jennethink

FOUR FAMILY MEMBERS AND A TRUMPET

Well … it seems The Kid is playing the trumpet. Actually, you may already know that because you might have heard her practicing. This past week we were all in sunny florida with Momme and decided to have a little jam session. Meaning, we all wanted to jam cotton in our ears.

Ba-da-ching!

Actually we all decided to try and play. Luckily, I had my camera nearby and was able to catch most of our little musical soirée. I'll want to use this for an audition video at some point for something, I'm just sure … or for evidence to establish my mental state and get me out of some crime in the future.

Here are the videos. Make sure you turn your sound up … well, or down.

This first one is The Kid playing her, um, scales? I think that's what she said she was going to play. Turns out she only knows 4 notes so it's a rather short scale and apparently the order of those notes isn't set in stone. Now-a-days I guess you can just play any old note whenever you like.

Lovely. She's no Dizzy Gillespie but she is dizzingly cute when she plays, you gotta give her that.

Next I decided to give the horn a shot. As you can see from the video, I picked it up rather quickly. Then I tried to play it and that didn't go so well - <rimshot> - this was my third attempt at a song in the kid's music book. I was playing it so Momme could guess what the song was.

Huh. Watching it again I'm just as surprised as I was then that she didn't get it. I'm not sure what her issue was. That is clearly Go Tell Aunt Rhody, as if you didn't already know that!

Next, The Hub gave it a shot. Don't be too impressed. It turns out he played coronet in Jr. High. So, he was kinda a ringer. Then again, so were my ears! Boo-ya!… try the veal! He's also playing Go Tell Aunt Rhody (well, honestly, we didn't have that much to choose from). However, he'd never heard it so Momme and I had to sing along. He was doing really well until he learned some disturbing news about the old grey goose at the end.

And rounding out our session is Momme. Man, I love me some Momme. Prior to trying out the trumpet she said four or five times she would probably have a heart attack. She was completely confident in her inability. However, she surprised herself. And frankly, all of us. My favorite part is when she realizes just how good she is and calls for her music!

And that, my friends, rounds out the trumpet session. I had a massive headache for about 6 hours after this. As did, I'm sure, the neighbors. Oh and, 4^th grade music teachers should have a free pass into heaven, in my opinion.

THE JIG IS OFFICIALLY UP

Of all the things I suppose I will find someday in her room, this just may be the most upsetting to me.

Clearly did not give birth to this child …

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOUBLE DIGIT GIRL!

Well, Kiddo, you made it to double digits! 10! Honey, that is so old and you are so big. I am amazed at how much you have changed in this past year and how much you have stayed the same. Everyone I know keeps telling me to watch out for the pre-teen and teen years and maybe I'll eat my words someday but you are just a total joy to be with and I can't see that changing anytime soon.

I know you have your moments when you want what you want and try to get what you want at all costs … but last I checked, we all had those moments and honestly your moments are relatively easy to deal with. Sure, I can see glimpses here and there of the teenager you are becoming. At times this past year I could feel my face making expressions of confusion and wonder that I assumed only my parents made. I can recall a few times this past year when, after a certain "moment" or two of yours, your father and I looked at each other with the same blank stare we would have if a kangaroo hopped into the room, sat down and started smoking a pipe. Sort of like "hm … well, this is an interesting turn of events … any ideas how to deal with this one?"

More often than not, you are able to walk through it with you. I've always liked that about you – you are able to communicate with me or your daddy or your mom or Tommy just exactly what's going on with you. I really enjoy the conversations we have and I'm always impressed by how well you are able to think through things. Not many adults can do that.

You are teaching me so much. So much about life, about patience, about people and about myself. Because of you, I can see how truly selfish I can be and because of you, I've experienced the joy of parenting. For years, I've gotten a thrill when I've seen other people succeed. I've rejoiced when people have achieved something great. But I never knew how great that "seeing others succeed" feeling could be until this past year when I sat between your daddy and your mom, holding your new baby sister watching you perform in your first school play. You'd been working on your 2 lines for months and I have to tell you, all prejudice aside, those were by far the best 2 lines of the whole play! You make a terrific "mean bug" and I finally understand why my mom made me sing and dance in front of relatives (much to my embarrassment) all those years ago when I was your age. Because the utter and complete joy that overcame me when I watched you sing and dance on stage was as addictive as chocolate. Or crack. Or chocolate crack. Don't ask me what that is. I just want to have that feeling again and again.

