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It finally happened. The words I’ve dreaded hearing since day one.
I was picking up my 5 year old stepson at school, and bent down to tie his shoe. One of his little friends tried to give him a hug and his teacher asked him to give my stepson some space because his mom was tying his shoes. I said nothing, as I always do when someone mistakes me for his biological mother. But my stepson said, very matter of fact, “She’s not my mom!”
This morning was a quiet morning. Which isn’t normally how it goes, is it?
Usually we’re all rushing around making breakfast, getting dressed, and bribing the children to eat. We’re drinking cold coffee in a feeble attempt to not feel like we only got the little sleep that we did the night before. One child on one hip, another one cries because they don’t like the shirt they picked out the night before.