Confessions of a Step-Mom

I think the original title of my blog was Confessions of a Step-Mom. This was changed to The Chelle Box after I realized I was writing about myself in general more than as my role and experiences as a step-mom. Sometimes writing about the emotions involved in this role are too difficult to discuss on my blog. Sometimes it would lead to me writing things I would regret. And sometimes, I just can't let it be my entire life. Eliza and Joe are my entire life, but the "step-mom" title is not. If that makes any sense. Well, today I divulge a bit.

Lately I feel sub-par filling this step-mom role. A little less patient. Busier, so a little less 'around.' But, as always, the disciplinarian. I'm suddenly no fun. Whenever she sees me she's in trouble for something (like hiding dirty socks under her bed) Or at least, that's how it feels for me.

It all makes the impending departure that much more dreaded. She's going to remember me as the Wicked Step-Mom while she's away with the Fun Mom. (enter the complex and conglomerate emotions of jealousy, love, and fear)

It didn't help that the birthday party wasn't as exciting as I had hoped. While panicking over whether any kids would show for Eliza's party (no one RSVPs in Florida), I had the following text messaging exchange with my hip, texting mama:
-Did you have those days that you just wanted a break from being a mom?
-More often than not.
-Thanks mom. I feel so overwhelmed by it today. I feel like I'm the only one who feels that way sometimes.
-You should [feel overwhelmed]. It's the most important job in the world. It will bring you the most joy- and the most pain.

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Eliza's 9 now. She has accumulated 9 years of experience as of April 21st. Quite the accomplishment. This means that I have been in this step-mom / other-mom / sort-of-like-my mom role for close to 5 years. FIVE YEARS. That is 5 years of being a mom instead of the reckless 20-something. Five years of staying home to read stories. Five years of jealousy and heartache. Five years of loving someone more than myself. Five years of teaching and molding.

Stop. I can't breath.

Eliza's 9-years-old. This terrifies me. This means she is that much closer to wanting to be independent. That much closer to choosing where she lives (it might not be with us?!). Getting closer to those times when she will, without a doubt, undermine all of her parents between visits. That much closer to driving and crashing cars. Nearer to the age of boys. Closing in on the days of heightened drama and sassy-ness. I know, you are wondering how, HOW, could she become any sassier? It's coming. Watch out world. Eliza is COMING!!!

She is becoming beautiful instead of adorable. She is becoming witty. She is becoming.

And it is at once frightening, depressing, exalting, and exciting beyond words.


*the birthday post, birthday shopping pictures, and other recent photos are coming, I pinky swear*