Hazel asked me what my step mother was like yesterday. I’m sitting on the couch listening to music and out of the blue, “Dad? What was your stepmom like? How did Grampa Don meet her? Did she like dogs and did she yell?”
The next forty minutes Hazel looked me in the eyes and learned about my stepmother.
Hazel listened and interrupted and listened and interrupted and listened and interrupted. As I finished telling the story of my stepmother Hazel told me a friend of hers at school has a new stepmom.
Now I knew the reason my daughter was so interested in finding out family history. One of her girlfriends has a new stepmom.
Story time was pushing into dinnertime and I needed to get started in the kitchen.
….But Hazel wasn’t done, not even close. It seems Hazel’s classmate really likes her stepmom. They do fun things together. They go shopping together and they get their hair done together and they bake cookies and cupcakes together.
I asked Hazel where her friends real mommy is while she is doing all this fun stuff.
“She lives in Chicago with her boyfriend who is mean.”
…..and then the grenade falls out from under Hazel’s blouse.
“I wouldn’t mind having a cool stepmom and we can do stuff together and she can rub your back too!”
Hazel’s little face was bright with hope as she revealed the true meaning of our Saturday afternoon conversation.
“What kind of stepmom would you like me to find Hazel?”
“Someone who loves me and Fritz and George. Maybe someone who has a daughter my age. Someone who doesn’t smoke cigarettes. Someone who cooks better stuff than you and also she can be a White Sox fan. That would make you happy dad.”
My daughter was full of excitement and positive energy as she sited her demands for my next wife. I was thinking of reopening my Bumble account and letting Hazel write the bio.
“Hazel…. Stepmommies don’t grow on trees. I can’t go to Mariano’s and walk down the Stepmom aisle and find a wife in a can!”
As those words came out of my mouth I pictured my bathroom cluttered with curling irons and make up containers. A “wife in a can” to a nine year old is goofy, but to me I imagine losing my bathroom privileges.
I ended the conversation to start preparing dinner for the Shepkids. The whole time I was making pizzas I wanted to kick the crap out of the dad who has a daughter in Hazel’s class. This Jagoff gets remarried and sends his daughter out with propaganda that infected my baby girl.
I got through the rest of the night without anymore stepmom talk. I woke up this morning and realized Hazel doesn’t care if I have a wife…..She just wants a mom.
I just need to find someone to take Hazel to the beauty salon and won’t clutter up my bathroom.
John, Riverside (56) likes the White Sox, mustard on his hotdogs, thin crust pizza and sometimes farts in bed. You must be willing to take my daughter to get her nails done, make cupcakes and have a dog.
