As a stepmom Bonus Mom, I have to admit I am pretty darn lucky. Both of my stepkids are awesome, and I am so proud when I see what kind, smart and genuinely responsible young adults they have turned into at eighteen and fifteen-years-old. Most of the time I think I set a pretty good example for them; other times I know that I fail – pretty miserably. A good example of this would be about a month ago.
In order to understand what led to my horrible behavior, we need to go back to my tennis match, of all places. My doubles partner and I were playing two other women who had been ranked/rated above both of us for quite a while. At first we were both a little nervous, and they took an early lead. However, we fought back and ended up going to a third set. Now in this particular league, you don’t play a full third set; you instead play to ten points, and you have to win by two. We didn’t come close to winning the third set.
We quickly had a chance to redeem ourselves, however. After a quick break, we headed into match two of our doubleheader, playing the same two women. This time we quickly gained the lead but blew the second set, so yet again we were faced with a third set. Spoiler alert and sad face emoticons and emojis all around: we lost the third set again.
Ah, but all is not lost! A few weeks ago we had yet ANOTHER opportunity to beat these ladies. Long story short: We played two more matches, we went to three sets both matches, and we narrowly lost both the third sets. So if you’re keeping track at home, that’s FOUR matches lost in three sets to the same people. What in tarnation is wrong with us, right?
As soon as I got off the court, I checked my phone and found a chipper text waiting for me from my husband.
Hi Honey! How did your match go?
There are some moments in life when only certain words will do to describe how you feel. I had already mumbled quite of few of them under my breath and to my teammates as I anguished in the losses. And now I was about to use a few more choice words that would truly communicate just how I felt. They would also make me feel just a smidge better.
These words may or may not have rhymed with “brother chucker”.
Or to be more specific: BROTHER. CHUCKER.
The all-caps and period really added to the moment, don’t you think?
After some much-needed food and an even more needed adult beverage, I headed home. When I walked in the house, there was my husband and stepdaughter, Karissa, working together to clean the house and make cupcakes. They are awesome and sweet and…
“So…did you get my text?” I ask my husband.
“No…,” he replies. “But Karissa did.”
He had her check his texts, and she reported that I had said…well, she never got past the first word, apparently.
What could I do? Well, all I could do was laugh. Laugh like a maniac. And apologize. My cover was blown. I was not the squeaky clean Bonus Mom I appeared to be. I was an imposter.
And so we all had a good laugh. When I think about it, the best reaction was probably laughter (shame-filled laughter, that is.) I also know that Karissa is a smart girl fifteen-year-old, and I think she’s figured out that I’m definitely human. And sometimes a potty-mouth.