Don’t call me “step-mom”

There are a few words in the English language that I don’t care much for.

“Moist,” for one, I find almost offensive.
“Blemish” makes my stomach turn.
“Step-mom” makes me angry.

I’ve been, by law, a step-mom for nearly 10 years. I started with a 3-year-old boy and 2-year-old girl that I didn’t know what to do with. There were diapers; there were sippy cups. And at that time I took care of these children every other weekend because it was a necessary sidebar to my relationship.

In 2006, the every-other-weekend visits became a permanent stay. And since that time, there are only two days a month (the first and third Saturdays) that I don’t either greet these babies – now both in middle school – good morning or kiss them goodnight, in addition to the 6- and 8-year-olds we’ve brought into this world together.

Where all four kids are concerned, I draw up baths and write “don’t forget to brush your teeth” on the bathroom mirror. I study homework for hours, grade spelling words, and cover myself in hot glue for school projects. I’m there to walk them in on the first day of school; there to attend their parties on the last day. I chaperone school field trips and play homeroom mom. I orchestrate parent-teacher meetings and sit in the front row at awards ceremonies. I’m team mom to some sports teams, coach to others. I scoot over when someone has a bad dream and crawls into my bed, and book doctors appointments for the fevers and injuries. I bake birthday cakes and host sleepovers. I worry about cars and colleges. I pay for health insurance and save for their futures. I reward. I discipline. I love.

There’s not a month that goes by that a teacher, school administrator, fellow sports parent or acquaintance doesn’t say to me: “I didn’t know you were her/his step-mom.” And that’s probably the greatest compliment you could ever pay me.

I had a step-mother once. She was in my life when I was in her home. My children are in my life because they are in my heart, no matter where they are.

So call me what you will. Call me all the names you can muster.
But for the love of all things round and small, don’t call me a “step-mom.”