When Home Doesn't Feel Like Home Anymore

I was blessed enough to live all of my first eighteen years in one home. The majority of that time with both my mom and my dad. I was allowed to roam my neighborhood as a young elementary schooler. I got to play with the other children pretty much daily.

I'm sure there were problems in our town. Though I can't really name any specifically. Luckily for my generation there wasn't a huge drug problem; or vandalisms; or violence; or burglaries. Or countless other issues you could run across today.

My early years were spent running through backyards with my friends. Riding our bikes up and down the street. Not a care in the world. Unless, of course, you were caught riding across the resvoirs at the street department. Or climbing around on the salt piles where our road ended.

But, being kids we never really cared what anyone had to yell at us. Like the old man that always seemed to appear when we were doing exactly what we weren't supposed to. Most of the time, we rolled our eyes and hurried along our way. As all children tend to think, there was no way that disaster could befall us. No way that we were going to fall through those giant white slabs and drop down into the rushing water below.

My adult self now incredibly thankful that our neighborhood had such a sense of community. In those days, the "it takes a village" mindset really was in full effect and I can't even begin to fully imagine how this aided in keeping the children in our area safe. I don't remember seeing parents hovering over their children because they didn't. We knew our boundaries and tested them sparingly because we knew our asses would be had if we pushed them too far.

We weren't afraid of someone pulling up and trying to lure us away. Our parents weren't concerned that we'd befriend someone who would introduce us to street drugs. The worst thing you may find discarded was a random beer bottle in an alleyway.

Every summer those boundaries we were given stretched a little farther. Bike rides became longer adventures to explore the unknown. Still no worries of strangers lurking in the dark because we were too focused on our destination.

Frequently heading north on the alley behind my house because we'd wind up at my favorite candy store, Westfall's. Ran by a nice couple who typically knew exactly what I wanted. A small brown paper bag of tootie fruities. Blue, pink, green, and purple. And never skimping on the peachies and gummy worms.

By the time I was a teenager I became pretty familiar with many areas. I spent summer's with friends at the local swimming pool. Hung out at the pizza place on Union street playing pool and socializing. I spent many summer night's walking through town carefree and enjoying my youth.

Fast forward to now and I'm amazed at the differences I see. I know it isn't exclusively my hometown that has felt the affects of our sickening society. But, I also know that not every city has felt it quite as harshly as mine has either.

I can't remember locking our house one time growing up, let alone our car. If you chose to do that now, however, you might as well send invites to the criminals to anything of value that you own. And please forget letting your children roam the neighborhoods now. Even when there isn't a fear of a pedophile or kidnapping, you have to worry about them finding discarded needles from the junkies that inhabit the town.

When did this happen? When did the people in our town become some destructive and selfish?

The saddest part about moving from my hometown hasn't been missing my family and friends. It's been having to be so far away and watch helplessly as the place I always connected with love and growth morphs into one of drugs and violence.

I may not have always appreciated the place that I am from, but as I have grown older my focuses have grown as well. Things that didn't matter to me way back then mean so much more now.

When I start reading the local news articles from back home it makes me realize that I can't fathom allowing my children do half of what I was allowed to do when I was a kid. This small town is going to Hell in a handbasket and it breaks my heart. The worst of it being that the names that I constantly read in these news segments are familiar names of those I use to know.

I can close my eyes and think of numerous memories of us living it up as kids and my brain hurts knowing where that lead them. It makes it real to me. It makes me thankful I grew up and chose a different life. It makes me wish there was something I could do to help them.

So instead I turn to this. A small message from me to them, from me to whomever really.

It takes one moment to make a decision. A decision to change your circumstances. It's time to stop making excuses for your behavior and start accepting that what you are doing right now isn't just affecting you and your family, but the entire town you live in.

Heroin and meth are a big deal. Addiction is a real thing. Overdosing is a real outcome. You are ruining lives. Including your own. If your "friends" and your family won't take the time to be honest with you about your choices, I will.

You are selfish. You are irresponsible. You are wrong. You are not, however, beyond help. Nor are you doomed to be a bad person for the rest of your life. Make a choice to do what's not only right for you, but for the people around you. I believe in you.

I want you to know it isn't entirely your fault. A lot of you are victims of circumstance or are socially predispositioned to venture down a specific path in life. I recognize there are so many pieces of you that are enriching and thoughtful. Focused on growing and stablizing. There are parts of you that are flourishing and helping those around you. I just wish with all my might that you would spend more time putting those focuses forward.

