I rake leaves in the snow.

Yesterday, it snowed for the first time this season. If you know me at all, you know that I loathe the winter. My soul craves warm weather like my cat craves hot dogs (this latest craving of hers was only discovered this evening. Who says you can't learn something new about your 13 year old cat?). I dream of residing someplace where the weather never dips below 45 degrees and when it gets to 50, people start freaking out and stupidly put snow tires on their cars. I once lived in a place where it was so hot in the summer that your eyeballs would dry out during the three minute walk from your car to the front door of the supermarket. Those were the days, man, those were the days...

So, imagine my ire when I realized that I had to rake leaves in the snow in order to get our inflatable puppies set up for the kids. Yes, I have inflatable dogs on my lawn. Yet another fact about me, I hate the inflatable puppies. They were received as a gift for E's first Christmas, back when I was living in a tiny condo with no discernible front lawn to place said puppies. There was a certain joy in that, honestly. I could look my pleading child in the eyes and say "No, we can't set the puppies up... they'd get pierced by the arbor vitae!" and the matter would be settled for another year. When we moved to the semi-middle-of-nowhere, we suddenly gained two acres of land and lo-and-behold, there was room for the puppies. Moving from the condo to 'real' house meant unloading 10 years of junk from the basement. In order to lessen the moving load, I graciously offered to leave the puppies behind, but no. TDH Man insisted that the puppies came with us and onto the moving truck they went. When he gripes about how we needed to rent a second 26-foot moving truck just for the basement stuff, I remind him of those puppies.

I bite my tongue.

Last night, E got off the phone with his BioDad and I knew something was wrong. First, TDH Man and I had heard E arguing with BioDad about not being able to attend his Strings Concert later this month. Second, he semi-pouted his way up the stairs before bed. Two clear signs that he was brooding, like I tend to do.

When I went up to say prayers with him before bedtime I asked him, feigning ignorance, what was wrong. He huffed and puffed his way through his side of the story and I sat on his bed, biting my tongue. Normally, I would rush to BioDad's side, explaining to E that parents have commitments, need to work to pay their bills, need their own sanity, but nope. I just sat and bit my tongue. A few months ago, I read something about how if you want your kids to confide in you, just sit and listen. Don't speak, don't offer advice, don't do anything but listen. And as much as I wanted to pipe up and say to him "FINALLY! You're seeing what I saw for four miserable years!" I didn't. I just bit my tongue.

Because in the end, I want to be the Momma that E runs to when he's sad and needs to vent. I want to be the Momma he depends on, even when BioDad is too busy. Having two families can be a blessing and a curse and no matter what, I want E to at least feel like I'm present in his life, always.