This has been a big year for you, sugar. This past year you became a big sister. And you blew me away with how good you are at it. You are so patient and loving with your baby sister. I love how you let me know anytime Maddy does something special. I love how you send pictures of Maddy to all of us on our phones. I love how delighted you get when Maddy laughs. And hearing you both laugh is like the best sound in the world. Maddy is such a lucky little girl to have you for a sister. Keep that in mind as she starts to grow and get into your stuff. I may defend her a few times because I was the little sister in our family and I know how it is to be the little sister. If you want a listening ear, you may want to call your Aunt Beek. She knows how awful it can be with a little sister keeps messing with your things. I don't know if she'll have any advice for you other than you may just want to get used to it. After all, last time I saw your Aunt Beek, I stole her comb.

You're kind

You're loving

You're attentive

You're smart

And you are so dang funny. I delight daily in your humor. And I'm so grateful you've developed such a tasty sense of humor. I have to tell you, Sugar, it's come a long way. A long long way from all those years ago when you used to tell knock-knock jokes over and over and I would have to force myself to laugh. Not only because they weren't funny … but because they weren't even jokes.

You: Knock Knock

Me: Who's there?

You: Table

Me: Table who?

You: Table in the corner!!!!!!! HA HA HA HA

Me: Uh .. <cue forced laughter> good one.

But you've more than made up for it lately. You are funny and so quick witted and somehow you are able to do all of that without being sarcastic. Now that, my dear, is a real talent. One your step mom hasn't really figured out yet. But I'm learning … I'm learning from you.

This past year I was talking with someone who asked me if I had any children. I told her about you, my darling step-daughter. She immediately cried, "You're a bonus mom?!" and I fell in love with that term. A bonus mom. The dictionary defines "bonus" as "something extra that is good." That's exactly how I feel. It's a bonus to know you. A bonus to help parent you. It's a bonus – big time- to get to be a part of your life and have input and observe the way you are going and growing. My life before you was pretty great and with you … it's all bonus. All something extra that is good.

I can see more than ever the woman you are becoming. And that woman is so beautiful, inside and out. I can't wait for this next year, Snoopy. I can't wait to know you better and better. Can't wait for the next phase of my bonus. You are doing such a good job with your life.

Happy Birthday 10 Year Old Girl.

Love and love,

Bonus-Mom

RUNNING OF THE BULLS - SAN FROMMIN STYLE

It wasn’t Pamplona.
It wasn’t teeming with people.
There were no drunks
(well, other than my neighbors who watched from their porch)
There were no medics.

There was only one rocket
(the “rocket launcher” forgot to send up the other three)
There was only one “bull”
There were two runners
But only one of them didn’t wet her pants a little from laughing.

Last year, on this day, I would have said nothing was better
Than scampering away from those Spanish toros
On those cobblestone streets
An ocean away
With a bunch of clumsy, machismo-ites.

This year … I don’t know …

I think we gave last year a run for its money.

I LEARN ... JUST NOT QUICKLY

Now hold your horses.  I’m okay.  Before everyone (Mom) goes freaking out about my overwhelmed post please understand that I am a woman of extremes and what is true one day isn’t necessarily true the next day and this reality is just delightful for The Hub.  It’s like living with a puppy … that occasionally eats little children.

Today is another day.  And with another day comes different feelings.  The overwhelms are still hanging around but they are somewhat embarrassed for being so showy and attention-seeking yesterday.  Today they are minding their own business quietly sorting socks in the corner of my mind. Hmm humm.  Nothing to see here.  On your way now.

And all of this reminds me of a story.  (Really?  Something reminded you of a story?  Gee, today IS different).

A week or so ago I was tucking The Kid into bed when she began to tell me about some goings on at school. Slightly tormented, she shared in great detail who and how and what happened. I won’t post the details here because I haven’t asked for permission but I will say I was hoping the typical school-aged girl-on-girl meanness wouldn’t start until much, much later.   I'm shocked nearly daily at how different school is for The Kid than it was for me.  When I was 9, I was still hugging my teachers hello and goodbye and barely able to recite the alphabet.  At the same age, The Kid uses War and Peace as a discussion starter and is part of a social circle so complicated I feel like I’m neck-deep in a game of dungeons and dragons … with lip gloss.

