My Addiction: McDonald's

I'm just going to come out up front. I love McDonald's.... it's as simple as that. My mom, stepdad, sister, and me are all in Brazil. I have been training by myself for swim team. I hadn't eaten fast food in like 3 weeks!... that's a long time for me. The last I had gone to McDonald's was with my best friend on June 26. I go to McDonald's almost once a week... yeah, I know, it's bad.

The other day, my mom, one of my tias, and me were coming home after my swim training. There was a lot of traffic (it was Friday night) and the ride takes about 20 to 30 minutes. I was supposed to have gone to McDonald's that night after practice with my stepdad, but he stayed home with Stella, so I couldn't go. I was quite pissed off about this new change of plans. Anyways, we were driving home and I talked about McDonald's the entire ride. When I say "the entire ride", I mean the entire ride, from the time I got into the car to the time when I got out of the car.

My mom started to get really fed up with my persistent talking. We were about 100 yd from the house when my tia got out her cell phone to call my stepdad. She said she was going to ask if I could go get fast food. My hopes were high at first, but nobody answered the phone so I just dropped it.

The next day, Saturday, my stepdad, mom, sister, another one of my tias, and I went to the hospital. We gone for the entire day. I was getting tired and bored. My mom and tia started telling me that if I did a runway walk down the hospital hallway, that we could go get McDonald's. I said no... of course! I mean, it's a hospital not America's Next Top Model! I asked my mom later if we were going to McDonald's, and she told me that she gave me a chance but I refused! As you can imagine, I was pissed off. I had spent the entire day in a hospital with nothing to do and now I couldn't even have McDonald's!!!

We went home and I started taking off my jewelry and shoes, when my stepdad told me we were going out to eat. I asked where and he said.... FAST FOOD!!!!! O.Mi.Gawd! You should have seen my face! I went from neutral to pure over ecstasy. The best part was that, I could see all of this unfold because I was in front of a mirror.

We got to the food court at the mall, I saw the golden arches, and I swear I had a heart attack. Mom: I think Grace is going to pass out if she can see the golden arches but she can't taste them.

My stepdad wanted to look around at the other places and I started to get a desperate look on my face. Mom: Grace is getting a desperate look on her face like she might not be getting McDonald's. I think you need to reassure her.

I went up to the counter and ordered a number 1 meal. The price? About $8.50!!! That's proof of an addiction right there. I sat down with my meal while my stepdad, mom, and tia (yes, another one) were still deciding what to order. I said that I would wait to eat. I ate one fries, two fries, three fries... so on and so forth. I offered fries to my tia and she took a couple. That's when she said she was going to get Giraffas (a Brazilian fast food chain). By that time I had already eaten all my fries.

Baduh duh duh duhhhh I'm lovin' it

A story of a boy torn between two worlds

It's that nine-year-old boy, Sean Goldman, who's living in Rio with his stepfather and his mother's family. His dead mother. I'm not sure whether this current event has caught the attention of others as much as it has ours here at my household. (For those of you who don't know, my husband is Brazilian and our younger daughter has dual citizenship.) If you don't know about the story, here's the latest on the story as reported by cnn.com.

I started thinking, what's my take on this? Do I go with the biological mother (who's now dead) and her family since I'm a biomom myself? I go with her because she's someone like me who braved the storm of being a single mother because her spouse was doing things she thought were bad for her child? Or do I take the side of the biodad, thinking that a biological parent should always have custody before a stepparent? But then it gets complicated, see, because I would want my husband, my oldest daughter's stepfather, to have some say-so in her life should (God-forbid) anything ever happen to me.

(Don't even tempt me for a second to go into the issues of international affairs between the US and Brazil because I will not go there.)

So. Lots of you out there have been a single mom. Or you're a biomom who's been remarried and have watched your spouse and your child have to navigate the treacherous waters of establishing their relationship. Or you're the stepparent to a child you care deeply for, and maybe your bio-counterpart isn't so happy to have you in the picture. I want to know what you think about this whole thing.

My deep hunch, from the beginning, is that this American father will regain sole physical and legal custody of his son, leave Brazil for the US immediately upon gaining that physical custody, and never travel south of the border again. So the kid loses the relationship he has with his now-deceased mother's family. And the stepfather will be left way out in the cold. Because legally...whether you're in the US or in Brazil or in China or wherever...stepparents don't have the right to step over the wishes of biological parents.

Think long and hard about it before you answer. As you can tell, I'm torn. If something happens to my ex-husband, I would never be obligated to explain my actions as a parent to anyone ever again. I could tell Grace's stepmother to kiss off and that would be the end of the story. The down side to this, of course, is that my ex-husband could legally do the same to Grace's stepfather in a similar circumstance. So I'm finding myself back to the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

I'm not sure how the Golden Rule applies in the case of Sean Goldman's parents.

As a last word, I'm going to check out the Brazilian news sources when I get a chance today. I'm curious to see how this whole story is being reported there. If I find out anything, I'll include more here. But until then, chew on this and give me your comments to chew on as well.

Sav(or)ing the garden before the frost

I'm a little behind this year. Apparently while I wasn't looking, autumn arrived. See, I've been inside the house for the last two days and didn't notice that the chilly temperatures on Monday weren't just glitch. It's reliably in the 50s every day, the leaves are changing color, and everything around me is signaling that our Indian summer is long over.

So suddenly did the autumn come that without warning, we are under a frost advisory tonight. Frost. And it's (technically) not October yet. I can't say I find it unbelievable given the very cool summer we had. Still, frost? I swear that we were at the pool just a few weeks ago. Yes, in fact, we were at the pool only a few weeks ago. I remember. It was exactly eight weeks ago, the day before Stella was born. Grace and I and my dad were at the pool together, the two of them doing laps and me enjoying the buoyancy. We can't possibly have gone from summer swimming weather to frost in the course of eight weeks.

As you might recall, Grace and my husband decided to plant seeds in early June and see what might become of them. Some vegetables, some herbs, mixed up with a little optimism, they hoped that they might see the fruits of their labor later in the summer. They got more than I thought they would: the seeds sprouted and grew heartily, the zucchini plants thrived exceptionally well. Despite this, I can't say we saw any genuine vegetables like tomatoes or eggplant. We did get some rather healthy herbs out of it, however. Dill, Italian parsley, marjoram, spearmint, and basil. Did I mention basil? Ah, yes, basil. Lots and lots of basil.

