Three years ago, my wife and I first discussed getting married. Well, to be clear, my 15 year old daughter, then 12, talked about my then girlfriend and I tying the knot. Here’s the story.
My daughter, Tay, and a buddy of hers came over to my house with Bobina. My youngest daughters were elsewhere. We goofed off, talked, played games, and they left because the girls had school the next day. On the ride home, Tay blurts out, “so are you guys getting married?”. She was good with the idea but her mom and I had only dated for a few months. Suddenly the issue was on the table. That night ended with my girlfriend telling me “I wanna marry you.” Three months later, this happened.
I learned about a blended family. We’re one dude, one girl, one chick, two girls, a dog that’s always around, two kittens. The Bradys are three girls, a mom, three boys, a dad, a dog that disappeared, a housekeeper that lived in the laundry room and had a butcher boyfriend, and the collection of the worst hairdos. Forever, they seemed like freaks. I had a mom and dad that were school sweethearts. These days, being married for a second time to woman with kids; the line used in the Brady Bunch “the only steps in this house are the ones going upstairs” is like Walt Whitman poetry. I identify with that gloriously bad television show more every day.
Recently the creator of the Brady Bunch, Sherwood Schwartz, passed away well in his 90s. Also, the youngest daughter of the Brady Bunch, Cindy, also known as Susan Olsen, turned 50 years old. It made me slightly nostaglic for the show because I am in a similar situation, albeit, nonfictional, as the Bradys. The differences are stark. The exes of my wife and I are not dead. There is no maid. I don’t have perm. My family doesn’t take trips to Hawaii. But the sentiment of being a blended bunch exists. I consider all three of my daughters, mine. We talk about our problems. Every 25 minutes or so, I give a convoluted speech about doing the right thing and loving each other and yourself. Then my girls run out into the yard and throw footballs at their noses.
When I married Bobina, everyone asked me if I was prepared for the obstacles. There would be other parents to consider, raising two children whose births I didn’t witness, the extra expenses, getting used to four women instead of just one. The truth is, after 3 years, we’re all kinds of awesome. I remember feeling like a gladiator going into the stadium with the lions, armored and a “challenge accepted” glare in my eyes. Now, I just blend in with my bunch. It all seems natural.
The other day it was raining. My youngest daughters were on the couch, under afghans (because we’re fancy), watching ICarly. Carly (the character, not my youngest girl) lives with her older brother Spencer. Spencer has the maturity level of a ritalin starved 4 year old high on sugar cookies. My youngest daughter says “Spencer is silly. He’s not like a real dad.” My middle child answers, “yeah, daddy would never act like that.” I put down the guitar, put on some pants, swallowed my frosted flakes (because they’re grrrrrreat), and quietly contemplated my daughter’s thoughts. For the most part, my kids get it. I would give anything if Joe Namath or Davy Jones would visit us based on a lie.
This is my answer to two writing assignments – one from the good people at Studio Thirty Plus http://www.studiothirtyplus.com/ who gave me “Challenge Accepted” and Katie’s group at The Lightning and the Lightning Bug who wanted “I Wanna Marry You” http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/
Today’s song really isn’t compatible lyrically unless you use your imagination. I heard Weezer on my way into work and I just wanted to hear this guitar riff and use this title. It’s a good song and good video. You’ll enjoy it. I do find myself in a Perfect Situation. Plus I rocked two prompts. Here’s Weezer’s Perfect Situation.