Anyway, as she shared what she was feeling and why she was feeling it, it struck me what a difference a day makes.  I knew in my heart and soul that things would look different in the morning.  I knew the next day at school would be better.  I knew … KNEW … the trials of Monday were just that – Monday’s.  Tuesday would be different.  But how to tell her?  How to validate what she was feeling and still give her a ray of hope?  How to listen and convey a complete and total understanding and not downplay while somehow also communicating that hey, kiddo, things aren’t so bad, you’ll see.  It’s impossible.  So I reached way back into my memory and channeled my grandmother and said,

“I know you don’t believe me right now, but things always look better in the morning.”  Then I kissed the top of her head that was buried in my chest, and added, “And if they don’t … well, we can handle that too.”

It wasn’t much.  But it was all I had.

I got a phone call the next day.  With delight The Kid told me what a great day she’d had at school.  She shared no details but just said, “You were right as usual!” and I quietly said a prayer of thanks to my grandmother, my God, whomever, for bailing me out once again. For giving me whatever bit of wisdom I needed in the moment to comfort a sad little girl.  For showing me that despite a 30 year span, That Kid and I really aren’t all that different.

Things really do look better in the morning. 

THE KID'S FIRST POST

My Sister Madelyn -

by Nena Fromm (reprinted with permission)

It all started when she was born.  She was the smallest baby I've ever seen, but she was so cute.  When she was in my mother's belly I kept telling my mom, "When will she come out? I can't wait."  Every day when I got home from school I would rub her belly and talk to it, too.  I couldn't wait for Madelyn to come out and see the world.  Now that she is out of the belly, she is so loud and cute.  Madelyn was 6lbs. 4oz. when she was first born!  It is so exciting to have someone new in your life.  Sometimes you've just got to get used to the feeling.  Here is something surprising to people and surprisingly, me.  My mom is letting me help change the diaper, but don't worry, I only do it once a week.  Ha ha ha ha ha!!  Let's get serious.  Sometimes when we have visitors I don't feel left out because occasionally someone brings me something, like the paper I'm writing on it came from my new notebook at my house.  Sometimes it will be a snack, or a toy, or something like that.  Let's get back to the point shall we??  It's not always about you.  You just have to get used to that.  My sister means a lot to me mostly because she's my first sibling.  I take care of her the best I can.  Sometimes it's hard to take care of a baby, but somehow the parents come to know more about them than they seem to.  It seems they are the ones who used to take care of us in the same way.  You should be happy you have a brother or sister.  If you don't it's ok.  I'm sure your friends take good care of you.  Some people get a lot of attention and others don't, but when you're a baby you need a lot, and I mean A LOT of attention.  Babies are nice and cute.  I hope my story has warmed your heart, but in life there's more to come, like taking care of yourself and others.  Thank you for listening to my story and paying attention!!

The end.

Nena

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

Dear Maddy,

Today you will enter the world!  Your mom called just a little bit ago to say you were on your way.  Right now you are being squeezed, yanked, sloshed and pushed around.  Right now you are demanding all the attention in the room.  And you will get it, sweet child.

We’ve been praying and hoping for you for a long time.  Your mom and dad have wanted you for what seems like forever, but you took your time showing up.  You stubborn thing.  When you finally announced your arrival with a pink plus sign on a pee stick, the immediate world around you could not have been happier. 

Your sister is just dying to meet you.  She talks about you non-stop.  There isn’t a person she encounters that doesn’t know you’ve been on the way for the last handful of months.  She’s so eager to be a big sister and to help out and she will be magnificent.  And you will adore her.  I know, because I have a big sister and I know how great they can be.  I look at your sister and I think how very, very blessed you are.  She will be your protector, your provider, your confidant and your jester.  She’s a funny kid and it’s going to be wonderful for you to have her to learn from.

