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.
August 17, 2008
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This morning marked my last chance to get it right as a stepmother, and I intend to make the most of it.
It is the first day of school- the last first day of school for my 17-year-old, and I couldn’t help but remember all the first days of school I had experienced with her up to this point. I’ve vicariously lived through the experience with her since she was in fifth grade- and even on the occasions when she headed off from her mom’s house, I received afternoon reports on the phone about the teachers, the classmates, the drama sure to ensue during that particular school year.
She has changed a lot during those eight first days of school- and so have I. When she was ten, I was a 25-year-old TV reporter, relating to her only through my own memories as a girl with stepparents. Today, I’ve given birth to two children, my television news days are far behind me, and I’m something I always secretly wanted to be, but never thought I’d have the opportunity to pursue- a writer. Eight years ago, I was lucky to see my stepdaughters two or three days a week. Today, they live with me. Eight years ago, I thought I would be a perfectly awesome stepmother. Today, I try not to beat myself up too much over my continual mistakes.
Last year, for example, baby Bruiser was kicking our asses and Hubs and I began the school year on the wrong foot. We slept through the girls’ first day and didn’t even get the customary picture of them dressed in their first day finery. A few weeks later, we forgot about Parents’ Night. We never met most of their teachers, and I think it sort of showed in the report cards that were brought home. Allowing these things to happen seems unthinkable to me now, but last year, they occurred in a haze of sleepless nights, post partum depression, screaming tantrums from Bruiser, and a major illness for Hubs. I can’t change what happened last year, but I can spend this year trying to atone for it.
And so today, I got up at 5:50 and put a muffin pan full of homemade, blueberry-studded batter in the oven. Hubs got up a few minutes later and made sure the camera was ready. The girls came downstairs to fresh, warm muffins and pictures were taken out by the car. We started the year off right. Now, I’m going to see how long we can keep this good thing going.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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