Life goes by in what feels like an instant. What kind of society are you setting up for your children to live in? Imagine that one day those drugs you push through wind up in your teenager's veins. Imagine that it wasn't them that put it there, but a "friend" who pressured them to do it. Imagine a call from the police that your child has overdosed and is being rushed to the hospital. Imagine planning that baby's funeral.

This isn't extreme. This is a reality for countless families. Right there in our town.

It's time to grow up. It's time to say enough is enough. It's time to start thinking about other peoples right to exist in a safe and drug free environment.

Whether your selling, using, or just looking the other way, you need to recognize you are part of the problem. Reach out and ask for help. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you someone to be admired. Someone who is strong enough to know when they can't do it alone. Someone who a person can respect. Get serious about your life before it's too late. 

I have hope for you which gives me hope for our town too. It exists in the people striving to clean the mess up. People that are trying to bring life back into that place of love and growth. That place etched in the heart of our inner children. The place that we should preserve for our own children. The next generation growing up on the same streets we grew up on.

Creating new memories there shouldn't include drugs and crime. Our ten year olds shouldn't know where that syringe on the ground came from. Our eight year olds should be able to play in their own backyard with their neighborhood friends without their parents having to keep surveillance on the area. You should be able to trust your friends and family.

As clichè as it sounds, every person really can make a difference. Chances are you know someone who is having a rough time. Whether it's their own fault or not doesn't matter. Spending all your time and energy focusing on the problem (those people) instead of a solution (getting them help) is only spreading gasoline on the fire. It's time you put fault aside and reach out. You could be the person that turns someone's life around. Which in turn will slowly begin to revive our town.

The town with which, in it's current state, I could never imagine bringing my own children back to. The town that currently holds so many of my loved ones whom I worry about everyday. The town that I so fondly remember. The town that will always be my home even if right now it doesn't feel like it.

Spoiler Alert : I Yell At My Kids ( And I'm Not Ashamed )

I don't know about you, but my days seem to always find a theme. Sometimes I notice it right away, other times the theme becomes apparent when I'm settling in for the night and reminiscing over the day's events.

Today's theme reared it's ugly head by 8 a.m. by which time every single one of the kids had already been yelled at.

Yeah. I'm a yeller. I have two modes really, yell and yell louder.

I threaten and send to bedrooms. I get exasperated and over explain. I ask rhetorical questions and try (mostly without success) to not lose my shit. I am not a perfect mom and usually feel incredibly bad afterward. But a lot of times I don't. And I'll tell you why.

I know that I could handle myself better. That I could close my eyes and count to 10. Or remove myself from the situation. Sometimes I definitely do, I mean everyone has their limits. My children tend to test mine frequently. I know I could "use my words" as I often advise my children.

But do you know what I never do instead?

I never put down my kids.
I never shut down their emotions.
I never get physical.
I never judge them.
I never forget to apologize when I'm wrong.
I never forget to point out what they did right.
I never forget to say I still love you.

Sometimes my overly emotional (currently hormonal pregnant) self reacts first and thinks later. Sometimes when I say shut up and find something to do, what I really mean is I love you child, but I'm in a bad mood and need you to find something to do before I go insane and take everyone with me.

I know they're young and are still learning, but please forgive me for noticing that kids are assholes. Even my adorably innocent bunch who I'd walk through fire for.

I refuse to beat myself up for losing my cool when they push every button I have before my morning cup of coffee has even started to get hot. On days where I'm more of a referee than a parent I feel like it should be completely understandable that I need to yell to be heard; and even more importantly, believed. Especially when my voice has to carry over the five heathens shrieking and squawking at my feet.

Getting down on myself isn't productive for anyone. I can tell you where feeling overly guilty and constantly doubtful leads you; to the corner of Anxiety Pkwy and Depression Ave. Been there, done that, not going back.

I know sometimes I'm not the best mom I could be, but I never doubt that I am a good mom. Despite spending the first several years of motherhold being openly judged and ridiculed for my decisions. I chose to stop letting others opinions dictate the way I parent my kids.

Reality is harsh and wanting to protect my kids from it is a natural instinct. However, there are certain realities that I knowingly expose them to. One being that sometimes the only way to vent your frustrations is to open your mouth and let it out. That, of course, isn't a go ahead to verbally abuse someone, but it's my way of saying it's normal to lose your shit every now and then.