Your mom and dad are incredible people.  You’ll know it right away, I’m sure and you’ll feel how much they love you but there are a few things you won’t realize until much later about your parents.  You probably don’t know, for example, that your dad is a FABULOUS cook.  He’s a chef, actually, and he makes the best pork roll in the world.  Not that pork roll is hard to make but man is it yummy when he makes it.  And it isn’t just that he can cook, it’s that he shows himself through his cooking.  He shows you how much he cares.  Once, a while ago, when I was staying at your mom and dad’s house, your dad made me breakfast.  It was at a time when I didn’t eat much – couldn’t eat much – but that was the best darn breakfast I’ve ever had.  It tasted good.  It looked wonderful and when your dad asked me if I wanted more I could see in his face how much he cared.  He might as well have spelled out in scrambled eggs, “I wish I could do more but I can do this.”

And your mom is terrific.  She’s calm under pressure and a great friend.  She’s compassionate and caring and she is so thrilled you’re around.  One of the things I’ve always respected and loved about your mom is her unbelievable ability to share. She’s shared so much with me…including her daughter, your sister.  She’s allowed me to take a role in her daughter’s life that rightfully, I shouldn’t have.  She’s allowed me the joys of motherhood.  She’s allowed me to co-parent and that ranks right up there with the most unselfish thing anyone has ever done for me.

Which brings me to you.  A few month ago your sister, her dad and I were all sitting at dinner talking about you.  We were each saying what we were most excited about.  I said, “I’m just so excited that we’re having a baby!” and that’s when your very smart sister said, “Um, Jenne, I have a question.  I’m connected to Daddy, Daddy’s connected to you.  I’m connected to Mommy.  Mommy’s connected to Tommy.  Mommy and Tommy are connected to the baby.  But how are you and Daddy connected to the baby???”

Hmmm.  Good question. 

It’s true.  You don’t really belong to us in any way shape or form.  You are the daughter of my husband’s ex-wife and her current husband.  You, technically, are The Kid’s half-sister.  You, technically, have no ties to us at all.  But since when do we, in this family, do anything by the book?

Since we first knew you were to arrive on the scene, we’ve been waiting eagerly for you.  We’ve teased and joked with your mom about how much fun it will be to have custody of you for the summers and holidays just like your sister and your mom has teased back, “Don’t joke!,” she says, “I’ll do it!”  Before we knew you were a she, we guessed and pondered and planned.  And when your mom called us early on to tell us some scary news, when we thought you weren’t going to arrive at all after all, it hit us like a mac truck.  I was in the Michigan airport when I got the news and I had to stop and sit for a while.  Did you know the Michigan airport has a chapel?  I didn't either but I was grateful for it that day.  That day when I held my head in my hands and cried. 

But you surprised us!  And although you’ll enter this world with some unique challenges, I know you’ll be okay.  I’m not worried about you at all.  Not with everything you have going for you.  There are babies who enter this world without one ounce of love or compassion.  There are babies who enter into the love of a few - a mom and a dad, if they are lucky.  Maybe even a grandparent or two.  Then there is you.

Oh Maddy, show yourself.  There are so many waiting.

Love,
Just Jenne

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NINE YEAR OLD GIRL

Here you are, 9 years old and I’m late with your birthday message. I have no good excuse except that for a whole week I’ve been unable to move my fingers across the keyboard as rapidly as I need to in order to convey how wonderful you are.

I can’t remember turning 9 or being 9.  The first birthday I remember is my 11th – complete with a chocolate layer cake with a huge 11 in yellow icing on top.  “Don’t you want to put 11 candles on it?” my mother asked.  Nope, I just want this.  Two fat, fat lines of thick yellow icing running down the center of my chocolate iced cake.  It looked less like a birthday cake and more like someone had cut a round chunk of asphalt out of the center of a no-pass highway.  But at 11, I didn’t care about things like that.  Details didn’t matter to me.  Not at 11 and I’m sure not at 9.

But they matter to you.

Oh
My
Goodness

Do they matter!

I was in Iowa for your birthday but called you bright and early last week.  I wanted to make sure I talked to you before you left for the one story brick schoolhouse and what was sure to be a fun day of birthdayness for you.  Your mom answered.  I asked for the birthday girl.  She laughed and went to find you.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I shouted into the phone and then sang sang sang my heart out.  Happy birthday to yooooou, happy birthday to yoooooou, happy BIIIIRTHday dear … Neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, happy birthday to-ooo-oooooo yoooooooou!!!! 

