The Arrival....

Each Saturday is a day of joyful anticipation in our house.

The hours tick by slowly. The children plead and beg. They question and cajole. It probably should drive me completely batty....but it doesn't, because I feel it too.
It's an excitement almost as palpable as when the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus comes to visit. Though it's more important. Much, much more important.

Because Saturday's are when Mr 11 arrives at our house.

Early in the morning it will start....
'Is today Saturday?' Miss 8 and Mr 5 will ask. When I reply in the affirmative they jump around like a pair of Mexican jumping beans, so great is their excitement.
'When will he be here?' They demand.....'How long until he comes?' They question. Unfortunately I can never give them a straight answer because Hubby picks him on the way home from work and Hubby is never accurate with his time management......which is an entirely different post for another day.

So the countdown is on. They plan the games they will play when Mr 11 finally makes his appearance. They draw pictures for him, they plan his favourite dinner for that night.

Then, when he arrives, he is greeted at the door with shouts and laughter. The poor boy is smothered, hen-pecked, idolised. He is put on pedestal, the much loved and adored big brother.

Of course, the magic doesn't always last. Before long they will be fighting, bickering and whinging.....but for a few, short wonderful moments it's like a cheesy commercial of the 'perfect' family.

Yesterday was a cause for even greater excitement. Because yesterday was Mr 11's birthday. The presents were wrapped, homemade cards prepared, the cake was baked and his requested dinner was cooked. Hubby was (of course) late with picking him up.
But when he arrived home none of it mattered,the hours of waiting were forgotten, the magic lasted just a fraction longer.

Because yesterday was a special day, a day of celebration.

Happy Birthday Mr 11!

My Young Man.

There is no doubt about it, I'm a very lucky lady. Exceptionally lucky. Extremely lucky.
I have four children. Three of which I carried, gave birth to and have loved and cared for since the day they were conceived. The fourth is a different story. He's not mine. I'm not his Mumma. Sometimes I question myself, what exactly am I trying to be?

Being a Step-Mother has had it's challenges. I'm not going to paint it a rosy-coloured hue because sometimes it has been difficult. Accepting someone else's child as your own has it's ups and downs......beautiful highs.....depressing lows.

Sometimes we fight. We get angry at each other. I sometimes have trouble understanding him and he sometimes has trouble understanding me. At times I sit and wonder, Am I doing this right? Am I completely stuffing this up? Do I actually have a clue?

Where is the guide for wicked Step-Mothers? Isn't there a step by step manual somewhere that God should have handed me when I met his Father?

This morning, I had a good look at this beautiful young man I have known and loved for over seven years. He is caring and well mannered. He looks out for his younger siblings. He is eager to please. He is a good boy....No, he is an exceptional boy. His intelligence radiates. His internal beauty shines.
      His Mother & Father have defied the odds to help shape his remarkable personality together. They have been apart and yet, they have achieved this by working alongside each other, putting him first, setting aside any differences. I would really like to think that I have played a part too. I'm not his Mum. I'm not trying to be.

And I know, I know that despite the fact that he isn't 'mine', despite the fact that at times we're not always going to see eye to eye, I like to think that I have a special place in his life. He certainly has a special place in mine.

And then there were.............

First there was one; a girl that then met a boy. They got married and had a baby.
After a while the boy left.

And then there were two.

The girl and the baby continued on as best as they could. The girl grew into Motherhood. The baby grew into Toddler hood;
Happy, cheeky, naughty, funny Toddler hood.

One day the Mother met a man. A lovely man, a caring man, a man that made her laugh.
This man had a boy....sensitive, loving and sweet.

And then there were four.

A baby was needed; to bring them all together, to join them, to bring them joy.
And when he was born he bought with him peace, love and a sense of family.

And then there were five.

One Christmas a gift arrived; small and furry, he squeaked and whined. He did his business under beds. He nipped at fingers. He ate the children's underwear.

And then there were six.

Most at this stage would be done. But somehow, someone was missing. We weren't finished yet - there was room in our hearts for one more.
After losing one angel we soon had another. There she was; spirited, lively and funny.
Someone special to finish our family.

So then there were seven.........