Stepmother Struggles

I became a stepmother on April 14, 2008. My husband has an adorable son named Lucas, who turned four just eight days before our wedding. Lucas and I have gotten along very well since Larry and I met, when Lucas was just a few months shy of being three years old. We have him every other weekend, and one night on the opposite weeks, and the transition to living at what was then "my" house went amazingly well.

Shortly after we got married we went to Lucas's mom's house and had dinner with her and her fiance, so we could all talk and make sure we were trying to be consistent with things across both homes. It went very well. At that time, Lucas had been giving her trouble at night - she told stories of crying, screaming, and kicking doors. I remember being so relieved at the time that he was going to bed well for us.

A little over a month ago, Lucas started giving us trouble at bedtime. He suddenly decided he wanted Daddy to sleep on his floor, and within minutes after going to bed, he cries. Some nights it starts the minute Larry stands up to leave the room. Then the crying turns to screaming. The screaming turns to opening his bedroom door and slamming it repeatedly against the wall. It's maddening. The first few times he did this, we tried to let it go for a while, but eventually Larry would go in and lay on the floor until Lucas went to sleep - usually a matter of minutes. But he's 4 1/2 and should be going to sleep on his own. Plus, if we do something like that here, it may carry over to his mother's house, and that isn't fair to her.

Two weeks ago Lucas's mom told us the way she finally got him over this in the Spring was that she just let him scream. Last weekend we tried that. Thursday night it went on for an hour, then he apologized and went to sleep. Friday night was worse, AND in the midst of his tantrums Lucas was banging his flashlight on his door, so now it's broken. Well... he doesn't need it anyway, really. We only got it for him the week before because we found out he has one in bed at his mom's house and thought it would help, but it didn't. His lamp is on anyway, so it's not even dark in his room. After more than two hours, we had to have mercy on our neighbors; Larry finally went in and laid on his floor. Saturday night I wasn't home at first. Thankfully, Lucas was asleep by the time I got there, but it apparently wasn't pretty. He wouldn't even stay in his room, so Larry finally had to lay on his floor again. And even that didn't work the first time he tried it that night.

Every day last weekend Lucas told me he was going to go to bed like a big boy, and each of the three nights we had him it was the same thing. By Sunday morning I had to tell him I'll believe it when I see it.

We know it's an attention thing, now we just have to work through it. I've been so thankful for my friends (some of whom I only talk to on Facebook, LOL) - other mothers who've been able to give me advice and encouragement. We have a plan of attack for at least keeping him in his room, but it won't be ready until next weekend. I think Larry has resigned himself to going in and laying on the floor when we have him tonight; there's only so much we can take. Hopefully by next weekend I can also have a sticker chart and some other plans in place.

So now here we are. The visits I used to look forward to are something I currently dread. And I love this child - I really do. But my nerves are shot, and knowing what is likely coming at bedtime each night he's with us right now has me tied up in knots. Every night I just pray for a peaceful bedtime. Wouldn't it be great if that started tonight?

My Faith Story, Part I

I was raised Catholic. It seems like a lot of people's stories start out that way, doesn't it? I never liked going to church - it bored me. After I graduated from high school I got married at 19. We had a Catholic wedding, and every Sunday we went to church with his parents. It still bored me. We separated after 2 1/2 years of marriage and our divorce was final just a few days after our 3rd anniversary.

Shortly before my 24th birthday I was married for the 2nd time. We didn't go to church. Somewhere along the line I'd become uncertain that I even believed in God. My husband wasn't much of a believer either. Two years later, we separated and divorced. I was 26. It's not a period of my life I'm particularly proud of.

Sometime during my first marriage I'd begun to suffer from depression. From that time through the middle of 2002, I was taking prescription anti-depressants, and occasionally saw a therapist. I had no interest in going to church, but found the subjects of various religions interesting. I found myself especially interested in Paganism, and Wicca, but never quite interested or motivated enough to try to put anything into practice. I was even engaged again during that time, but realized it wouldn't work and broke off the engagement before we got married.

In late Winter/early Spring 2005, the depression came creeping back. In mid-June of that year I hit an all-time low. I would come home from work, go to bed, and sob. I wanted to die. I would be driving to or from my job and just envision myself slamming my foot on the gas pedal and speeding into a bridge or a pole. I was sure that death had to be easier than living.

Fortunately, I loved my family far too much to act on those thoughts. They never knew (until now, if anyone reads this) that things had gotten quite that bad. I realized I needed to go back on the anti-depressants.

During that time, my mother and my grandmother kept encouraging me to pray. What they didn't know is that I'd already started. I felt like I didn't know how, like I couldn't remember. Growing up in the Catholic church, I wasn't accustomed to just talking to God. We always had certain prayers we prayed, but I'd never just tried having a conversation with God. I decided to start looking for a church I could go to.

I knew I didn't want to go back to the Catholic church - it felt like there were too many rules, too many rituals. A few years earlier I'd visited a church or two, but just didn't feel comfortable. I tried another, but it just didn't seem much different from what I'd experienced in the past. A friend of mine suggested I try Lancaster County Bible Church (now LCBC - Lives Changed By Christ). She'd never been there herself, but she drove past it every day going to and from work and knew there was always something going on there. A short time later, another friend suggested I check it out, though she had never been there either. I decided to give it a try.

On October 30, 2005, I decided to check out a Sunday morning service. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew the place was huge, and I thought it seemed pretty intimidating. I thoroughly expected to hate it. I was caught completely by surprise.

It had taken me a while to figure out what to wear that morning, but one of the first things I noticed was that most people were wearing jeans. The auditorium was huge, and I found a seat in the upper level, where I could see everything and hopefully not be noticed.

There was a stage, not an alter, and it was set for a band rather than the organ or piano I had grown up hearing in church. Then the worship band started to play, and I was shocked to feel tears rolling down my cheeks. And it wasn't a hymn they were playing - it was a song you might hear on the radio. It might have been something by Switchfoot, though I don't remember anymore. David Ashcraft, the senior pastor, wasn't speaking that day, but Keith Walker was doing the sermon. He was wearing jeans and a shirt that wasn't tucked in and he was funny. I was laughing in church. After the service I walked around the atrium for a few minutes, checking things out. Instead of being intimidated by the size, I blended into the crowd. Nobody noticed that I had never been there before.

When I left LCBC that day, I felt better than I had in six months. I wasn't just feeling a little less depressed - I was actually happy. And I couldn't wait to go back.

To be continued...

My Faith is Not Blind

Someone very dear to me recently brought up the subject of "blind faith" in her blog, mentioning how some who are "trained" to live this way by certain organized religions carry that practice over into matters such as politics.

I often comment on her blog posts, as she is a very intelligent, insightful, unique individual whom I love to death. The end part of this particular post, however, stirred me up a bit and it took me several days to formulate a reply that didn't come off entirely snarky. I hope I was successful. What I finally came up with was that faith in God isn't blind, but that human beings are flawed and applying that same degree of faith to people can be unwise, to say the least.

She and I have very different views, spiritually, and that's okay; I used to have a very different view myself. Thinking about how that recent post made me feel, it occurred to me that maybe I need to share my story. It might shed some light on why I have the faith in God that I do.

Dispelling Doubt

If there's any doubt about the state of clutter in my cranium (those who know me well should have no doubts at all), know this: I've wanted to start blogging for a while now, but it's taken me several weeks just to come up with a title for this thing. Yeah, it's busy in there.