Stepmom: Life on the Outside

I knew coming into the relationship it would be a struggle. No new relationship with children from previous ones is easy. If you were thinking it could be...you're wrong.

I was right.

The struggle is real.

But it didn't hit me until I attended her parent/teacher conference.

One of her writing assignments in her portfolio was titled "The People In My House". There she listed the names:

"Dad
Mom
Me
Brother
Memeré"

Nowhere was I or my son on the list.

I looked at her and jokingly asked where we were and she shrugged her shoulders and turned the page over as if I had never even asked the question.

A part of me died a little. Right there.

I have been in their lives for over 7 years. I have helped feed them, clothe them, take care of them when they were sick, been to every school function, baseball and basketball game, concert, parent/teacher conference and tryout. I have listened to their worries and their fears, helped them with school work or relationships, played games and took them to different places. I've taught them how to wash and fold laundry, do dishes and cook simple meals for themselves.

And still wasn't thought of as part of their family.

Her older brother has told me to my face the standard "you're not my mother" and I have said "I AM a mother. A stepmother counts." "Not in my eyes" was the response.

Being a blended family has its trials. There are days where we all get along. There are days when arguments ensue. You try and keep the peace between the "real" parents and keep the kids from feeling like they're stuck in the middle.

You do everything you can.

And it's never enough.

And it never will be.

You are on the outside looking in as the two of them whisper things to each and laugh at their inside jokes. You are downstairs not forcing them to watch a movie with you or do anything with you for that matter...even though you ask. They scramble upstairs as fast as they can to be alone...and you are left forgotten.

Again.

So you sit. By yourself. Remembering that list in her portfolio. Hoping one day she or he will realize the love you have in your heart for them.

And knowing with almost absolute certainty...

It will never happen.

The Difference Between Your Homeowners Insurance With and Without Flood Insurance

With all the heavy rains that have happened in the last two days I was curious what kind of damage is covered by insurance. Many people who buy a home where no lake, stream or river is located nearby often opt out of flood insurance seeing as the likelihood of a flood happening as virtually impossible.  I spoke with my insurance agent Scott Doyle of First Insurance of Maine today and he gave me a little insight of homeowners insurance and what it covers.

He has received an influx of calls dealing with residents that have, unfortunately, endured damage to their basements and living quarters due to water seeping into their homes. He informed me of what your insurance covers and why.

A standard homeowners policy will cover water damage due to a leaky roof or if the sump pump in your basement fails. HOWEVER, if the damage done is caused by water flowing into your basement from holes in the walls or seeping up through the floor then that is NOT covered by the standard policy. Those types of damage require FLOOD insurance.

That’s right.

Even if you don’t live in a flood zone, the water coming into your house by these methods is caused by flooding. What happens with the heavy rain is that it finds and makes paths or tunnels through the snow due to gravity. Water will make its own trail to get to where its going. The trails lead toward the walls of your home and, ultimately, to the basement of your house. The water will eventually find the weakest point of your foundation and break through. The tunnels can be on the sides of your house and even underneath. The water that enters this way is considered to be caused by a “flood”.

And if you don’t have flood insurance on your home, the damage won’t be covered. That means if your furnace is damaged: it’s not covered. If your washer and dryer are damaged: it’s not covered. If your items are stored in cardboard boxes, whatever you have will be destroyed. If they are stored in plastic totes they have a better chance of surviving but, ultimately, they won’t be covered either.

Do yourself a favor when purchasing a home: see how much extra a flood insurance policy is. You never know what might happen. A small monthly payment could save you thousands of dollars.

The Old Mainer

The temperatures in Maine in the month of January are frigid. That’s the best way to describe bone-chilling cold that seeps through the layers that we throw on to keep it away from our bodies. Winter in Maine is not for the faint of heart but it is for the Old Mainer.