Today, the plants are still growing strong. But there is that frost advisory. I'm not much of a handy gardener, but I do know that frost is not good for ground plants like vegetables and herbs. My husband called me from his office this afternoon to ask me to clip as much of the basil and marjoram off as I could.

I ventured out in the early evening sun. A young buck, a doe and a small fawn were enjoying their supper in the back of our lot near the woodlands. They continued feeding as I made my way to the herb garden. I clipped as much of the marjoram as I could. Then I considered the parsley growing close by. It certainly wouldn't weather the overnight frost well. I clipped a generous amount. On to the basil. Three plants had good growth. I clipped them down to the root and brought them inside.

I wish I could upload scent files to my blog. The aroma in the kitchen is indescribably wonderful. So you'll have to settle for photos. Here you are.

parsley and marjoram

basil

And for an extra treat, I'll give you a look at the chrysanthemums blooming right at the edge of our garden. I hope they survive tonight's frost and stick around for a few more weeks at least.

crysanthemums

up close

Happy Autumn to all of you!

The fifth member of our family

One member of our family has been completely neglected. I can completely imagine that some of you out there think our family only has four members. My husband and I, Grace and Stella. Four, exactly four. Except for cursory comments, any acknowledgment of the fifth member of our family has been omitted entirely from my blogging content for quite some time now. That member is The Cat. The saddest part about her absence from my writing is that the last time I wrote about her was when I decided not to have a cardiac ultrasound for her. Because I had just found out I was pregnant and had satisfied my desire for something else small and cute in the family. God, I suck.

Since I don't have a toddler or other small child to react to the new baby in the house, I think life has cursed me with a cat that is playing that role in our home. The jealousy, the regression to earlier stages of development, the temper tantrums...it's all there. I can only assume I'll see sibling rivalry in a few years.

Now that we've established how neglectful of a cat owner I am, let's move on to what she's been up to. After successfully navigating a move to our new home last November, she decided in mid-May to stop using her litter box. It was in our basement. First, she deposited her packages in each of the bathtubs in the house, first in the master bath, then in the guest bath, and finally in the hallway bath. We closed the doors to each bathroom. Then she starting using the guest room floor, right behind the bed where you couldn't see it from the doorway. Fine, close the guest room door. She then moved downstairs and starting using the carpet in the den. Where there is no doorway to close it off. Arg. Since this time we've been trying to retrain her to use the litter box. Oh my God. Yes, it has taken more than four months to do this. We've managed to get her to use the litter box if it is in the hallway right next to the stairway to the basement. But only if the top is off of it, because she's finicky that way. She wants her litter exposed to the air; she doesn't want to have to crawl in and out of the box like some kind of lowly domesticated animal.

Then Stella came along. We knew she'd take a backseat as soon as the baby was outside of me. The Cat really is a baby to us, see. We hold her like a baby, we take pictures of her and send them to friends and family, we talk baby talk to her, we marvel at her cuteness. So as soon as something smaller and cuter came along, of course our demonstrative affection for The Cat would abate a tad.

Truth be told, we didn't even know where she was half the time, or if she was home at all.

When things quieted down a bit after Stella's arrival, The Cat gingerly approached her. I noticed it one afternoon when I was holding Stella in the nursery. Stella was wailing her head off about something. The Cat was in the hallway and peered into the room through the doorway ever so subtly. Then carefully, step by step, she ventured in. When she finally reached the loveseat that Stella and I were sitting on, she rested her front paws on the seat cushion and let out a tiny kitten cry. I couldn't help but stop and look. Sure enough, she was empathizing with Stella. She stayed there in the room with us until Stella settled down. When Stella was laying in her crib and falling asleep, The Cat stepped out as quietly and carefully as she had entered.

Since then, I've noticed that she's taken up camping underneath the crib. She never went in the nursery before. Now she walks under the crib to the center, curls up against the wall, wraps her tail around her body and goes to sleep.

I was amazed that this was The Cat's reaction to the new baby.

And then the day came. I should have known it would come, but still, when it came, I was unprepared. The day that we realized we couldn't find The Cat.

I had seen her the afternoon before. My husband had come home late on Tuesday night and didn't find her anywhere. I hadn't opened any of the doors, so she must be around somewhere. Or...maybe not. She could have slipped into the garage when I was loading Stella into the car and then walked right out into the outdoors when I opened the garage door. However she managed to get out, she was gone. She was nowhere in the house to be found.

I called the Humane Society. They took a report, asking me all about her. She's an orange tabby with patches of gray stripes. She has a lightning bolt black streak on her forehead. She's ten years old and she's spayed and declawed in the front paws, and, oh my God, she's been outside by herself for over a day and we live on the woodlands and anything could have gotten her and she would have no way to protect herself! Calm down, the woman told me. She said she had a cat by this description that was 11 years old. Eleven years, you say? And then I realized, The Cat is actually 11 years old. I'm so negligent I don't even know how old The Cat is anymore. No luck, though, that cat was a male. The woman on the phone told me to come by the shelter the next day to look at the cats there. The next day Stella and I spent 30 minutes looking at cats and kittens one by one. I'll bet we saw over a hundred. All of them were so sweet and needy. I reached out and pet some of them through their cage wires. I told each and every one of them that I wished I could take them with us and give them a home. But we didn't want a new cat, we wanted our cat. None of those cats was The Cat.

As I was leaving, I asked to see the report to make sure they had all of our information correct. They did. And then I asked them if there was anything else we could do to help her come home. The woman at the front desk said to put pieces of our clothing outside, clothing we had worn that was rich with each of our scents. With no other ways to turn, I decided to try this.

That night we all went to Grace's swim meet. We spent the whole meet wishing we could go home and search for The Cat. After the meet was over, we four rushed home to see if we could lure family member number five, the outcast. Grace ran to the basement and got some of our clothing from the laundry pile. My husband started walking around the backyard calling for her, shining a flashlight into the trees and bushes to see if he could see the reflection of her green eyes. Stella and I fixed yet another bowl of tuna fish to set on the back porch overnight. No luck. We couldn't find her.

