120 school hours, 68 work hours, 6 football training sessions, 3 football matches and a swimming lesson – a week – I’m not sure we all really knew each other anymore. They talk about ‘passing ships in the night’ but we’d become more like satellites zooming light years apart in space. So, on 23rd March 2020, when Boris told us all to spend the foreseeable with each other, a collision of satellites was only a matter of time.
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I had another blog post scheduled for today, but sometimes it’s the day to day minutia that create the most important message – today, I felt was one of those days. Normally the reserve of an Instagram post, I’ve decided to start giving some of my more War & Peace style captions their own space – where they can be found, referenced to and just make someone (even if it’s just me) feel a bit better when the shit hits the familial fan.
It was a mere week ago, Mother’s Day, that I wrote of the magic (and tribulations) of being a step-mum – I often feel a responsibility to round-off my honesty with a dose of hope, to bring my ramblings full circle – ‘sure it’s shit, but it’s shit for everyone and we’ve got this!’ It’s almost a bad habit. And last week I did exactly that with THIS post. Well, in the essence of honest balance I’ll willingly admit today, being a step-mum, was really pretty shit, and that alone.
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A question that occasionally pops up in my DMs or on email is “Do you get on with your step kids?!”, usually followed by a brief tale of a “blended family” going a bit tits up. So I’m bringing this one outta the parental shadows. Sure, it’s taboo as no one wants to publicly declare that they don’t like/don’t get on with an innocent sprog; least of all the spawn of their beloved. It’s a toughie, but with well over half a mill step families, currently squabbling under one roof in the UK*, it’s an issue that’s going nowhere!
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