stepparenting – Page 3 – JM Randolph, accidentalstepmom

CC mentioned to me on our way in to work the other day that I needed to put a post up explaining myself and my absence. As if somehow I were unaware that I haven’t posted on this blog, Facebook and Twitter for like three weeks now.

He said I needed to let the people who follow my blog know what’s going on. Apparently both of you are worried about me.

So here’s a story:

I go in to the city early one day to hit a yoga class before work. I drop my bags at my work area and go into the bathroom. Remember that I work in a theater.

The bathroom is in the basement and is, as my sister would call it, a one-butt bathroom. I d0 what I need to do, wash up and go to leave. I grab the doorknob, pop the lock and turn.

The doorknob spins in my hand. Loosely. Ineffectively. I would go so far as to call it impotent and flaccid, even though it’s a doorknob. The doorknob isn’t doing a goddamn thing. The door is still closed, and, somehow, still locked, even with a freely spinning doorknob.

Okay, I think, no biggie. I’ve been locked in far worse bathrooms than this. Plus, I’m a stagehand. Oh, wait. All my tools are at my work area. Not in here with me. As is my cell phone. Crap.

So I dig around the bathroom and find. . . a roll of paper towels. That’s it. No pipe wrench. No random screwdriver. Not even a goddamn plunger.

I start yelling and banging on the door to try to get someone’s attention, because people are actually in the building even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. The only thing is that I’m in the basement. They’re on stage, rehearsing. Far, far away.

I may as well be on the moon.

And suddenly I’m pissed, you know? I get dinner made early, I arrange a babysitter early, I pay extra for early parking all to come in early and take this goddamn yoga class and now I’m stuck in the frickin’ bathroom? Are you kidding me?

I’ll be damned if some doorknob is going to steal my peace.

So I start kicking the crap out of the doorknob. It takes a little while, but eventually the doorframe bends, the knob breaks off and I am free and I have exactly five minutes to haul ass down 8th avenue to get to my yoga class.

I drop the pieces of the doorknob off at the stage door on my way out and tell our doorman, Gus, what happened, apologizing as sincerely and as fast as I can.

I make my yoga class.

When I come back I have to endure a rash of crap from lots of people for breaking the bathroom door and leaving.

House Head Carpenter: I don’t get it. I don’t understand how you were locked in. The doorknob still works.

Me: But it came off! Completely! That’s how I got out.

House Head Carpenter: The door’s bent now where you kicked it, but nothing’s wrong with the doorknob. Even though it broke off.

Me: Dude. I don’t know what to tell you. I was locked the hell in. For like twenty minutes.

House Head Carpenter: I’ll replace it, I’m just saying it still works. Don’t kick me.

None of this has anything to do with my absence from all things social media. But it does explain these:

The old doorknob is still on the door and sometimes I forget and try to lock it instead of using the latch.

Don’t let anybody steal your peace.

Four and a half years ago when they came to live with us, #4 looked like this:

Little, messy, cute. You can also see her in my header picture above: I’m in the Mustang with #3, #4 and #5. She’s wearing the same shirt and I’m not entirely convinced the pictures were taken the same day. I think she wore that shirt all week.

This week I turned around and saw this (and, of course, snapped a picture):

Umm, yeah.

Kids grow up. I get it. I’ve seen it happen and every parent seems shocked when it happens to their kids. But here’s the thing: I’ve watched her four siblings change too, and that didn’t surprise me.

#5 is exactly like his Dad. They both value making people laugh, bacon, and boobies. Every change in #5 brings him closer to that.

From the very beginning I could see the spark of who the three oldest girls were becoming. The opposite of an afterimage. I merely stood by and witnessed. Cool, yes, definitely. An honor.

But not exactly surprising. More like watching an image coming into focus, like on a Polaroid. You know it’s coming and it’s fun to watch the edges sharpen, the color blossom, the picture become clear.

Maybe it had to do with their ages when they came to us. Maybe it’s more about this one being the most ethereal. The one most likely to be taken by elves.

But this one, this #4.

I didn’t see it coming. Caught me totally off guard.

She had a choir concert this week, that’s the reason for the dress. I was putting her to bed that night and I told her how pretty and grown up she looked. She said, “I know, it’s crazy, right?” She then proceeded to tell me not to worry, that I would only see her dressed that way for 5th grade promotion (in a couple weeks), 8th grade promotion, her prom, and high school graduation.

I’m glad she stopped there. That was all a bit much for me. She doesn’t even wear a bra yet.