After about an hour, we woefully looked out the sliding glass door into the backyard. The temperatures were dropping; could she survive out there for very long? We turned on the back porch light to see if there were any other critters around. There, right next to the door, sniffing our clothing, was The Cat. We quickly pulled her inside. She was fine, happy in fact. My husband snuggled her in his arms and asked her if she had had fun while she was out on her adventures. Then we all retreated for bed, relieved.

For the last couple days, The Cat has been sitting by the sliding glass doors in the afternoon, basking in the sun. A stray cat keeps coming around and taunting her through the glass. You can hear The Cat's hisses and screams through the whole house. She's protecting us and her domain. And all this while I thought I was protecting her. I'm wondering whether it would be wrong for me to put out tuna fish for the other cat and lace it with gasoline...

Stepfamily Day

This past Sunday afternoon our stepfamily had dinner with another stepfamily-in-the-making. Actually, that's simplifying the situation. Let me explain.

My friend Frieda has three children. When Frieda and I met, we were both married to our first husbands, the father of our respective children. Since we met, I have been divorced and remarried and she has gotten divorced and is now engaged. We are both in a much better place today than we were then.

Frieda's fiance, Henry, has two children of his own, a son in high school and a daughter who finished her first bachelor's degree a few years ago. Actually, his daughter is his stepdaughter, the daughter of a woman he is no longer married to. Henry and his daughter were there at dinner on Sunday. He told me while we were grilling meat for dinner that it was about 20 years ago he met his first wife and wonderful daughter. I would have never guessed the details of their familial relationship if he had not been forthcoming with them. She responded to him like any daughter would respond to her father.

It wasn't until I got home that I started thinking about the complexities of all the relationships present. Freida's kids interact happily with Henry's stepdaughter. When Frieda and Henry do get married, what is the relationship of these stepchildren of Henry? I don't even know. Are stepchildren from two different marriages related? Does it matter given that they all interact with one another as family?

Many times I look at my stepfamily and I think things look complicated. My older daughter Grace has to divide her time between our family and the stepfamily her father built. I suspect she has her share of tense moments since few members in either family behave suitably in this circumstance. As far as my husband, the stepparent in our family, goes, he faced how to build a relationship with a girl from a country that he had no childhood experience in. He had no idea what American girls are like and what they do when he met her. The whole thing has been an involved process to say the least.

But we are as simple of a stepfamily as you can get. One stepparent, one child, and these two connected by the biological parent. Now we have one more member, the half-sibling of the first child. My friend Frieda has a more complex stepfamily involving not just her children, but her fiance's biological child and his stepchild from his first marriage. And yet, this doesn't make the two families better or worse than each other or any other family. What matters is the family members and how they treat each other.

I've been very hesitant to say what I'm about to say, but since it's Stepfamily Day, I'll go for it: A stepfamily is at least as good as an intact family. See, stepfamilies get a bad rap. People who have experience only in intact families don't hesitate to say that intact families are better than any other family structure. Some people in the media go so far as to say single mothers and stepfamilies are flawed and are to be blamed for many of the ills of our society. But I've never heard anyone in a stepfamily be so bold as to say that a stepfamily is better than an intact family. I think it's time for those of us in stepfamilies to stop acting like it's a flawed structure and stand up to say what a great thing it is.

I don't know what the statistics are as to how many families today are traditional intact families versus stepfamilies. I don't even know how one could reliably calculate such a number. I'm not sure it matters. What does matter is that for people like those in my stepfamily, our family is the best one we have been in. That includes intact families we have each been in. So I am grateful to say, we are and always will be a stepfamily. Thank goodness for it.

The beginning of Stella

Yesterday Stella turned one month old. I haven't said much about her. So here's a tidbit. As usual, it's really about me.

Lately I've been telling stories to Stella as she is nursing or is falling asleep. I started with telling her about the day she was born. That was when she was two weeks old. It was inspired by my neighbor who came over to visit a few days earlier with her two kids, 8 and 6. As we visited, she asked how I was and how Stella was at birth. Her kids chimed in and asked their mother, 'how much did I weigh, momma?" and "what was it you said the first time you heard me cry, momma?" It was clear that each one of them had heard the story of their birth over and over.

Then I moved to telling Stella how much her daddy loved her. I told her about how much we wanted to have a baby and how long we waited and how, the entire time I was pregnant, we were careful, and a little nervous that something would go wrong, and a tad scared that she would have a problem or not be healthy and that we worked so hard to make sure she was healthy and happy and safe.

And then I realized, part of the story goes back to when my husband and I first started seeing each other. He told me he wanted to have children. Like, in week two of dating. And I said something like, I don't believe you, or, you needed to explain what it is exactly about children that you want. It was only after much time had passed that he told me how much my response revealed about me. He told me I was seeing him as just a typical man and that I assigned all the stereotypical values and perspectives to him without ever even probing to see if those were valid assumptions.

See, I had accidentally gotten pregnant with Grace by my first long-term boyfriend. I thought he was great. I was in love, as they say. I thought, nothing can stop us now. We'll get married and be together forever. We can survive. It was like that country song by Trisha Yearwood, "She's in Love With The Boy."



God, when I hear that song on the radio it makes me sick to my stomach. I wish I could grab every young girl who's fantasizing while listening to that song and shake her up and say, 'for the LOVE OF GOD and all things holy, LISTEN to your father for half a second and don't even THINK about marrying that boy some day!" As you all know, things did not work out with my boyfriend in the way I envisioned. Yeah, once Grace was born, he thought she was cute and all. And he played with her. On some days he got inspired and planned a whole day of fun with her. But...

Parenting is hard work. It's not all fun and games. He didn't like the hard parts. So he got to do all the fun stuff and I ended up with the rotten stuff like changing diapers and giving time outs and staying home while he went out (with who?) and working on homework. At the tail end of our relationship, he would want to have fun with me alone and would get angry if I didn't find a sitter at short notice, saying it was like I didn't even like being with him (well, truth be told...). I haven't even touched whether my job or career was as important as his; suffice it to say, mine was a needed source of income, his was the one that mattered. When push came to shove, I needed to work, and I was the one who needed to figure out childcare and everything else. After we divorced, it was clear who was the "fun" parent and who was the "disciplinarian." I made up my mind then and there, I'm never having kids with anyone again.