I met him at the Irving rest stop in Augusta on my way to work when I stopped to fill my tank. It was three below zero and the wind was whipping at a good fifteen miles an hour. I had on my knitted hat, my LL Bean mittens and winter boots because it had snowed almost two feet the night before. Under my heavy fleece jacket were the layers of long sleeve shirt and bulky sweater. I was warm but it was one of those mornings where the wind pushed through everything and you just felt cold.

He pulled up a few pumps away in an older white Mercury sedan about the same time. I watched him get out. My guess was he was at least eighty years old. His skin sunk in a little around his cheeks and was wrinkled. He wore a clean pair of Levi’s, LL Bean duck boots, a white t-shirt and a buttoned blue flannel shirt. He had on his weathered brown Carhartt jacket and a baseball cap covered what little white hair remained on his head. He walked into the store at a leisurely gait with cash in his hand to prepay for his gas.

When I started to fill my car, a newer, black Ford F-150 pulled in a few pumps away on the other side. The man in his thirties jumped down from the lifted truck, pulled out his debit card and started pumping gas. He looked at me and said “Man, it’s cold this morning.” I replied that was pretty chilly. He left the truck and the pump running, did a big shiver, pulled his knit cap a little lower over his ears, shoved his gloved hands into the pocket of his puffy coat and hurried to the store.

The old Mainer was on his way out and held the door open for the young man as he rushed over the threshold.  He walked to his car and proceeded to fill his tank. While it was going, he used the squeegee brush to clean his windshield and his headlights. I notice his hands had no gloves. There was no protection from the wind on his ears.  

The younger man rushed back to his truck, took care of the nozzle and drove away.

The wind picked up and I started to shiver as the handled clicked and told me my tank was full. As I got into my car and prepared to leave, I decided to sit and watch him. He saw me and he gave me a small wave and I waved back and smiled. He finished with the gas cap, got in his car and proceeded to drive away. His license plate was in support of agriculture.

The cold didn’t faze him. He wasn’t in a hurry. He was like many of his generation that adapted to the unpredictable weather in Maine. Two feet of snow? It’s just a dusting. Three below zero? It’s a bit chilly. Here was one of the last of a dying breed of men and women who went about their business, minded their own and complained not of the temperature but adapted to the situation around them and carried on. Here was a man who was helpful to the next generation and polite to those around him. All good lessons you can learn from an Old Mainer.

Always Listen To Your Dad

It was the summer of 1997. I had just quit my first band. I felt I needed to go in a different direction. My biggest love was singing and, suddenly, my weekends were now free and there was no interest from other bands in the area of having me sing with them.

I was heartbroken.

I went to my parent’s house to visit and told them what had happened. I just started crying uncontrollably asking “What am I going to do? I love it so much.”

My father was visibly shaken. He had 1 son but he also had 8 daughters and hated to see any of them cry. He took my face in his hands and lifted my eyes to his. I will never forget that moment. When I looked in his eyes there were tears. He held my head and said “You know what? You have what I didn’t. You’ve got ‘IT’. You have a chance to make it. Don’t you worry. You’ll be okay. You are too good not to sing.” Back when he was in his early 20s, his voice had a close resemblance to that of Josh Groban thanks to training from the priests of his church he received. He missed his chance due to circumstances beyond his control.

Looking into his eyes that day I was determined to not let him down. I wasn’t going to let myself down. When Dad told me something, I always believed him. I wasn’t about to stop then.

Fast forward 21 years.

My father, 82, and my mother, 75, are now housebound. The only time they leave the house in the winter is to go to doctor’s appointments. In the spring, summer, and fall they venture out to their mailbox, their front yard to watch the parade pass by, the fenced-in backyard or are driven to a family gathering by one of us children. We all take turns running errands, cleaning house, cooking meals and just plain old visiting. We all love to visit and talk with them. We bring their grandchildren by to see them. Mom especially loves to see how big they are getting.

I had run an errand to the Christmas Tree Shop in Augusta and the Village Market in Fairfield the day before and stopped in to visit and deliver their purchases while my son was at Boy Scouts and my step-daughter was at basketball practice. They reimbursed me for the items I had bought them and we started talking.