Hooray!!!! I shouted
Woop woop!!! I called
YAY Nena!!!! I said.  And then I asked, How the heck does it feel to be NINE YEARS OLD???  Your answer? …

“I don’t know.  I’m not 9 until 9:15 tonight, Jenné.”

What was I thinking?  Of course you aren’t. 

It’s no secret that you and I are different.  And I guess that makes sense.  Why would we be the same?  We share very little – no genetic code, you got that from your mama and daddy.  And we don’t live together in the same house for the majority of the year – your mom and Tommy get that privilege.  So I guess it makes sense that we are different. And I’m sure, when people look at us, when they see us in pictures or out in public, or when they hear about us – the stepmom and the stepkid together,  they probably only see the differences.  They only see the ways we don’t mesh – that you like to match all your clothes and I like to grab whatever two socks first come out of the dryer.  That you think every word of a book should be read… in order, and I like to skip around a bit to add interest to the story.  That when we do crafts together I like everything to be unequal, on angles and whooper-jawed and you … well, let’s just say “keep it in a straight line, Jenne” is uttered more than once a day around our art table.  People don’t always get us, Snoopy, have you noticed?  People don’t understand the relationship we have.  I guess that’s because some people have a harder time than we do with the whole step-parent thing. We’re pretty lucky.  You have a fabulous mom, a terrific step-dad, and an amazing father and all of them have helped us be the very best stepmom and stepkid we can be together.  But unfortunately, that’s unusual.  We’re different than most.  And people don’t understand.  Maybe because they only see our differences and what we don’t have … and not what we share.

They don’t see us when I wake you up in the mornings during the summer and do the Good Morning Nena Dance.
They don’t come along in the car when we do our drives around town and in perfect synchronicity put on our sunglasses and begin nodding fitfully to the music on our favorite CD
They don’t watch us as we drive to Pizza 51 – every day – and sit together waiting for your giant slice of pizza and my ham and cheese sandwich and how we laugh every time the waiter brings our food and thinks the big pizza is for me and the little sandwich is for you … little do they know!
They don’t know about the secrets we share which I will NOT write about here because they are our secrets and ours alone
They don’t know about how we sometimes sneak ice cream in the middle of the day and then pretend later when your daddy gets home that we haven’t had any treats in sooooooooooo long so he’ll take us to get ice cream … AGAIN!
They didn’t see us when I was sick and bald and you would climb up in bed with me and we’d watch House Hunters together and try to guess which house would be picked
They don’t know how sometimes, early in the morning I’ll come upstairs to wake you and pull you into my lap and we’ll sit together for the longest time just rocking back and forth while I tell you how lucky I am you are in my life.
They don’t see, hear, know any of that … and that’s okay.

Because I know.
And you know.

So let others see how different we are from each other.  Let them wonder about us and how it all works.  Let them be confused when we are together and you talk about your mom or when they ask me where my daughter is today and I say, New Jersey. They don’t get it.

But I do.
I get it. I get that you are one of the best example I have that God loves me very much.  And what other people think is normal just doesn’t matter to me.  I’d rather have you, your daddy, your mom and Tommy than normal any day of the week.


Happy Birthday, 9 year (and nearly one week) old.

I love you,

StepMom.

GET READY, YOU WON'T KNOW WHAT HIT YA

I had a hard time when I went through chemo.   I may have mentioned it once or twice.  Chemo sucks – hugely.  I’m beyond amazed when I talk to someone who didn’t struggle with their chemo.  And by “beyond amazed” I mean I’m usually furious.  In a real hey-good-for-you sort of way.  Sometimes I talk to people who say things like, “Yeah chemo? It wasn’t bad at all.”  Or “I went horseback riding on my days off.”  Or  “Well, I would just take a long lunch to take my chemo and then head back to work.”  And I just want to go,  “Oh come ON! You can’t be serious!”  I mean how can something that completely wiped me out be like nothing at all to another person? It would be like watching someone get their fingernails pulled out giggle and then say, “Do it again do it again!” How is it possible that people can just shrug off chemo?  Am I just a wimp?  Did I accidentally get a double shot of chemo?  I accidentally ordered a double shot of whiskey one time and I can tell you it DOES make a difference.  Maybe that was the problem.  Was I just extra sensitive?  I know my nurses said that my chemo cocktail was exceptionally rough but is that really true or were they just saying it to make me feel better?