I admit, it was a completely sexist decision. I actually always wanted to have a big family with lots of kids. Four sounded perfect to me. Sure, a lot of work, but if there's two people who love each other, two people who are really invested in a family and committed to making it work, then a big family can be joyful even though it is a bit hectic. But through the course of my first marriage, I decided that men are not prepared as people to take on the commitment of parenting in the way that I envisioned they could. They wanted to have a healthy sized progeny in order to ensure that they passed on their genes and their name. I wanted my kids to have a father who was involved in their lives, one who would love being with them as much as I did. One who felt like they were a part of him, not just an extension of his life. By the time I was separating from Grace's father, I had had enough of it. I wanted Grace to have an awesome dad and she didn't. I had tried to make a family work, it didn't work, and now I was 30 and didn't want to try and fail again. And so I let the dream that I wanted, the dream of the big, happy family, die.

Enter my husband-to-be and his comment during our nascent romance. He wanted to have children. I had been divorced long enough to know it wasn't easy to rebuild a family, that is, to create a stepfamily. In fact, it was a hard thing to do. And I already had a daughter who was nine and I was starting a 5-year PhD program within months. There would be a big age gap between my only child and her next sibling. Was it possible to build a family?

After two years of feeling each other out and making sure this was the 'real thing,' we got married. See, along the way to marriage, my husband convinced me through the ways he treated me and cared for me that he valued me as an equal in our relationship. I also saw how he cared for Grace, Grace, who wasn't making forming a parent-child relationship between the two of them easy. Once we made the decision to get married, we immediately started thinking about another child. But within two months of our wedding, we were seeing a reproductive endocrinologist at the infertility clinic because me, I had some bad symptoms and some bad family medical history. It took a little more than four years and a whole lot of medical treatment for me until we held our baby Stella in our arms.

I tried to tell Stella the abbreviated version of the story a few days ago. It wasn't easy. I don't think it ever will be. But I did manage to tell her that we were very, very happy to finally have her in our lives. I hope that I can explain the story to her in a way that she can understand while she is young so that she can grow up knowing that her parents longed for her more than she can imagine.

Facing your demons: Part 2

The first half of the story is here. And now we continue our story...

...And so it came about at 4:30p on the afternoon of Saturday, July 25th that Grace's father came by to pick her up. It's a month later and I cannot remember anything about the actual picking up. She was home on time at 7:30p.

The on-time pickup and the on-time return are something that hasn't happened, well, ever, I don't think. So what's a woman to complain about? And I was already feeling like an ass for hating my ex-mother-in-law for relatively minor offenses. I felt...unevolved...unrealized...emotionally immature.

After Grace had gotten in from the evening out and had had a few minutes to collect herself and relax, she came downstairs to the den. I asked her how dinner was. She said it was nice. I asked her where they went for dinner and what else had happened.

Grace told me that first they went by the hospital to visit Amy, her stepmother.



[insert the sound of screeching brakes here]



I involuntarily interrupted Grace. 'You went to the hospital to visit Amy?'

She explained, Amy was there for at least a week. She had been admitted a few days earlier because she was feeling down. A few seconds of explanation later, I understood. Her stepmother had been admitted to the psych ward for a week, probably because she attempted suicide again or told someone she was considering it.

It's not the first time it's happened. When Grace was 9, just after we moved away from her dad in Michigan and moved to the DC area, her father had planned a trip to come see her. He wanted to do it within a few months of us moving because he felt it was important to be part of Grace's life right away. He also had proposed marriage to Grace's soon-to-be-stepmother a few weeks earlier. They were deeply in the midst of planning a wedding.

He arrived in town as scheduled and called our house to let us know they would be coming by soon. Or rather, he would be coming by soon...alone. Because his girlfriend wasn't with him. Because she had attempted suicide and had been admitted to the psych ward for at least a week. Grace's father wanted to tell me this because he wanted to clear it with me. See, he wanted to explain to Grace over dinner what was really going on.

Good lord. I was still reeling from my divorce from the guy and poor decisions on his and his girlfriend's part. I thought they weren't wise in their parenting choices. (For more details, you can read this, this, and this.) And then, my worst fears were confirmed. This woman that Grace's father had hooked up with was psychologically unstable. To the point where she would take her own life. The only silver lining I could see was that if this guy ever sought joint or sole physical custody of Grace, this episode would be a severe dent in the whole 'happy family' picture he had been trying to create thus far. Worse, I was faced with entrusting my ex-husband to explain suicide to my 9-year-old daughter. In terms of someone in her family. Whoa.

I just took a deep breath and told him fine. I can't remember whether I asked Grace about it when she came home.

Fast forward to Grace's recent pre-dinner visit to the psych ward at the hospital. When you're 15 and your stepmother is admitted to the hospital for psychiatric evaluation, what do you say? What is appropriate to say? When this is the second time it's happened in your childhood, how do you react to this person in the long run? How do have a relationship with them? WHAT IS MY CHILD FACING?

She explained to me that her stepmother is sick and that sickness requires her to stay at the hospital sometimes. When I looked confused, she insisted, 'No, really mom, she has a serious illness, it's not funny.'

THAT'S what my daughter is facing and how she's dealing with it.




Talk about something that causes me to introspect. My kid is fine. She knows what is up with her stepmother and she can deal with it fine. Her stepmother is not ok. I've been expecting she and her husband to act like responsible, active parents and take good care of my daughter when she is in their care. During that week, Grace's stepmother couldn't take care of herself, much less her own kids or her stepdaughter. Under what pretense would it make sense for me to expect her to live up to all the high standards I have laid on her in my mind?

Grace's father called me a week ago to set up visitation for her now that the school year is starting. He said it would be too difficult to have weekly visitation with Grace. He's just going to have her to his house every other weekend now. I presume that holidays are also times he wants to have her at his house. I suspect life is getting heavy on his shoulders. So what can I do other than have compassion? His life is stressful, as is the life of every member of his immediate family. He's cutting things out that he thinks he can in order to get a handle on the logistics of daily life. How can I react any way other than to be understanding and compliant?