Many may disagree, but I will embrace that decision to the fullest. Just because my view is different than some on how these realities will affect their future selves will never make me feel like I'm wrong.

So while I'm over here barely hanging on by the loose thread at the bottom of my yoga pants, my kids are tiptoeing through the house so as not to disturb the resting beast. Maybe not the best way to win over all the Mommy Shamers who may criticize my techniques, but I'm completely ok with that. At least for the moment I'm sitting in quiet, relaxing my now sore vocal cords.

Getting Past the "Step" in Step-Parenting

I had someone ask me awhile back how long it took me to stop seeing Aubrie as my stepdaughter and begin feeling like she was one of my own. It was a question I should've expected to be asked eventually I guess. I just hadn't thought about it yet. 

The more I consider the posts I write to what my heart feels compelled to share I realize that this is more than me writing my family's history. More than something to leave my children one day. This unorganized, raw glimpse into my family's life is for people who are struggling to make sense of their own family life.

We aren't the conventional family. I don't have all the answers. Very few in fact. I do have loads of my own personal experiences and beliefs that I feel very strongly about. And being Aubrie's mother is definitely one of them. 

So when this person posed the question I had to think about it for a moment.

I'm not sure there was ever a conscious choice for me. It wasn't something I decided, it was something I felt.

I was head over heels for her father. She was born seven months after we had started seeing one another and those seven months were nothing like anything I had ever experienced before. My husband treated me like a queen from the very beginning. So naturally when I saw him cradle her in his arms and watch him fall in love with her in an instant, my heart swelled. Not just for him, but this perfect extension of the most incredible man I had ever met.

This man who had taken my daughter as his own only months before.  Without expectations of being with me forever. He fell in love with her and saw that she deserved someone who would put her before themselves and he was more than willing to be that man.

We have a strong commitment to family. Our children's feelings come first in all decisions we make. When you ask me how did you get to that spot? How did you overcome feeling like just another person in her life? I just smile and wonder how could I not?

These children didn't ask to come into this world. They didn't ask for us to be the people who watch out for them. She surely didn't ask for me to be her mom. Just as Lydia never asked my husband to be her dad. Life however, takes us places we never knew we always wanted to be. You don't make a decision to start loving anyone, why would you think you would do it for a child?

There aren't "step" parents in our house. We are parents. Pure and simple. Does my son have a biological father? Of course. Is he in the picture? Yes. Am I Aubrie's biological mother? No. Does that make me any less of a mother to her? No.

We are parents to our children regardless of the prefix. Step, biological, adopted, doesn't matter. They all end with "parent." A child doesn't put a distinction on something unless it's learned. If you acknowledge that you are different then you are. But, if you accept your family for what it is then they will too.

All families are unique. I understand that not all parents involved get along (trust me). I know that sometimes kids can be difficult. Especially when they are older and adjusting to something entirely different than what they're use to. But every choice you make will lead you in a direction that's hard to come back from. You can make conscious decisions based on what you think is easiest or you can lead with your heart and do everything you can for this extension of your spouse.

Life's greatest gifts are our children. They give the world a promise of tomorrow. If we damage them by holding them in the middle of our conflicted feelings we start a cycle of negativity not only for them, but for those they encounter throughout their lives. The biggest expectation I have for my children is that they live their lives putting what's right before all else. Even when it's the unpopular choice. Even when it is hard as Hell. Even when they know it's going to change their lives forever.

Yes, loving Aubrie as my own was the right decision. More importantly though, loving Aubrie as my own was what my heart told me to do. I may not always trust my thoughts, but I always trust my heart. I am one of the lucky ones who didn't decipher between what was easy and what was right because in my case they were the same thing. It was easy to love her. It was easy to accept her and best of all my actions easily led her to loving me too.

So in my own long, roundabout way I hope I answered her question. In a day and age where we are constantly bombarded by labels I implore you to consider removing yours. You aren't a stepparent. You are a parent. So be a great one. 

I Accept That

Kids equal drama. Period.

Now they aren't the same "drama" as that bitch from high school everyone remembers. But they are drama nonetheless.

They can test the limits of my sanity and make me question everything I ever thought I cared about. Like seriously, how much sleep do I really need?

Oh who am I kidding? A lot. I need a lot of sleep. Do I get it? No. Do they? No. So what usually follows? You guessed it!

