In 2002, I asked CBC Radio in Canada about doing a two-part Outfront Series on the joys of a blended familiy. They took me at my word. Here is the first piece I came up with. Understand that Outfront is a radio show - the drawings didn't go over so well. I still laugh when I read this - hope you do too.
Sound of piano. Child playing “Do, a deer” from the Sound of Music. Mistakes. False starts. Finally the sound of two fists slamming on the keys. Then, “Mom! I can’t do it! This is stupid!”
Laura-Lee was a package deal. By this I mean 3 kids, a bunny, a standard poodle and enough Alpo to fill a super-tanker. I, too, was a package deal with 2 kids and a cat - so all in all we looked at our getting together as kind of a shrink wrapped television series less one maid. True, the number of kids was off by one, but in two years time we fixed that mathematical error, and became one of the few families in Cambridge to take up all 8 seats in a Dodge Mini-Van. 
It was at this time too, that we realized our nice, three-bedroom house was three bedrooms short. We also realized that one bathroom meant that within four months the lifetime guarantee on our toilet flusher would expire. And we realized that only one television was asking for anger-management therapy through the teen years. We went through a lot of realizing in those early days, and we solved everything with caffeine. Sometimes wine. And we smiled proudly whenever our friends or family nodded in approval, or bowed down at our feet – a response that I milked for all it was worth.
The thing was, we were a merger. One of those modern day phenomenons where last names don’t match, and loyalties are divided from the get go. We brought together five kids aged 3,4,5,6 and 9 – and even added one more to the pot just to make things even (Laura has a thing about odd numbers). We built a house to give our kids room to get along, and we made our pets get along too - in a cross-species kind of way. Had we really known what we were doing, we could have done a book tour, or a least gotten a nod of approval from Oprah.
The problem was, we were on ground shakier than Indonesia. Laura and I were both from families larger than the statistical 2.5 – but as active participants and not as drill instructors. With this many kids, things are different, and I don’t mean in the obvious 24-hour laundry cycle either. We became first and stepparents all in the same until death us do part acceptance speech, and this meant acting in ways outside of our regularly established patterns. We didn’t raise these kids together – we came in on them, both in midstream.
So I asked Laura what her concerns were, when we first brought everyone together.
"I didn't really have any concerns," she said. "I guess my biggest worry was that I'd become a mother of six like my mother. And learning to be mom in six different voices."
Enough said.
But If there was anything that we did have to learn, it was patience, both in multiple dimensions, and in multiple moods.
With your own kids you can rant and rave and spew venom until the cows come home – and no one, including your kids, takes notice. With your new wife’s children, well that's a different matter entirely. You look and sound like an idiot, even when you are right. And being right means nothing when you are left alone in your glory, while you wife goes out for a long walk.
By my best estimates Laura walked two-thousand and forty miles in our first year together. Her solution to all problems was motion. She walked alone and talked alone, and walked some more. Then, when she finally walked back home, she had an answer to whatever current problem was plaguing our happy home.
Sound of door opening, “Guess what, honey, we’re moving!”
Besides motion, all Laura’s solutions involved spending – in one form or another. So we built a new house with five bedrooms, two bathrooms and no wasted, unused, unproductive space. Even NASA sent us a note of achievement. We divvied out the rooms in terms of noise ratio – baby and eldest daughter upstairs with us, boys two-by-two downstairs with the pets. Boys and pets have a similar smell that makes them perfect bedroom companions. We opened windows, and made sure that anything with hair was showered - at least once a day.
In time, things began to settle. Wednesday night was family night. This meant pizza, a movie and what became infamously known as “Discussion Time”. Here we asked each child, in turn, if everything was fine – no so much because we really wanted to know, it was just that Barbara Coloroso wrote that it was good to know how your kids were feeling.
"All right kids, I'm about ready to start the movie. How is everyone feeling?" Each child in turn says the word “fine”. Then, in unison say, “Allie?” The baby, reluctantly, says “fine.”
Having the response we wanted, we were able to watch our movie. With six kids we have found that repetition is the key to success. Two times for Jackie, four for the boys, twenty-seven for Allie. It is reassuring for kids to know that there is some form of pattern in what we do as parents. And, for emergency purposes, we keep a picture of Pavlov on our mantle - next to a whistle.
Ah, yes. There is nothing more soothing to parents as the sound of defeat. Like Kafka’s leopards in the temple, over time the kids learn to expect what we will ask, and we learn to expect what they will answer. All in all, it's a good arrangement. Still, despite our best efforts, sometimes things go wrong. And when they do, the problem usually has to do with crime and punishment. Equality is a wonderful concept when justice is blind. But when justice has his eyes open wide, it’s a bad time to ask for a jury.
Take the case of the missing Joe Louis. Six kids, six Joe Louis. Two are gone, but five kids claim they haven’t had one yet. We try the Prisoner’s Dilemma – but that really only works when you have two suspects who are only out for themselves. With six its not a dilemma anymore, it’s a predicament. We question each kid individually, while the others wait alone in darkened rooms. As good, loving parents we are fairly certain who did it. I think, please let it be Duncan (Laura’s youngest), and Laura thinks please let it be Matt (my youngest). Some hurdles in merged families take longer to jump – protection of your own being one of the higher ones.
So I question Duncan for six hours. By the end, his confession is useless, because not only does he admit to taking the missing Joe Louis, but he may have had something to do with JFK.
Matt’s interrogation goes a little quicker. Matt is amblyopic, which means that he has the unique ability to both look at me, and not look at me at the same time. After two minutes of questions I let him go, feeling a little unsettled, and promise to call the eye doctor in the morning.
Days later we find out it was Jackie, our eldest, who just wanted another one. She wants to know if she can sleep over at Kate’s and watch a movie called The Exorcist. She’s 11.
Laura and I look at each other, because we realize that if we’re not working together on things at home, then we're working apart. And there are so many things still to face, that we just try to let things fall where they will. And when it’s possible we go out, and we try our best to get a good night's sleep.
Comments Welcome