So there you go. I still regret that Grace's biography includes a scattered relationship with her father. She doesn't get to see him much and it's unclear that they have ever gotten past a level of superficiality in their relationship. But at least she has a father who likes her. She's learned to accept his limitations, both emotional and logistical; I can accept them too.

Facing your demons: Part 1

Grace is leaving this evening to spend the weekend with her father.

Since the last time she saw him, I've gotten a double-whammy of What-I-Never-Would-Have-Expected. It has created such a shake up in my perspective, it's taken me a month to write anything about it here.

Here goes.

The last time Grace saw her father was Saturday, July 25th. I begrudgingly listened to her earlier in that week when she told me he had called and wanted to have her at his house for that weekend. See, our family hadn't had a weekend together since long before Memorial Day. After the weekend requested by Grace's father, all hell would break loose and we wouldn't get another weekend as a family for quite some time. My mother was coming in town, and then a baby shower, and then the week of the baby being born (count 'em, 9 medical appointments that week, not including the actual cesarean delivery itself), and then baby, and then aftermath....

I just wanted one uninterrupted weekend for our family. And Grace's father called to tell Grace he wanted to have her come to his house that weekend. Because it was his mother's birthday on Saturday.

AAAAAAArrrrrrrrgggggggggg.......

It didn't help the situation that I deeply despise the grandmother, my ex-mother-in-law.

I found myself telling Grace that the whole situation frustrated me. I mean, sure, it was her grandmother's birthday, but we also hadn't gotten any family time together. My father-in-law had just died days before and my husband wasn't even back from Brazil yet. Grace had been at her father's house for four weeks and just come home only one week before. Yeah, sure, she's supposed to see her father every other weekend and that Saturday would be two weeks since she came home, but shouldn't I get four weeks of uninterrupted summer vacation time too? (Never mind that, indeed, Grace had come home for a weekend during her four weeks with her father and had also spent two other days at home because she wanted to.) I mean, really, this whole thing came down to whether Grace's father or I could convince the other that our family time was more important than the other's.

And so it came about that I talked on the phone with Grace's father about the weekend in question. I can't remember who placed the call. I listened to him. I heard what he had to say about how important is was to his mother for her to have Grace at her birthday celebration. I listened to how they hadn't really made any plans yet for the birthday.

I told him how important the weekend was for our family. I didn't tell him about my father-in-law dying and my husband going to Brazil. I just didn't want to go into it.

The last I had heard about my ex-mother-in-law was that she was lecturing Grace about how it was about time for me to give up my grudges. The context of such a bold suggestion from this woman? She asked Grace whether Stella would be friends with Grace's other siblings, her father's children. Grace immediately recognized the awkwardness of the question and told her grandmother it would probably never happen. She explained to her grandmother something like, 'my parents are very different from each other, you know? They wouldn't exactly hang out together or get their kids together to play.' And then the comment came. Her grandmother told her enough time had passed and I should just get over my grudges.

I heard this story the same week my father-in-law fell ill. I thought, why on earth should I spend any time worrying about family of MY EX-HUSBAND when the family of MY HUSBAND are suffering? Why is she trying to tell my daughter that I am a spiteful, vindictive, vengeful ex-wife? I wrote a long letter of retort to this ex-in-law in my journal then threw the journal entry into the trash.

During the telephone conversation with my ex-husband about Grace going to visit him that weekend, he asked if Grace could just come out for dinner with them to celebrate his mother's birthday. I sighed, thinking, I can't believe we're going to have our family weekend interrupted so that woman can have a birthday party.

And then my ex-husband told me, she has lung cancer.

I couldn't say anything.

He went on explaining, you know how she is, she's sentimental and she's thinking this may be the last birthday she'll celebrate and...

I didn't hear much else of what he had to say.

My mind was racing. Lung cancer? What's the survival rate of that? She's not a smoker, but everyone she's ever lived with was, so secondhand smoke...and she's already survived breast cancer 20 years earlier...

I told Grace's father, of course, dinner, Saturday, what time will you pick her up and get her home?




I faced a situation I have thrown in people's faces for years as a hypothetical one. Whenever someone gets completely worked up over some menace in their life, I say, "What are you gonna do when this person is dead?" The idea of my comment is, is it really the person who's getting you all worked up, or is it just nice to be able to bitch about something? If it's the person, then their death will be a welcome relief. But many times, the bitching continues long after the menace is gone. At that time, I think it becomes relevant to ask, what is the real source of your demon?

I faced my own demon. The demon I had created. This woman wasn't worth me getting worked up over. Sure, she'd done things in my distant past that were hurtful and rude, but she's not part of my life anymore. I'd seen her maybe two or three times in the past year. Less times than that in the previous five years. What kind of an effect could she really have on me? And now, now she's dying.

Truthfully. She's dying. I was suddenly relieved I had thrown the letter I had written to her in the trash rather than addressing it and mailing it to her. I found myself asking, should I attend the funeral of this woman, even as difficult as that would be for me?





And that's not the end of the story of Grace's dinner with her father's family on the night of Saturday, July 25th...

The most amazingly mature thing Grace said this past week

Given the post I wrote the night before my cesarean last Friday, it could be surmised that we are having some extended family conflict in our household for the last few weeks. This would be an understatement.

My mother has a very clean, white, polished picture of the world and how things should run. It's best for a woman and man, both virginal, to meet and fall in love, get married, have children, and live happily ever after. I think the "happily ever after" part is optional, whereas the other parts are essential. Also I'm not sure the falling in love and staying in love is important either. What is important is the loyalty, the longevity, and the lack of variability in what a family constitutes.

Grace was talking with my mother the other day while they were preparing dinner together. The topic of one of my close friends came up. Grace has known this girlfriend of mine since she was born. She has been married and divorced twice. As you can imagine, these ups and downs in her personal life were something she never would have imagined. Grace has known every husband and watched both divorces. She's also watched and experienced the divorce of her own parents and my remarriage. In all these circumstances, she's had the opportunity to ask honest questions of both me and my girlfriend.

When my friend was divorcing for the second time three years ago, she came to visit Grace and I in order to get a weekend away and just recharge emotionally. Grace asked me privately during the weekend, "Why does your friend always get married and divorced?" I told Grace that I wasn't sure but that Grace was welcome to ask my friend. And she did. And they had a heart to heart conversation about how life sometimes turns out differently than you imagine, no matter how much you work for things to be otherwise.