My mother always asks “What’s new?” So I told them about the antics we had at work at the Maine Veterans’ Home that day, my meeting with the Stake President of my church and our plans for Christmas Day. I had them laughing when I told them about our cat who repeatedly clears a room due to its flatulence.  I mentioned that we had the weekend off from playing in the band because it was Christmas weekend and my dad startled.

“That reminds me,“ he piped up, “I had a dream about you last night.” I was so surprised. Dad never mentioned things like this.
“Me? What was I doing?” I started to laugh.

“Remember when you were at the Waterville Opera House and Ma and I were in our seats on the aisle and you sang that song to us?” I did. It was one of the best moments of my life. “The one where you got the standing ovation? Man,” he said “that was incredible. It was so good. You need to do that again. I dreamt about that last night.”

I was fighting back tears. My mind flashed back to that summer day 21 years ago and I had to hold it together. I didn’t want my dad to think he was making me cry even if they were tears of joy.

I cleared my throat and managed to make an announcement to them. “Thanks, Dad. As a matter of fact, I have big news. I have started a Miranda Lambert Tribute band and our first gig is in 3 months! I will be up on stage again just like that. The crazy thing is that I just booked a second one with a wonderful lady that says it’s going to be great. I haven’t even performed the first one yet! I am really hoping they go well because I’d like to branch out and take the show all over New England.”  Their eyes lit up.

“Wow! All over New England, you say?” said Dad. 

“That sounds cool,” added Mom.

I explained how I would wear a wig and have a costume change or two and how my younger sister, Jenny, would be singing back up. Practices were starting right after Christmas. I have a great group of musicians behind me including lead player Bruce Burpee, bass player Ed Nevins, rhythm player Larry Tilton and drummer Kyle Melcher. My husband, Chad, would be running the sound for us.

“Well,” Dad said “that sounds good. Good, good, good.”

“I’m glad you like it, Dad. I’ll make a video for you and you’ll be able to see it.”

“Good, good, good.” He nodded his head and smiled.

I have been singing in bands since I was 17 years old. Six years ago, thanks to the encouragement of my husband, I started my own band, Sharon Hood & Dixon Road. We have since opened for Luke Bryan, Keith Urban and, yes, Miranda Lambert. Now I’ve started this new venture paying tribute to a woman I admire so much.

Dad was right.

I was okay.
And I’m still singing.

Mysterious Truck Driver

In early 2000, I was a 26 year old contestant in a karaoke contest at a Skowhegan, Maine bowling alley/restaurant and lounge. If you made it to the finals you had the chance of winning $1000. I was excited because I loved to sing and we could really use the money. Back then, I was working three jobs and helping my, now former, husband get through nursing school. He would be graduating in just over a month and starting what would be his lifelong career. Myself, I was a medical biller for a mental health facility making just over $9/hour. I was also working for a temp agency and sang in a band almost every weekend until the wee hours of the morning.

 

The few trips we had made out of the state included Virginia, Florida, Tennessee and Washington, DC. This time, however, I would have to be making a trip alone. Washington D.C. in the dead of night was going to be quite the challenge.

 

The evening that I won my preliminary round of the contest I was told the date of the finals. My jaw dropped. It was the only weekend that I would not even be in Maine. The people who ran the contest looked at me incredulously. They told me I HAD to be there because I had a really good shot at winning. I needed to make a decision.

 

The reason I would not be able to participate was because we had promised my sister, who had never driven anywhere by herself, that we would travel to DC with her for the weekend. She was a huge fan of the television show, Emergency!, and her favorite actor, Randolph Mantooth, was going to be there that same weekend of the contest. He was the guest of honor at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History. There was going to be a display of memorabilia from the show and he would be there to introduce it. She really wanted to meet him.

 

I couldn’t be in two places at once.