Drama!

There is no drama like that of a sleep deprived four year old. There's no test more grueling or more mentally taxing than trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind that long-drawn-out-barely-audible-whine-between-sobs that my daughter produces when she is pissed off and tired.

And God forbid I mumble a confused what? At the end.

As her mom I am apparently supposed to be connected on a deeper level than what I originally thought. I mean yeah, when she hurts, I hurt. When she's happy, I'm happy. But telepathy? Come on now. I am not a mind reader and she hates it. I accept that.

In a way I totally get where they are coming from. I mean I would be over the moon excited if throwing a hellacious tantrum in the middle of my bedroom got me everything I desired too. In short, however, life doesn't work like that. In fact, life gave them a mother more stubborn than them. They can scream until they explode for all I care.

Sometimes they don't get to wear the jeans they want because I didn't do the laundry yesterday. This may be the end of their world, ya know? Doesn't matter that these jeans are clean. They are slightly baggier than the other ones.
They hate them and me for making them wear them. I accept that.

Mornings like this they sulk and watch me from afar with a death stare that truly rivals my own. I can feel the anger resonating off of them from a room away. I don't know whether to laugh or be terrified of what's to come. Let's face it, I made them, it was bound to happen eventually, but this soon?

I never prepared myself for the day I would unknowingly compete for the last word with my ten year old. But, that happened yesterday.
I never gave thought to the day my six year old would become so emotionally sensitive that she would cry from me asking her what she just said. But, my daughter is a sensitive soul.
It never crossed my mind that one day my kid would look at me with a meaner face than my own. But every one of them have and I realize they all get it honest.

My kids are full of attitude. Piss and vinegar some may call it. Even when they push me to my breaking point, I couldn't be prouder that each one of them speak their mind. I'm raising kids with backbones. So drama naturally follows. I accept that.

I've come to realize a few things about drama because of them. Family drama is usually produced from love and can be a wonderful thing. It can be an opportunity to grow. Outside drama usually stems from jealousy and is the complete opposite. It hinders and can sometimes even kill relationships.
That's why sometimes I intervene and sometimes I let it unfold. Family drama still makes me behave like a crazy person and mostly lands me the title of "Meanest Mom Ever." But, I accept that.

A Letter to My Children

To My Children,

The other day I questioned myself. I questioned my instinct to react first, think later. I'm not so naive to believe this is the first time this question has crossed my mind, but today it definitely did. Not because I lashed out violently towards someone, but because I didn't consider that my words may impact those I would never wish to hurt. As good as my intentions are people perceive situations in their own way. They interpret words in their own unique process. I questioned my capability to truly put others before myself, in the smallest of moments.

So kiddos, this question made it imperative to me to leave you with a small list of motherly wisdom.

1.  It is never what you say, but the way in which you say it. Never be so naive as to believe your words won't leave a mark on the people they touch. I know I've never given you a golden example of self control when it comes to anger management. But darlings this is one of those listen to what I say ignore what you see me do types of situations. Your mother isn't perfect and over the years my sharp tongue has put me in a lot of different predicaments. Once something is spoken it may be forgiven, but it probably won't be forgotten.

2. When in doubt sleep on it. No decision worth making has to be made instantaneously. Decisions worth making deserve careful consideration. Anyone who pressures you either way does not have your best interest at heart. And while you think of all the good that will come to you, remember to think of the bad. They go hand in hand, my loves.

3. Sometimes our lives take wild turns. Despite our best effort to prepare for the unforseeable, God is and always will be in control. Don't fear what lies ahead of you, but embrace it with an open heart. Appreciate the moment you're in because as fast as it came, it will disappear.

4. You must love yourself before you can truly love another. Everyone is self-conscious kiddos. No one is so full of confidence that they aren't afraid of judgement. The trick is not letting the opinions of others skew the love you have for yourself. It's this love that will enable you to fully give yourself to someone else.

5. Some people live to rain on other people's parades. Everyday you have to make the choice of whether you are going to carry your umbrella today or dance in the rain. I won't pretend that this world is perfect. There are bullies everywhere. They hide in the darkest of corners, but also prance around in the most beautiful disguises right in front of your face. I can't protect you from the hurt that comes with them, only tell you a bully will always show their true colors eventually. It's up to you what will happen next.