The bottom line? This friend of mine has been one of the kindest and most honest and most nurturing people to my daughter that exists.

Back to Grace's conversation with her grandmother. My mother was asking Grace about my friend. She wanted to know from Grace if the friend was planning on marrying her current beau, a man who Grace met for the first time a few weeks ago. I overheard the conversation at the point my mother said (approximately) this to Grace:

"Once someone gets married and divorced, they are probably going to never get married successfully again. Every time they get married and divorced, it gets worse. If she gets married again, it will end in divorce." She then went on to tell Grace that this is why it's so important that you get married to the right person and stay married, because if you get divorced, it's nothing but difficulty from there on out.

Grace didn't miss a beat. She replied, "that's not true." Her grandmother immediately contradicted, "yes, it is, it is a well documented fact that you can read about." Then Grace retorted, "No, you're wrong. Look at Mom and my stepdad. Mom got divorced and she has a great marriage now."

I won't try to summarize in one sentence how amazing that made me feel. My heart warmed to an orange heat and I smiled more broadly than I have in months. When I related the story to my husband later that night, he said he loved that kid and was impressed with how mature she had become.

Maybe, maybe, she's getting the whole picture in a balanced way. Maybe it's starting to make sense to her in a real way. I love her so much.

How to score a new wardrobe - don't tell Grace

Stella gets to change her clothing every few hours without fail. This is a big no-no for Grace. Why the inequality? Well, Stella has this habit of peeing and pooping all over herself. I really hope that Grace won't go to such drastic measures to score more wardrobe changes during the day.

Grace left for camp today with her high school orchestra. She was cranky when she came into my bedroom to tell me goodbye at 7a. I barely got a hug or a kiss. I'm not sure what was vexing her. I mean, I could take guesses, but I'll hold off on that. She said to me yesterday that she really wished she could take Stella with her to camp. She wasn't serious, but we both told each other that it would be a long week away. I told her it would feel weird for us to have our family together and for her to be gone. She said it would be strange to be away from Stella for so long.

During the same conversation together, she and I and Stella spent time alone. Grace wanted to hold Stella so much, and I was trying to find times when Stella was fed and would take to just being held and played with. We got three chances yesterday. Up until yesterday, Grace's priming on babies has been pretty typical of most people which is to hold babies like big bags of flour and if they fuss, they must need to eat or have a diaper changed. I'm a little different in my approach to babies. Babies are people and when you hold them or care for them, you should treat them like people. So Stella spends a lot of time just laying next to someone and being spoken to or getting to relax on her own terms. So far she's been a pretty good baby, not full of angst without a source, so it helps us be able to let her relax and be close to us. Yesterday when Grace first took Stella, she knew only how to hold her like a bag of flour. She wasn't taking any advice that she could hold her differently and insisted this was the only way. Stella was pitching a fit, crying and yowling. After realizing this wasn't working, Grace insisted that Stella needed to eat and was handing her back to me. I finally told her just to sit down and I would show her what would work better. After an hour passed, she was much more comfortable with Stella and Stella had calmed down completely.

I'm beginning to get the handle of this whole thing, I think. I miss my older girl, even though she's only been gone mere hours.

News at last

At 8:27a on Friday, August 7th, Stella Magna was born under a full moon, which was completely overshadowed by its brighter cousin, the sun. Yet despite this, Stella shone like a star, perfect in every way, bringing joy to all around her. I am beyond in love with her. Since she officially came into our family Friday morning, we all have been crying in joy, smiling in peaceful contentedness, and spreading love between us in ways I have never imagined before. All went as well as we could have possibly asked for. Stella is healthy, I am healthy, we're going home from the hospital this afternoon. I promise I'll update the blog with more pictures as soon as we're home and have more time.

The Weekly Slug: 32 weeks, or T minus 4 weeks and counting

Here we go.

My husband is leaving for Brazil on Sunday. He is quite insistent that the only thing his daughter needs to do is stay put. Just be happy. Don't try any funny business and all will be fine. I assured him nothing will happen until he's back on the 21st. I'm not dilated, my cervix is high, my blood pressure is fine, everything looks typical for a woman at my stage of pregnancy NOT ready to go into preterm labor. So just don't worry. The only thing he'll miss is my appointment next week with the obstetrician who will be performing my cesarean. We'll be discussing our hopes and dreams for this birth. Or rather, I'll be discussing my husband's and my hopes and dreams on behalf of the two of us.

Last night we took a tour of the hospital maternity ward where our girl will be delivered. That was a little surreal. We had been there before about a month ago for monitoring because my contractions were not happy about calming down. At the time I thought, I'm never coming back here to this triage unit. Since I wasn't in need of actual care last night, we got the tour this time. All the other couples seemed happy and wanted to know about birth plans and such. Our hospital prefers that natural birth be the default and that women triage, labor, deliver and recover in the same room. Baby stays with Mom always. Baby never leaves Mom. I was wishing I could do birth like that at least once. When Grace was born, I labored in a labor room, delivered in a delivery room (read: OR), recovered in a recovery room, and she was whisked away immediately after birth for a couple hours to sob in misery in a nursery while being poked and prodded by latex fingers and lay in a bassinet alone.

On the tour last night, I just asked quietly if they could point out the location of the ORs to us. I just didn't want to disrupt the normal flow of discussion among other expectant parents in the tour about natural childbirth and all.

Speaking of Grace's birth, is it me or has this recession resulted in a severe cutback on the amount of freebies handed out at hospitals and mailed to expectant moms? When I was pregnant with Grace, we raked in the goods. I remember thinking a few weeks before she was born that I could probably go a month without having to go to the store for any supplies. I got a case of formula ready made, two more huge containers of formula powder (mind you, I nursed her, so I didn't even need the stuff), shampoo, lotion, baby powder, baby oil, diaper cream, silverware, OTC medicine samples, diaper bags, samples diaper wipes in cute little containers that fit perfectly in the diaper bag, books, videos, you name it. I was stocked. But for this pregnancy? Nada, nothing, zip, zilch. I even intentionally put in one of our email addresses into one of those "free stuff for your baby" sites that get advertised all over the pregnancy and baby websites? Then I entered our home address, our home phone, selected free magazines, and on and on. All I got for it was spam in my inbox. What is up? What did I miss? How do you get the freebies these days? Do they still exist?

