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I usually try to avoid this subject, because it’s hard to write about it honestly. But at some point, I think, you have to rip the band-aid off and be willing to discuss how difficult it is to be a stepparent. And yesterday was just a fall-down-on-the-floor-crying kind of stepmom day.

I read a lot written by stepmothers of teenagers, who make a pretty convincing case for having the toughest job in the world. But I submit that younger kids may be harder — at least for the kind of stepmom prone to self-criticism and reflection.

With a teenager, there is a limited extent to which you can and should absolve the stepchild of responsibility. Yes, they’ve been through a lot. Yes, they have divided sympathies. But they are old enough to choose their behavior, and when they screw up (as we all do) I think it’s fair to be pissed off. You deal with it lovingly, but the feeling is valid.

But little kids are a very different story. They do not understand cause and effect; they have little to no affect regulation; and they’re at the stages in which that is completely developmentally appropriate. Your annoyance, as a stepparent, if something goes hideously wrong can’t morally be directed at a little kid. It has to go to the situation, some other factor, or yourself.

Why is this different from parenting? Well, as a parent as well to a no-cause-and-effect, little affect regulation kid myself, I’m confident that the difference is the sympathy established by the deep parental bond. That may be learned; it may be genetic and/or hormonal; but it’s there in experience — an unconscious tolerance that you don’t even notice until you see that it’s lacking in other circumstances. And once you notice that, it’s even harder to direct the emotions brought up by stepkids’ misbehavior. You can’t so much as raise your voice without thinking, “Is this fair? Would I do this with him? Do I expect too much? God, why won’t they just STOP?”

I say this, obviously, coming off of a very bad day yesterday. Jason has TONS of homework this weekend, and we’re off our usual schedule, so I took everyone to the Montshire and then for ice cream. And in the space of 5 hours, I was screamed at, punched in the face, and kicked, all more than once. All three kids were involved. And I spent the rest of the afternoon sobbing on the couch, wishing I could either find peace with it all or hop on a plane. I want our kids to have a happy, affectionate, peaceful childhood, but my attachment to that ideal right now only brings me disappointment and frustration.

They are going through stages that can’t be avoided, and in circumstances they didn’t pick. And I am often sure that I am just not up to the task of understanding their world and my place in it.

I used to tell Jason all the time (and it seems to have stuck) that the most important thing he could do for his kids — other than being a constant and involved presence — would be to live a happy life, so they could see the example of a fulfilled and interested adult, someone happy enough to share his interests and value theirs. He is turning into that person, and I am not.

Circumstantially, it’s just the way it is — I work constantly to try to keep us above water — but I know how deeply I am affected by my inability to pursue anything, other than this blog I guess, for myself. I can’t choose hobbies over hours worked to pay tuition; I can’t buy something small and pretty when the kids need clothes for school. I make those judgments internally — they’re not imposed by anyone — but there are times (while being kicked and screamed at, for example) when it just seems, if not unfair, at least untenable. I wonder if, by the time they’re older and life is somehow different, there will be much left of my internal self, or if the hopes I seem to be clinging to by threads will have been at best found silly and at worst forgotten.

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