 

When I told my husband he asked what we were going to do. We talked with my sister and hatched the plan to have him drive down with her in her car and spend the one night in the hostel we had all found in a travel book. I would drive down as soon at the contest was over and meet them at the Washington Monument the next morning at 8am.

 

At 5 am the day of the contest I wished my husband a safe trip and he left to meet my sister to travel the nearly 600 miles to their destination. I tried to go back to sleep. I took the day off specifically for that purpose but to no avail. I had always been a morning person and that day was no different.

 

I packed a light bag for the trip because I knew, win or lose, we were staying overnight and traveling back the next day. As luck would have it, I won the contest and the $1000 prize!. It was 10 o’clock at night and after changing my clothes I climbed into my 1993 Mercury Tracer and headed for the highway.

 

In 2000, I had an actual map. That’s it. No GPS. No cell phone. No English woman’s voice on an app to help guide me. It was me and the Rand McNally Road Atlas of the United States. I would travel I-95 South the entire way down.

 

As soon as I hit the Massachusetts border I noticed something peculiar. There were no cars. The only vehicles on the road were tractor trailers. When you’re under five feet tall in a compact car and there are semis in front, behind and to each side of you, you start to feel a bit nervous. I kept wondering if they could even see me at all. I found an opportunity to get to the right travel lane. I put my blinker on and it just so happened the truck in front of me put its blinker on. I moved over and so did they. When he would change lanes I did as well. This went on for a little while.

 

I finally had to pull over. Being awake for almost 20 hours was starting to take its toll on me. It was nearly 2 am and, though I had packed an overnight bag, I had failed to pack snacks. I saw the sign for the next rest stop and realized the truck was also going to rest as well. I parked my car and went to the McDonald’s to order food and a drink with caffeine. I never drank caffeinated drinks but I needed to stay awake for the rest of the drive. I looked at around at the people coming inside the building wondering if the truck driver who had been my guide was one of the patrons filing in.

 

I finished my late night snack, used the facilities and headed out. I filled the car with gas and started back on my way. I pulled back onto the highway with another six hour drive ahead of me.

 

About ten minutes down the road a truck pulled up alongside me and I saw a light go on in the cab. I saw a manly hand wave at me but that was all I could see. I turned my light on and waved back. Our lights went out and I heard his air horn blare. He sped up and pulled in front of me.

 

My truck driver was back!

 

Sure enough, the license plate was the same. It’s hard to forget when you were staring at the back end of the same truck for hours. Together until we reached DC the semi and I changed lanes. The driver would always wait for an opportunity to make certain I had enough space to change lanes with him.

 

The sun was starting to come up and the miles melted away. I started to see signs for the DC area. I knew I had to start following them. My hand reached for the signal but I didn’t really want to. I had followed the same truck for nearly 400 miles. I considered it and its driver my guardian angels. I flicked the blinker on to take the exit and I could see his hand wave out his window. I rolled down mine and waved back. He blew his horn and I exited the highway to find the Monument and my waiting family.

 

I’ll never know who he was or what triggered him to stay with me for so long or remember the name of the company he drove for. All I will remember is that this driver was a friend. He made my trip more enjoyable, less stressful and definitely more interesting. 10-3. If you're a trucker, you'll know what that means.

A Quick Tip In Preparing for Black Friday

It’s the same every year:

You can’t remember that toy you wanted to get for your child. You recall seeing it on the shelf once and saying “I’ve got to get that for little Tommy for Christmas!”

Then on Black Friday you’re racking your brain for that particular item.

Poor Tommy.

It used to happen to me all the time but I have a quick tip that has solved my problem.

Use your cellphone.

I’m not kidding.

When I see something and can’t pick it up right away, I enter it on my cellphone.

On the date of Black Friday, I enter the child’s name and the toy/object/clothing I want to purchase. This way when I am searching the web for the best discounts, I know what I’m looking for. I have even included my husband in the process. I tell him if he sees anything he wants to get the kids or if they tell him something they would really like--to let me know.  I plug it into the date on my calendar and it’s all there! This works for birthdays, too!

