So I figure that I may as well write a post about myself before I get too carried away and write about everything else happening in my life. Although the thought of not telling does sound appealing; we must leave some things a mystery ;), but maybe the rest will make a little more sense with a little background info.
The Basics:
I am the big sister, oldest of a total of 6 siblings that come from an assortment of parents.
My mother had me at a young age, and raised me with the help of my grandparents, and pseduo Aunt D & Unlce D. There have been plenty others like my actual aunts and uncles who have assisted along the way but the bulk of who I am came from these three primary units. My mother went ahead with her plans to go away (moved approx 5 hrs away) to college and brought me with her. I obviously don't remember the first years of my existence but apparently I spent my time living with my mom and her housemates and being with my grandparents. My pseudo Aunt D was a really a good friend of my moms; she is a couple years older and had children of her own who are cousins to me. Aunt D and her husband (Uncle D) have been a very significant and special part of my life. They may not be blood but they are my family. (Uncle D danced my "father/daughter" dance at my wedding)
My mother got married when I was 3 and a year later I had a lil brother. I remember he was cute and fun as a baby but as children we didn't always get along (our relationship has evolved over the years and I would do anything for him). Life was averagely ok for a while and then by the age of 10 my mother had kicked her husband out. He was a drunk, a loud, reckless, sometimes violent drunk. When I say violent I mean the break the chair and punch holes in the wall kind, to the best of my knowledge he never abused anyone. We played the game of back and forth for a few short years, he would come get us for visits when he wasn't too drunk or feeling sorry for himself. Often he would schedule a visit and then leave two sad, and confused children sitting waiting in the window wondering why daddy didn't come. (at some point after the wedding I started calling him dad and over the years forgot that he wasn't actually mine.
I think I was twelve when my mom sat me down and had the talk with me. She explained he wasn't really my biological father, and that I didn't even call him dad until I was almost five. She explained how she left my actual father before even knowing she was pregnant, and that over the years lost touch with him and his family. I never even met him. I remember her describing him to me; longish dark brown almost black hair (like mine), dark eyes and a mustache and taller than her. She said he lived up north with his family and explained so e of his family was not the nicest people. Me being young and naive determined he must be an Eskimo if he was from the north and so I spent a good chunk of my life thinking this.
Back up a little to the age of 10. The timelines are foggy but somewhere along this time my mom started hanging out with her "friend" who eventually had sleepovers, and then moved in eventually becoming my stepdad (common law no real wedding). My step dad had two young daughters of his own; one was the same age as my brother, the other a young infant. Being that the one daughter (I will have to think of a nickname for her, for now she will be known as sister 1) was the same age as lil brother the two of them fast became a force not to mess with. I often was subjected to their torture of being held down by one and taunted by the other which hardly seems fair since I am the oldest. The youngest of my two stepsisters I mentioned in my last post baby G. She was less than a year old when I met her and she quickly became my favorite sibling.
I absolutely hated my stepdad in the beginning. I'm not sure exactly why, it could have had to do with the fact that in a very short time the man I thought was my father abandoned me, I found out my real father never knew me and this new guy was now around. After many years of hating my stepdad, wishing him dead, and trying to make his life miserable so he would move out (he packed his bags more than once) we are finally at a good place in our relationship. He even gave me away at my wedding which was a huge deal, if you had of asked the kid version of me there was no way that was going to happen. I'm glad I asked him, and glad he agreed. I think it symbolized our relationship and how far we've come. Our relationship probably took a turn for the best when I moved out at age 19 for college.
And since this is very long I will leave it for now and resume part 2 in a few days. Tomorrow is baby G's birthday post. :)