Sometimes I wonder if these chemo-superstars are pulling my leg.  Perhaps it’s the same phenomenon that I see in new mothers when they are all like, this baby thing is the best thing ever! I’ve many times wondered if they were faking it.  Especially when they say, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to them while mopping baby poo off their forehead and trying to find a spitsy rag to wipe the puke off my new cashmere sweater.  And it gets worse when every mom in the room nods and goes, “Oh yes!  The best thing! The very very best thing!”  It has always been in those moments when I want to go, Okay ladies, gig is up.  Because seriously?  I mean I know kids are awesome, you don’t have to convince me, but in that moment I mean really?  Aren’t you exhausted?  And really?  Aren’t you a little olfactorily damaged and really?  Don’t you need a drink?

But I don’t say a word because I know they wouldn’t admit it.  Because wouldn’t they look silly being the only mom to say, “Holy crap I wish I could send this screaming ball of flesh back where it came from.” 

Not literally.

So what else is there to say? Of COURSE you’re going to say it’s the best thing that’s every happened to you.  Of course you are.  And I could never really call a mom out because who knows?  Maybe it IS the best thing.  Maybe your body chemically changes when you engineer a child and things like poop on your forehead are actually appealing.  Maybe your memory is altered and you can’t remember all the other things that rank higher in life than changing a diaper.  Like lima beans.  And dental cleanings.  Since I’ve never given birth, I can’t with conviction call bullshit.

So I keep my mouth shut when someone says how great it is to have a new baby and I just soak up all the good things about a friend having a new baby – like the new baby smell and the fact that I can squeeze their fat new baby feet and say things like “ah ga ga ga ga!” And then give them back.  But it is much harder with chemo.  Much harder to believe someone else thinks it is okay.  Much.  Because I’ve been through chemo.  And it sucks.  So when someone else says it wasn’t so bad … I don’t know.

I just have a hard time with that.

There were times, going through treatment, when I thought it wasn’t worth it.  Many times in fact. I know how that sounds.  I know it seems unbelievable.  But it is true.  I shared a lot here. A lot about chemo and the difficulties. I didn’t share it all.  And if you’ve read every chemo post that should scare you.  It scares me.  Still.  Maybe the best evidence of how awful it was is how I feel about every having to go through treatment again.  Maybe the best evidence is how terrified The Hub is to ever have to face treatment himself.  Maybe the best is the memory of the moment when I was laying curled up and crying in bed last year when that darling husband of mine whispered, “Hold on … Thursday is coming … Thursdays are good days.”  and I said, “I don’t think I can.  It’s too far away.” 

And it was Wednesday.

My father once told me that after his first surgery – the one that removed his spleen – he woke up and thought, “Well, that’s it.  I’ll never bend over again.”  And my mother told me after her first episiotomy she thought she’d never run again and I know what they meant.  In those moments, those times of feeling the awful you just can’t see the light.  You just can’t.

No matter what someone else says.

So you hold on.  You look for little things that will keep you going.  You can’t believe life will ever be normal or good again so you just hope it won’t suck.  It’s too much to believe you’ll ever really feel good.  That you’ll laugh with abandon, that you’ll run up and down stairs, that you’ll make dinner for company, that you’ll clean the tub just because you like the way it looks when it is shiny.  So you simply hold on.  What choice do you have?

Then one day you wake up and it’s done.  You got through it.  I got through it.  Unexplainable. 

People still ask me what they can say to loved ones or to themselves to keep them going when their chemo experience is similar to mine.  They email me and ask me for advice.  They wonder if I can remember anything that helped.  Truth is, I can’t.  I wish I knew the magic combination of words or prayers that would inspire or give someone the something they need to look forward to.  How can I tell others what it is?  I couldn’t even tell myself.

But … last week The Kid got her grades.  She was really proud of them.  I don’t need to tell you how much joy this kid already brings to me.  But last night, when I was downloading the pictures from her and her father’s weekend in New Jersey I came across this video.  And as I sat and watched, all I could think of was, if I could just go back in time and show this clip to “Chemo Jenne” I know it would be THE thing.  The thing that I would look at and say….it will all be worth it.

