I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
June 30, 2008
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Part of our recent family vacation included a trip to see my biological father and stepmother, who for the first time got to spend a few days with Punky and Bruiser, even keeping them while the rest of us braved the Chattooga river’s rapids.
The kids had a great time getting to know their Grandpa and Nana, and when we returned home, I added them to Punky’s nightly prayers.
“Mommy,” Punky said solemnly after saying Amen, “You shouldn’t say Grandpa and Nana’s names, because they don’t live in our prayers.”
“They do now,” I said. “They’re your grandparents, just like your Mackies and your Noni and Papa. Grandpa is my Daddy.”
“Then who is Nana?” Punky asked, confused.
“She’s my stepmother,” I said, deciding that she at least knew about stepmothers from her Disney princess fixation.
Punky thought for a moment, then said, “You have two daddies?”
I thought quickly. How could I explain all of this to a four-year-old? My stepfather is like a dad to me, so I’ve never made the ‘step’ distinction when talking to Punky about him.
“Yes,” I said finally. For now, this explanation would have to do. “I have two daddies.”
“That’s crazy!” Punky said, chortling. “You have two daddies! That’s so crazy!”
“I know!” I laughed with her, shaking my head. I suspected I was botching this one up badly. “Good night, Punky.”
“Good night, Mommy.”
I quietly closed the door to her room and sighed. Technically, Punky has grandparents and step-grandparents and step-great-grandparents and a whole bunch of step-aunts and step-uncles and step-cousins. She has a brother and two half-sisters. Her half-sisters have a different mother from Punky and a different aunt, uncle and cousins, and different grandparents and step-grandparents that enter the picture from time to time. And I have a sibling and nieces and step-siblings and step-nieces and step-nephews. Planning out how to explain all of this to Punky and Bruiser seemed complicated, if not impossible. I imagined myself pulling out our easel and putting up pictures with various family members’ faces, pointing to them with a stick as I detailed before my wide-eyed children exactly whom everyone is and how we’re all related.
Maybe it would be easier to simply say we’re all ‘Family,’ because I’m starting to get confused myself. This blog’s title has never seemed more appropriate.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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