I did something a little unexpected this week. I talked to a photographer about doing a maternity session. She has this awesome website and people give her rave reviews. I just feel like time is slipping away from us and I want to remember this pregnancy for being something good. My husband has told me over and over that he loves to see me pregnant, that I look healthy and beautiful. It's good to hear. So one week before delivery, in the evening of July 31st, me and my husband and Grace will go have a photography session together. We've never (and I mean NEVER) done this before. Had a photography session together, that is. The photographer promises she won't make Grace feel goofy and make her do things that are sappy and insincere just because her mother is pregnant. She even said that she would take a couple of head shots of Grace so she'd have a few decent pictures of herself instead of settling for her school pictures this year. All in all, I'm looking forward to it.

My bestest best friend is coming in town on Sunday, arriving just after my husband takes off for Brazil. She promises him she will take care of me.

I think that covers all the news that is the slug this week. Things are getting hectic and more immediate. I might move to the bi-weekly slug or something like that if things speed up more. Then again...that might be overkill ;-)

A bit melancholy

I'll tell you friends, it's been a long week. A lot of things that have gone on are things that would normally have sent me spinning and carping, but right now these are causing me just to have a short temper with people and write them off, tell them to grow up and get a real problem.

My father-in-law is dying.

We've spent the last 2-3 days trying to get a reasonably priced fare between Michigan and Brazil for my husband, while both of us deal with the oscillating emotions of whether he should go while I'm this close to delivery. But the truth is, if he doesn't go, he'll miss it all, whatever "it" is, that is. Holding his father's hand while he's doped up on morphine and comatose, holding a sister while she cries, getting to attend a funeral, who knows.

And so it is that I find myself before 6a in the morning, unable to sleep any longer despite the first persistent migraine in two months accompanied by severe pelvic pain and one reluctant dose of vicodin, watching the sun creep slowly into the horizon.

I'm realizing that dealing with all this is another way in which I have discovered how much I love my husband.

I want my daughter, the one that's not born yet, to at least be heard by her grandfather, even if that's only over the phone. But I'm afraid it's far too late for that.

The fender bender that happened to our car a couple weeks ago and the ensuing repairs that are taking over a week, that seems unimportant. That I repeated that fender bender almost perfectly with the other car two days ago also seemed like a dream, like it was life passing before me. Everything seems trite and banal. My sister's jealousy over my pregnancy, my ex-mother-in-law dissing me to Grace day by day, the cat suddenly staging a protest over using her litter box and using the carpet in the den instead...all this was really important a week ago. Today? Not so much so.

I'm wondering if being in the midst of clinical depression is making me more melancholy about the whole circumstance. But maybe it's also allowing me to be more in touch with my feelings and be more sensitive. Maybe it's making it possible for me to feel my emotions more accurately than if I was busily distracting myself with the normal overstimulation and hyperactivity I regularly feel.

We saw Grace at a swim meet yesterday afternoon. It was the first time she'd seen my husband since she learned of his father being ill. When she was done with her first event, she came to us and gave him a hug. It's the first time she's ever done this spontaneously, without someone telling her she should (like on Christmas after receiving a gift or sometime like that). The gesture was not unnoticed.

I suppose life is like this. You live, you experience, you feel, you learn. Somewhere along the way you realize, this is what living is. I guess right now I'm wishing that living didn't include the dying part, the dying of people around you and of yourself as well.

Stepmoms & biomoms - thank you!

Thank you everyone for your comments in the discussion of the stepmom-biomom controversy! It was very insightful to hear all the viewpoints, and also realize that each of us is in a different and unique position in our families. Please continue to comment on these and other posts if you like -- the ongoing discussion will be good!

And next, an update on my role as a biomom interacting with my ex-husband...

Keeping the conversation lively: I'm guest posting today

Where am I today? Not here. As part of our ongoing discussion this week about the stepmom-biomom controversy, I'm guest posting over at stepmama metamorphoses today.

So what are you waiting for? Head on over already!!

Guest posting - DragonflyMama!!

Today's post is a guest post by DragonflyMama. DragonflyMama blogs at stepmama metamorphoses. She is stepmother to her 11-year-old stepdaughter and also mom to her 3-year-old son. Her husband and she have been at building a stepfamily for five years now. She also deals constantly with her stepdaughter's mother who is, how shall we say, less than accepting of her role in the girl's life. As far as I can tell, stories like hers are par for the course when it comes to stepmothers' experiences.

Awhile back, I wrote a post about how it makes me feel when Grace talks to me about her father and stepmother's kids. DragonflyMama, who is a longtime reader of my blog, took notice and commented. This began a dialogue between us, one much more open and sincere than the one we had already had going. We realized through that correspondence that though we play different roles in the stepfamilies we are each creating (I'm a remarried biomom, she's a stepmother), we have one thing in common: lots of disagreement and friction with the other stepfamily. Though it would be nice to believe it is possible to have it otherwise, both of us have had to accept that this situation will probably never change and have leaned on each other in figuring out how to make it work anyways. We recently decided to have a joint guest posting venture, her here at Comparative Childhood, me there at stepmama metamorphoses. Her post below was a response to my questioning to her along these lines: "As a stepmother who also has a biological child, do you feel differently towards these two children? If it is different, how? Is it different like the way a mother says, 'You are all different and I love each of you in a unique way, but I don't love any of you more or less than the other,' ? Or is it different in some other way?"

I am deeply grateful for my friendship with DragonflyMama and how much I have learned from her perspective on life and circumstances. We both have a young woman in our lives, one we care deeply about. Having her ear and hearing her opinions helps me be a better parent. Enjoy!

Please leave your comments! We hope to have a fruitful discussion about how many of us feel. EVERYONE is welcome in the discussion! post script - I'll be guest posting at stepmama metamorphoses this Wednesday, so this isn't the end!

by DragonflyMama
The day my son was born I became a mom. Yet, it’s hard to define exactly when I became a stepmom. The process of becoming a stepparent has been a very hilly journey full of emotional challenges, and just exactly that, a process. Quite different than going through the physical challenges of pregnancy for nine months and then suddenly one day I was someone’s mother.

