca because Mom and Dad are (thanks, sigh).  Then our youngest daughter said something that truly amazed me.  She said, "Just because we don't share our genetics we are still family, right?".

And that is when we determined that there are physical genetics and environmental genetics.  Environmental genetics are not about eye color or nose shape but rather the chromosomes of your life that are carefully constructed from thanksgiving dinners, christmas cookie bake-offs, tears cried, hugs given, bandaids used, swimming lesson successes, basketball games with your parents embarrassing you with their cheers of joy, birthday cakes, crazy smiles, good smiles, fart smiles (if you have boys), happy smiles, school plays, questions of the past, questions about the future, bedtime stories, golf cart rides with Grandpa, playing home videos made by kids for Grandma, cuddling, family movie nights, time at the lake, hugs, and love.

My parents have always said, "Family is not determined by genetics (thank goodness since I am adopted) but rather, the contributions people make to who you will become, who you are, and how you live your life".  Once again, I am forced to admit they are right, they are smart, they are wise, and I am becoming more like them every day.  THANK GOD!

If You're Happy And You Know It ...

Tolstoy once said, "If you want to be happy, be".  For the longest time I used to ponder this statement, wondering how on earth the mere act of just being, could make one happy?  Some might say if I were a person facing a terminal illness, I would rejoice in the knowledge that I was alive.  The same might hold true for someone recovering from an addiction or a traumatic experience.  However, I can't help but wonder if my joy would be short lived once the reality of being terminally ill set in, or the temptation of my addiction, or the memories of my traumatic experience found their way back into my conscious memories.  So, what then did Tolstoy mean by saying, "If you want to be happy, be"?

I believe my Father holds the key to this quagmire.  As a younger man my Father worked hard.  He always put his faith and beliefs first, his wife second, and family next.  He never wavered in his priorities.  He worked hard to make sure he not only provided financially for the family, but that he lived in a way that would set the tone for the rest of the family.  He cared for my mother during each round in her fight with cancer.  He cared for my Grandmothers after their husbands passed away and they needed assistance with keeping up with their homes to ensure they could maintain their independence.  From the outside looking in one might think the additional responsibility my Father took on would be a burden.  Something to be "lived through" or "survived".  Yet with each passing year, no matter how old, how broken his judas of a body becomes, or how tired he is, my Father continues to rise to meet the challenges of providing for his family and caring for those he loves.

He uses the early hours when he cannot sleep to have coffee with his daughters, and now his grandchildren. He uses this time to listen to what is troubling them, to offer them advice, and to encourage them to live up to the greatness they were born for.  He uses his fun loving spirit to make those around him laugh and to pull the ties that bind us as a family closer together so that they are strong enough to outlive him.  It is through his constant love, his unwavering support, and his assistance when the family needs it the most that my Father finds great happiness. I say this not to bolster his ego, or to offer him up to be canonized as a saint (sorry Dad, I love you but I don't want your head to swell up too much).  More so I believe my Father is the living example of what Tolstoy meant.  To be happy, all my Father has to do is be.   It is in this way I hope to be most like my parents.