6. Ask questions. No matter the situation. Job interview; meeting someone new; the waitress at your favorite restaurant; you're in a rough spot. Always, always, always ask questions. It's incredible what you can learn if you take the time to ask one simple question. Never forget knowledge is power.

7. When all else fails don't forget you have family. Your dad and I love you more than you will ever know. No matter how great or how bad it is, we are here for you. God gave us you; but he also gave you us. You will never have to walk your journey alone.

Everyday you grow just a little bit more. You learn something new, you test the limits of what you know, and you create magic that I wish I could freeze and keep forever. I apologize for my shortcomings as your mom, but I hope you realize those mistakes are helping me grow too. Just as I'm trying to mold you into the amazing people I hope to see you become one day, you have been molding me into the mom that you deserve. Please kiddos, don't grow up too fast on me.

All my love,
Mama

13 Quirks I've Accepted Since Having Kids

So I'm at it again folks. I'm in a self discovery phase I think. I keep having random realizations about myself and feel compelled to note them. I suppose nothing seems amiss with this except I apparently then feel compelled to share these ideas with the public. 

Today's realizations came after a conversation with a close friend. A fellow mom with a larger than average family. A mom who gets me and these habits I've had to create in our house to keep my sanity. In retrospect I really didn't realize these..... well, let's call them quirks, became ingrained in me. Nevertheless they have made their mark deeper than the shiny pink scars etched slightly left of my belly button.

1. Everyday I pick my battles. This did not happen over night and some days are still better than others, but I can tell you there's quite a difference in what I deme worthy battle material between my first kid and my fifth. It's simple really, once I became outnumbered I decided it isn't worth the stress. So by all means Dimitri go right ahead and eat that cookie off of the ground.

2. Spongebob is not a babysitter. However, after playing twelve rounds of the ever popular game 20 questions I no longer care if they melt their brains with television for the next three hours just please stop talking.

3. No, I didn't brush my hair today. I no longer use myself as a reference of how successful of a day I've had. (I can see my hubby mouthing 'shocker' now). As long as my kids have made it through another day in one piece, I'm doing a pretty satisfactory job in my book.

4. This smells clean. I have accepted that a family of seven builds up a couple loads of laundry everyday. I have not accepted the responsibility of doing those loads of laundry everyday. General rule of thumb in our house - if it doesn't have something smeared on it, you can wear it at least one more time. If not two.

5. It's called "chill time." Spend a day in our house and the biggest thing that will stick with you is the noise level. After several hours of yelling, giggling, running, and stomping this mom of five has to have a break. Since I get it's pretty dumb of me to expect a 10, 6, and 5 year old to take a nap with their younger siblings they just have to play quietly in their rooms for a couple of hours. Assuming they can make it through that time without falling asleep or me hearing them in general, it's the second best time of my day. The first being bed time of course. Ha!

6. I fake play hide and seek. Really I do this to kill two birds with one stone. First, I'm getting in some fun me and my wild bunch time. I mean, they don't know I have a hidden agenda so to them it's a ton of fun trying to figure out what crazy spot I've wedged myself into. Second, the hidden agenda I spoke of - I can eat the ice cream I've been hiding in the back of the freezer without fear of being caught and having to share.

7. Yes, I did say that. Let's go back and visit number 5. Remember me talking about you spending a day in my house? Good. The second thing that would probably linger in your mind are the crazy things you've heard us say to them. One example being my husband or myself calling our children feos (ugly) about a dozen or more times. Notice their reactions? How they didn't burst into tears? Or get angry? Or really seem to notice at all? That's because our kids aren't little bitches...oh I'm sorry I mean our kids aren't little bitches. While others may consider this the very definition of bullying our children by name-calling, we say it's character building. Words only have the power you give them.

8. It's not really a lie. The tooth fairy's small she gets lost a lot. Keep it up and I'll call Santa. I have to do that because it's in the mommy rule book. All phrases I have uttered to my children at one point or another. All things I consider to be parental tales of love. I fib because I care.

9. You're my favorite. This may seem crazy to some, but it works in our house. I've never seen my children more amped to finish all of their supper or clean their entire bedroom or see who can be the quietest until I introduced "which one of you will be my favorite today?" Since it's all in good fun they can get pretty competitive, which can be hysterical to watch all in itself. Plus, it may or may not be rigged so everyone equally becomes my favorite by the end of the week. Please refer to number one.