With that, I give you Nena Fromm with the Report Card Song.  Written, produced, directed, art directed and starring The Kid.  Lead guitar by The Hub.

THINGS TO DO WHEN I FINALLY BUILD MY TIME MACHINE

#1 Travel back a few years and kick Walt Disney’s ass.


We went to see Enchanted this weekend.  Me, The Hub and my mom.  All adults.  We were in a theater with mostly children and parents.  We loved it.  It’s a charming and cute movie about a princess who gets banished from her kingdom to a place "where no hope exists" … real world, modern day, unanimated, New York City.  What follows are her madcap adventures in the Big Apple including trying to avoid a big poisoned apple as well as find her prince and eventually conquer the evil queen with the help of one very talented chipmunk.  It made us laugh and didn’t require too much thinking and all in all was the perfect way to sit and digest our thanksgiving meal.

Almost.

I guess no movie is perfect.  I guess there will always be something you don’t like or wish wasn’t part of the movie or think could have been left out.  This is not uncommon.  We all have our issues.  For example, if you ever ask my mom about a movie and she says anything like, "It was good," and then looks away and says, "I mean, it was okay ... I mean there was some stuff, you know, I could have done without .." You can durn well bet someone was either getting or giving oral sex in that movie.  Or masturbating.  And you can also bet that she just shut the lid to her laptop after reading that. That's not to say Enchanted had either one of those in it.  It didn't.  It doesn't.  Thank goodness.  But it does have a doozy.  Not my mother's pet peeve, but the mother of all pet peeves of mine.  It had the ONE THING that could make me want to burn my glass slippers in protest.

The evil queen is a stepmother.

I get really, REALLY tired of this.  Even before I was a stepmom, I didn't understand.  Now, as a stepmom, I'm livid.  Why?  What’s the purpose?  Why does the villain have to be a stepmom?  Isn't it hard enough either being a stepmom or having one without having it blown all out of proportion in movie format?  I'm a stepmom and I can honestly say that I've never ONCE fattened any kids up to be eaten at a later date. I already have a bug up my behind over the fact that there NEVER is a complete, happy family in a Disney animated movie and it is almost always the mom that is absent but why on top of that, do we have to make the stepmother evil?  To what end?  Sure there needs to be some sort of nemesis. But why does it have to be a stepmother?  Why can’t the evil queen be an aunt?  Or a nosey neighbor? Or, if it has to be a mother figure, why can’t the regular mother be the evil one?

I once discussed this with someone over drinks and the reply was, “Well, it wouldn’t be believable if it was just a regular mother… because no mother would do those kinds of things to their kids …”

There are so many problems with this answer I don’t know where to begin.  First, have you READ a newspaper lately?  I’m going purely on memory here but as I recall, the people who are making news for mistreating their children are MOTHERS not stepmoms.

Second, fish don’t talk, mermaids don’t exist, princes don’t prick their fingers and become beasts and pink elephants – last time I checked – could not fly.  I don’t think suspension of belief is difficult here.

Third, shut up.

Before I had uttered a word the other person saw my expression and spouted, “Well, what I mean is, the PUBLIC wouldn’t tolerate THAT in a kid’s movie”

Me:  Wouldn’t tolerate WHAT?

Her: A mother (said with great emphasis) mistreating her children.

Me:  Why?

Her:  You know why.  Mothers naturally love kids.

Me:  And stepmothers?

Her: (after a pause and a long drink) I think we should change the topic.

So do I.

I mean, I guess I shouldn’t blame Walt himself. The whole “hate your stepmom” thing has been around a long long time.  For proof, see this quote from Euripides who back around 400 BC was pissed ... probably about being told to clean his room: 

“Better a serpent than a stepmother.”

And we all know Grimm kept things that way with his take on stepmoms in Hansel and Gretel … you’ll recall it was in this gem of a story where the stepmother convinces H and G’s dad to take them out in the woods and leave them.  Um, doesn’t dear old dad have any responsibility here?  Shakespeare didn’t help things at all with a couple of his yarns and the classic tale of Cinderella is as old as dirt with the most popular version being written down by Frenchie Charles Perrault in 1697.   

So I guess Walt didn’t start it.  But without finding a soapbox to stand on here I have to say, it is time to end it.

It is time to get rid of the evil, wicked stepmother. I mean with something other than a magical sword.