Some use their notepad feature or other app on their phone but I find my calendar is the easiest way.

I will make the suggestion of routinely backing up your phone. If it’s good for your contacts, it’s good for your lists!

A Boy and Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson

We had been waiting for this night for the last two months.  The tickets had been bought thanks to a friend who wanted Anderson to get a chance to see one of the most influential minds on the planet.

Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson was delivering his first lecture in the state of Maine on Wednesday night to a packed house at the Merrill Auditorium in Portland. The diversity in age of the ticketholders surprised me. I, personally, thought I was the only one bringing a child with me but there were at least twenty under the age of twelve sitting in the audience. One nine year old even succeeded in impressing Dr. Tyson by answering a question loudly proving himself smarter than some people twice his age.

Anderson has had a fascination with the universe since the age of five. Living in the country, the stars at night are big and bright in Maine and deep in the heart of a child. I can’t count the number of times we have rushed outside to see the International Space Station drift across the sky. Or the nights where he has pointed out a certain star and told me its name and how many light years away it is.

When I told him Dr. Tyson was coming to Maine he said “The man from the Big Bang Theory?” Yes, one in the same. “You mean the man that said Pluto’s not a real planet anymore?” Yes, that man. “Can we go?” He got pretty excited. I told him maybe. I had no idea that tickets to see a lecture were the same price as to see a concert.  By chance, a woman I know found out that he wanted to see him and handed me a check and said “Take him. It’s on me. Let that boy have his superhero.”

If that doesn’t restore your faith in humanity, I don’t know what will.

And so we went to see his superhero.

Dressed in jeans, buttoned-down shirt, sport coat and, coincidentally, no shoes he took the stage (even though the house lights weren’t working properly) to the thunderous applause of almost 1900 that were in attendance. You would have thought Paul Simon or Ed Sheeran had come out from behind the curtain.

Who was this man?

To Anderson, he’s the space guy. When I told him we had tickets, we decided to do a little research on him. We found out that he grew up in Bronx, NY, and wanted to become an astrophysicist at an early age. We read that he loved stars and space and discovering new things. His first experience was at the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History in New York and now he is the Director of it.

For two hours, we listened to him talk, joke and mesmerize us with passages from Carl Sagan. He taught us about where we came from, what we were related to, how very big the universe is and how very small we really are. Anderson would laugh and the adults near us, surprised to hear a young voice, turned to see who it was. They smiled when they saw him enjoying himself. I couple of the ushers were sitting behind us and one of them gave me a thumbs up. They loved hearing how happy he was.

Toward the very end there was time for questions and answers. We were in the balcony so there was no chance of us getting in line for that. We stayed and listened.

Then the most wonderful part of the entire experience happened.

While answering the nine year old’s question, he said (and I am paraphrasing because I can’t remember word for word) something like this:

“If you’re a parent or an adult who knows children, take them to see someone who knows something. Let them hear from a professional the knowledge and the excitement they have for the position they hold.”

That’s exactly what I was doing. If you could have seen Anderson’s face as he hung on every word Dr. Tyson was saying, then you’d know his words are true. I was so overwhelmed by hearing this and seeing his face, I started to tear up. I looked at him knowing I did the right thing by keeping him out late on a school night to hear man talk about space. But it was much more than that.

It was an experience together. It was a mother helping further her son’s dream of space and stars and developing what he wants to be when he grows up. Now, that dream may change (although I hope it doesn’t) and, if it does, then I will try to support him with that dream. I will do what Dr. Tyson says and take him to another professional that can put forth the knowledge and excitement about what they do to instill in him a thirst for that knowledge.

I put Anderson to bed and he thanked me for taking him. He said since it was getting darker earlier we could take the telescope out and check out the sky more often. It was something we could do together.

I don’t see his love for the universe ending anytime soon. That’s fine by me because I don’t see my love for him or his for me ending anytime soon either.