I Can Own this Day

Appeared in the Idaho State Journal on May 9, 2021.

This past week our youngest turned 13. THIRTEEN! He marked the date by placing 13^th in his cross-country race with a time of 13:13. During his race, with his permission, some friends and I dressed up in my cow suits to cheer for the runners. Why the cow suits? Because I have them. They are fun. Who better to ring the encouraging cowbells than a bunch of cows?  Smiling heifers are perfect messengers urging runners to “Keep Moooving!”

At his first meet this season, he asked me not to wear the cow suit and cheer. I could certainly cheer, but in normal clothes. I suspected my cow suits and I were on borrowed time with the kids as they traverse their teenage years, but I was still disappointed. Gratitude and slight pride eclipsed my disappointment when I grasped that he was comfortable asserting his wishes knowing I might feel let down. My personality is not always one that invites dissent, especially from my stepkids. I honored his wishes.

When his second race rolled around, I was informed that it would be okay if I wore the cow suit. It would also be okay if I let the coach’s dog, Solomon, wear our dog-fitted cow suit. Ah. So this was about his coach and Solomon, an easy-going golden retriever who is a service dog for one of the coach’s sons. Solomon was key to my stepson being okay, even eager, to have his stepmom root for him and everyone else in a cow suit.

When I use the word “step” referring to our kids or myself it often elicits a correction or commentary. Some folks tell me they use the word “bonus” as in “bonus mom” or “bonus kids.” I like that. It’s cute and a positive spin counter to the connotations that come to mind with Cinderella’s evil stepmother, but it’s not a vernacular I grew up with. I am really okay with “stepmom” as it pertains to me and my relationship with the younger two kids. Their older sister was in her tweens when I came into their lives, and now that she’s in her 20’s, I’m simply “her Billie.” These monikers suit our family.

This is my fourth Mother’s Day as a state-recognized stepmother. Now instead of only spending this day reflecting on my own mother and the many women (teachers in particular) who helped raise me, this day holds reflections of my role in these kids’ lives.  What am I doing right? What am I doing wrong? No good mother rests on Mother’s Day, do they?

It’s easy to romanticize the day as brunches, flowers, and kindergarten finger-paintings, but the older I get, the more complicated I realize Mother’s Day can be.  For the first few after my mom died, the Hallmark display was right in front of my preferred entrance at Fred Meyer. I couldn’t avoid the orchids and cards and they were a gut-punch when I just needed milk and eggs.  They weren’t a celebration, they were a reminder of loss.

From what I write, you would think my mom was an angel on earth who never made a parenting misstep, but truthfully, depending on my brain space, my Mother’s Day reflections might revisit all of her mistakes. Sometimes I take steps in the direction of grace and forgiveness, and sometimes I take steps to wallow in bitterness and grief. Thanks to the springtime sun, my bike and a happy 13 year old in the house, this is looking to be a grace and forgiveness kind of Mother’s Day on that front.

I have deeply appreciated how my wife, the kids’ dad and the children themselves have embraced and empowered me in my role as a stepmom. We’ve got the co-parenting, carpools, permission slips, and problem-solving that many families do. I often feel like somewhat of an imposter on this holiday because I did not come about motherhood the way my own mom did, but through all of the exhaustion, guilt, joy and second-guessing, it’s pretty clear that I can own this day with the rest of the moms out there. I have all of the mom love, fear, worry and hope.  And as the 13 year old will attest, thanks to the cow suits, bells and obnoxious cheers, I’ve become great at embarrassing him, too. Yep. I can definitely own this day.