My Latest Blog Entries



"A Stepmother, Losing Her Marbles"  

I’d long lost the fun of the game.  I saw only how I’d used the game like the smiling façade of a carnival barker, the mask I wore while I tried to figure out who the hell I was.  See the happy new wife, still having plenty of sex!  Plunk.  See the smiling stepmother, proving to all those who warned her off — Do you know what you’re getting into?  Those kids will ruin your marriage. Have you lost your senses, your marbles, your mind? — that she can love, and be loved by, someone else’s children.

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"Saying ‘me too’ isn’t enough. Women have to stop excusing men.


The truth is, beyond the confines of coastal news and entertainment, much of white, churchgoing middle America accepts both Trump’s “locker room talk” excuse and his wife’s lackadaisical “boys will be boys” defense. Many of the women I meet here in Kentucky — of all ages — do not follow national news, much less national politics. They also tend to follow their pastors’, or their husbands’, talking points: Clinton can’t be trusted, she thinks she’s a man, she should look at her own husband and her own marriage.  I suspect they looked at their own marriages and families, as well. Was Trump any different in his rhetoric from their own husbands, their brothers, their fathers?  Their pastors? What could they do? Men have needs.

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"The Real Mother"


I’ve barely been at this stepmother thing six months, but I’ve already learned an important lesson: there is always someone to remind me who I am not. Sometimes it’s the mom across the street or at the bus stop; sometimes it’s my son’s teacher at back-to-school night; and sometimes it’s just me staring into a mirror.

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"The Hotel That Built Me"

My mother’s farm never felt like home and, as I look back now, I see how childishly her husband and I fought over the only bathroom and clawed at each other to get her attention.  Though my mother was openly hurt when I started staying at the Lodge, she was also relieved. For the next years we enjoyed our limited time together so much more when I could be alone with her during the day and leave before supper.  Your mother’s home, it turns out, is not always your home.  And that can be okay.  
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Teri Carter is a writer living in Kentucky and California.  She is working on her first book.

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