We have twelve people in our family at the moment. Twelve of us living under one roof. Geoff and I, and our five biological kids, who are now 17, 14, 12, 10 and 10. We have five foster kids, as well. Two little ones, ages 4 and almost 2 who are full siblings. And three older ones, who are also siblings, ages 9, 15 and 17.
I’ve been thinking about the term “blended families.” My husband and I have often commented to each other about the unique struggles and complications parents must deal with when trying to blend a family. I’ve always been grateful that we didn’t have to do that.
It only recently occurred to me, after a particularly difficult week in our home, that we are trying to blend a family. And that our earlier presumptions were correct. It is difficult. And complicated. And sometimes I get so sick of the fighting and arguing that I’m ready to admit failure and walk away.
I’ve always considered the word “blended” as in “blended family” to be an adjective. “Blended” describing “family.” What kind of family? A blended one.
But so far in our efforts “blended” has not been an adjective. It’s been a verb. An action verb. One requiring much action on our part. Frequently running interference. Frequently mediating and explaining. Frequently enforcing the rules and refereeing. Constantly standing up, sometimes running.
Our biological kids get upset when they know our foster kids are lying to us. Understandable. To them, it’s a show of disrespect. Which burns indignation.
Our foster kids get upset when our biologicals treat them like they can’t be trusted to handle responsibilities. To them, it’s a show of disregard. Which burns resentment.
Round and round we go.
And through it all, in my mind, I’m wondering if we’ve taken on too much. If we’re in over our heads. If this is so much that it’s actually detrimental to all of us. Our biological kids used to get along well. Now they often act in either cool aloofness or hostility.
Are we in over our heads? Is it fair to our biological kids to have to share everything they have? Even their parents? And each other? Is it fair that they feel their home isn’t just theirs anymore? Are we taking away what they have every right to expect?
And what if we find that we can’t do this? It will be even more difficult for the next people to reach the hearts of those who’ve been put out of our home. The hurt will be compounded. For all our reassurances to them that they’re safe here. And wanted. Being removed from our home because somewhere along the line we realized that we were in over our heads would prove the fallacy of all that we’ve assured. How fair is that?
These are the questions keeping me awake at night. My worries and concerns. Is there really any hope of blending this family? Or are we in way over our heads?
And then tonight I was making dinner and the recipe called for butter and flour to be combined in a roux. Then bouillon blended to the roux to form a thick, creamy sauce.
As I stood in the kitchen dutifully stirring the pot, it occurred to me what was going on. Butter and flour and bouillon do not mix well. In fact, under different circumstances, the three ingredients could make a mess.
But this recipe instructed me to return to heat. Let boil. Stirring frequently.
Under the right circumstances, in this case more heat, butter and flour and bouillon mix really well. They become the creamy base of a favorite halibut recipe in our house.
As I stood there, staring down into the boiling pot of seemingly incompatible ingredients, I got to thinking that maybe all is not lost just yet for this family of ours. Granted the blending’s not going so well right at the moment. But maybe that’s why the heat’s been turned up lately. Maybe we just needed a little extra heat to bring everything together smoothly.
Currently we are a family of twelve. From three separate families. But with the right amount of heat. And frequent stirring. We might just be able to blend this family.
Blended. Not just as a verb. But as an adjective.
penniesonmypath 