Blended family, my ass. It’s an oxymoron, like the living dead or being alone together. I dove into this new way of life thinking it was going to be so much different than it is. I mean, I researched blended families and read the sobering truth about how it takes an average of seven years to actually blend a family but I didn’t think it would actually take seven years. How hard could it be?
Sure, I know some blended families that share their soup spoons and don’t want each other dead, but they’re the exception to the rule.
Each Friday I’d write a post about blended family life but that got dropped pretty quick; I can’t exactly string out our kids’ personal lives like an arts and crafts display, especially when the blood and guts leave such bad stains. Okay, it’s not that bad. I promise. I’m just trying to make the point that it can be a pretty messy and difficult deal. Callum struggles with being the only one that doesn’t leave and come back (although Kylah stays here full-time now too, but she’s in and out with school and sports). I feel so bad for him sometimes. The house will be empty and Callum asks, begs me for (mostly) Katie, and everyone else, one name at a time. It breaks my mama heart. He even asks for Jason’s dog Dylan, the poor kid. I guess the cat just doesn’t do it for him.
But hey. Maybe it’s not exactly a blended family, but it’s still a family. Fragmented, pieced together by blood, sweat and tears, if not directly then indirectly through me or through Andrew. Like a chain, a rope with knots, with love as the constant variable that acts as the only choice between here and there.
How many oxymorons did you detect?
Give me an example of a good oxymoron!