10. I will make a scene. This is twofold really. On one side, the kids have finally accepted that if they act a fool in public, so will I. On the other I will call out any person in public if I feel like they have over step the boundaries that keep a peaceful existance between the world and my family.

11. I don't play the tattle game. If you aren't bleeding, broken, or on fire. If there's no shattered glass, giants puddles of liquid, or messes by the dog. Then my children know what I'm going to say. I do not care. Figure it out. Tattle again and you'll be the one in trouble. If I play this game even once it never ends.

12. I'm a habitual idle threatener.  My kids are starting to figure out I'm a lot of talk with a little less action. But with the better part of 14 hours spent everyday being more of a referee than a mom I'm doubting how much I care. So for your amusement here are some popular threats I'm known to throw out - If you don't find your other shoe, you aren't going. If you punch your sister one more time I'm going to punch you. I will knock you out in the middle of this store if you throw one more fit.

13. I'm my worst critic. At the end of the day I know that I'm doing the best I can. I'm not proud of every parenting moment, but I am proud to be me. For every time I'm hard on my kids I am twice as hard on myself for being that way. I have to remind myself I'm shaping future little people not future assholes and then I feel better.

Having a large family forces you to accept a few things about yourself. Traits that the average individual may not appreciate. Traits that may cause strangers to gawk and family to gossip. That may make you question yourself and stress, but I really need to take a moment and say this energetic, slightly batty tiny little lady right here gets it and is screaming a hearty "welcome to the club!" all the way from a little farm town in Iowa, USA.

What My Daughter's Biological Mother Taught Me About Myself

I have come to realize a few things about myself over the last six years. Borderline profound realizations that may have never been recognized if it wasn't for my daughter's biological mother. A woman I spent the better half of six years hating. A relationship that began with conflict and ended even worse when she was killed last year. If it weren't for the middle portion of our time together I believe that my daughter's life could've taken a very different turn.

We've never had the most conventional family dynamic. In fact the first conversation her and I had involved her standing in my front yard at midnight trying to get me to hit her. She was four months pregnant and didn't like learning that me and my husband had been seeing each other.

Now having said that, let's get one thing straight.

They had been split up several months and weren't together when she got pregnant. I'm not a homewrecker. Plus, she was already seeing the man that eventually came in between us and our daughter. The man who later on down the road became responsible for her death.

The next two years became an uphill battle for us.  Having to watch everything we did because every couple of months she would get upset about something and cut all contact off for a month at a time. Eventually increasing to two months, and finally two full years.

For a long time we were angry with her. Him too, but mainly her because we didn't fully see the way she was being controlled.

The times where we were copasetic always began with "family meetings." Her and him would sit with me and my husband and we'd listen to her tell us what we were doing wrong. It was hard to handle. I don't close my mouth for anyone, and a couple of times it got the better of me. My consequence was the time we lost with our little girl. I learned to hold my tongue. And the few times I really let it go are situations I won't talk about, but know they were justified. I learned to close my mouth for my daughter. I learned that my kids are the only people on the planet that I will surrender for.

After these family meetings we would soak up every minute with our daughter. Even if we had to deal with random drop ins after her boyfriend got home from work. He missed the baby all day. He wants to spend an hour with her. Then we'd get a phone call that typically came at the end of that hour explaining how she fell asleep or wasn't feeling good. Our visit was over. We learned to treasure each moment with her.

It's hard to live a life like that. We moved twice to appease her. We followed all of her rules. We did everything we could to be with our daughter.

It took my youngest daughter being born before everything finally started working out. I spent so much time praying during her pregnancy. I picked out her name carefully. I chose it with the hope her birth would bring us peace within this blended family we had. Eventually settling with a name that gave her initials that literally translated to "peace." (A misspelled version PAS instead of the actual spelling in Spanish of PAZ).

My prayer was answered for nearly a full year. Starting from the moment I watched this woman hold our daughter's little sister on my living room floor. Incredibly smitten. It was if I was seeing someone completely different. In that moment I learned to look beyond the life we had been living the last two and a half years. I accepted where we were and you could see she had too.

We finally had a family. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours. I think it could have gone on like that forever if we would've stayed in that house. Life had other plans for us though. My husband's job eventually taking my family six hundred miles away from her.

We caught one last glimpse of what we had left on our visit home for Christmas. Eleven solid months in of us finally getting along. The first and last "family" Christmas we had together. After the new year she pulled away from us. Her boyfriend erasing us from their life. Erasing the memory of us from our daughter. Pulling both of them into a life of drugs and solitude. Changing phone numbers and moving to keep us away. Hiding our little girl's face anytime they'd run into our friends and family. Keeping to themselves.

It was during these two years I learned the most about the kind of person I was compared to the person I wanted to be. I learned how to take resentment out of my heart for the person who stole a piece of our family. To pray more for her than myself. I learned how strong I had to be for my husband and the rest of our children. We had a permanent ugly grey cloud hanging over us. A hole in our hearts. I learned how to forgive.

It all came to a violent end for us January 22, 2014. The day she lost her life in a car accident. My youngest daughter's third birthday. Nearly three years after that moment in my living room. Two years and twenty-two days after the last time she let us see our daughter.

Ever since I got the phone call my thoughts have been focused on what's best for my daughter. I put my mind in the habit of first thinking what I would want a woman in my position to do; and then considering if the decision I make could be one I can stand by if my daughter ever questions me. If I can feel confident explaining to my daughter when she's older why I did what I did, then it's the right decision to me.

Despite everything we had been through. Despite seeing the heartbreak my husband went through because he never got to fix our family. Despite watching it break all over again when he watched her boyfriend slumped over and drooling in the front row of her funeral. Completely high. Despite seeing the hurt all over his face when we finally reunite with our little girl and we hear her say "I already have a daddy."

I learned my love for my family is stronger than anything in this world. I learned that I married the most compassionate person I know. He is grieving his first love. I can't even begin to describe what that feels like to watch. But, I learned that I'm not jealous because of it. I'm not angry. I understand.

I learned that I am grieving too. That even though we were in such a horrible spot when she died that my heart aches because she's gone. I learned that I want my daughter to know the person her biological mother really was not the person that man made her.

I have pictures of her all over our house. We write letters to Heaven. We celebrate her birthday. Mother's Day. We remembered her on the anniversary we lost her. We feel her with us every day. We share stories of her all the time.

I learned that I can help my daughter keep her memory of her mommy. So I write for her. I write my daughter's memories in a book; I edit photographs to eventually put in a scrapbook for her; I save small reminders of their life together to pass on someday; I plan for events that haven't even gotten here yet. Her quinceañera. Her graduation. Her wedding day. The day she becomes a mom. I pour my heart out on her mother's memorial page.  I learned how much it matters to me that she remembers her.

We didn't spend as much time as we should have getting along; but, we were and still are a family for better or worse. Now, in the aftermath of the accident, I'm starting to see that my actions aren't as common as what I'd like to believe they'd be. Actions that can be traced back to this woman, the woman who gave birth and for four years raised, loved, and looked after my second little girl.

Her first mom wasn't perfect. Far from it. But, she was a new mom. Like the rest of us, she was still trying to figure this whole parenting quandary out. She was implementing the plans she made for her life the best way she knew how. Even if it didn't make sense to us.

In a lot of ways her and I were alike. But in the ways we weren't is where I grew as a mother most. She had a control about her that intrigued me in some ways. Made me question a few of my parenting techniques. Most importantly though, it taught me a lot about what I really wanted for my kids.

There's no question she loved her daughter. She loved her with an intensity you can feel reaching out through their pictures on our fireplace. You can witness it sitting next to my five year old on the couch. Her mother's sapphire eyes on her father's round face, zoned into Monster High. Nice and cozy under her mom's Pooh blanket; arm wrapped around the monkey her grandmother made out of a pair of her old jeans. She carries her mother's love with her every day. This love that showed me how much I love my own children. All five of them.

Anyone can say they would do the right thing, but I learned that I really can. I learned that I am capable of unconditionally loving every one, even a person I resented for many years. My heart sees beyond the anger, betrayal, and alienation it has faced. To the heart of someone who was led astray.

What she taught me is something I can never thank her for. She taught me I can love another person's child far beyond whatever I ever imagined possible. That family is so much more than genetics.  Family is pure, unconditional love. Family is looking past the differences that pull you apart, and instead focusing on the reasons you need to stay together. Time is a fickle bitch, and if you don't take advantage of the minutes you have together you will one day wind up spending every waking moment tormented by what should've been and wasn't.

So I leave you with this final thought, I learned that I can not accept praise for doing the right thing. What I do for my daughter is what anyone in my position should do. Why should that make me "amazing?" I'm not. I'm a mother. Wouldn't you do the same?