I met my stepdaughter when she was just 6, and I was 28. I remember the first activity her father, she, and I did together was make collages on my apartment floor. We sorted through magazines looking for pictures of dogs and cats, and popsicles and flowers. She shyly watched me, and I overcompensated for my own shyness by being rather excited about her creations. I remember that day being fun and simple and easy. As her father and I got closer and more involved, I became more and more unsure of how to be with the girl. My own shyness, jealousy, and fears held me back a lot of the time, but so did her mother’s dislike of me and disapproval of me in the girl’s life. I wanted a deeper relationship with this man I knew, but often his time and energy was directed at his daughter. I also could see throughout that time that the child adored me excessively, and I knew needed to live up to her praise. For about a year, we three sorted through our various relationships with each other and through all our ups and downs slowly came to a place of understanding. I guess when we decided to live together and move towards family life together would be when I would say I became a stepmom. Though my role continues to evolve as I learn how to stepparent well.

On the other hand, when I became pregnant and chose to have the child, there was much less confusion for me. I knew from the first second what a large commitment it would be. I had rights to be with this baby and teach him and enjoy him in a way that I did not have at first with my stepdaughter. My relationship with my birth child did not need sorting out, or lengthy conversations to understand, or asking permission from anyone. It just was, and is. Though it is fraught with uncertainty and fear at times, in comparison it is much, much simpler. Of course, this too I am still learning how to do well.

Being a stepmom is most certainly different than being a biomom. I have been stepparenting now for about 4 years, and bioparenting for 3. And yes, I do love them differently. In the most basic understanding of it, I have no choice as to whether I love my son. I just do, it is in my being to love him. I have never had to fight anyone over him, and birthing him was enough to make me love him forever, no matter what.

Like any relationship that begins with two strangers, I do have a choice to love my stepdaughter. I have had to fight my stepdaughter’s mother every single step of the way to be seen as a valid, equal, and involved parent. Though I wish it were not so, her mother’s negative behavior towards me does affect my feelings towards the child. It has been a long, hilly road for me stepparenting, one that sometimes I have wanted to get off. Yet, I have also found that this fight with the biomom continues to reaffirm in myself my commitment to my stepdaughter. In the constant reminding her mother that I am here, parenting, loving, caring for my stepdaughter, I remind myself too, and I remember why I do it. Everyday that I get her up for school, make her lunch, take her to softball practice, wash her sheets, take her for a hike in the woods, buy her new books, and all the other things parents do, I do not because I have to, but because I choose to.

I love them differently, but I do not love my son more than I love my stepdaughter. I simply have been down two very different paths to become a parent to each of them. I have more time, more freedom, and more responsibility with and for my son, and thus I think the love I have for him is more constant and defined. And the connection between a birth parent and child cannot be denied as extremely powerful and deep. My relationship with my stepdaughter has many more constraints, boundaries, and walls to alter and overcome. From her side as well as mine. My love for her changes and grows. Sometimes it feels fast and sweet, sometimes it feels slow and painful. More so than with my son, it varies from day to day, and month to month.

There has been one ongoing highlight for me in being a parent to these two kids. When I see the two of them play, bond, and love each other my own heart becomes more full of love than I knew was possible. Watching these two sweet young people laugh together I sometimes forget how or why I came to be here and truly just enjoy the moment. I think, it really doesn’t matter the roads we’ve been down and the hills we’ve had to climb. All that really matters is the love.

Upcoming attractions: Dragonfly Mama here, Monday June 15th!!

In case you haven't ever checked out her blog, you should read a bit of stepmama metamorphoses by Dragonfly Mama. She's a stepmom AND a mom. Talk about a cool perspective! Next week, Monday to be exact, she will be HERE, AT THIS VERY BLOG, to contribute some good chewy morsels of wisdom to savor! That's this coming MONDAY, JUNE 15!! I'm guest posting at her blog on Wednesday, the 17th.

I don't have any stepchildren, but I live in a stepfamily insomuch as my husband and my daughter are stepparent-stepchild. Also, my daughter has a stepmother and two other siblings in that stepfamily. So step-relations are very relevant to me to be sensitive to and understand. I read a lot of blogs written by stepmothers and remarried moms. Also, many of them stop by here (thanks, all of you!). What I'm realizing is that the world of family and parenting is filled with many stories unlike Ward and June Cleaver's life. It's more like the Brady Bunch without the groovy outfits and a loving Alice to help out. Oh, and one more difference -- the real world would be more like the Brady Bunch in which the boys' biomom and the girls' biodad come around once and awhile.

Things are not easy when you've got two households sharing a kid. I think we'd all like to pretend like the Brady Bunch story can occur, but anyone who's gone through building a stepfamily knows that the Brady Bunch version of stepfamily is really nothing more than idealized fiction, kind of like Trixie Belden or Hannah Montana. The parents at two different households have lots of potential for friction and conflict, and thus the overwhelming number of blogs out there dedicated to venting on the topic!

For more than a year now, Dragonfly Mama and I have been emailing back and forth and talking about the differences and similarities between being a biomom and a stepmom. From my side, I have learned a lot. It helps that our two situations aren't entirely different either -- her stepdaughter is a tween and her son is a growing three year old, not unlike Grace's experience. We also both live closeby to the other stepfamily in the picture, something that can be a blessing and a curse.

After much heartfelt discourse, we decided that it would fun (and helpful!) to guest post at each other's blogs. We could each give space to another voice, one that comes from the other side of the picture. By doing so, hopefully we could both glean some morsel of wisdom from that voice. I'll be guest posting at stepmama metamorphoses next Wednesday. But first, tune in here on Monday, June 15th for...

Dragonfly Mama!

The up side

I've been a bit melancholy. That's an understatement, actually. I'm depressed. I saw a PSA on television yesterday for some depression medication and it included the rhetorical question, 'what does depression feel like?' Then the answer: depression hurts. And...I started crying. 'nuff said.

The family is doing well. I went out with a friend to bridal luncheon yesterday. While I was gone, which frankly was a long time because I got on the wrong highway and drove 20 miles out of my way, my husband took Grace to the hardware store to buy some last materials for her science project. They also bought a wheelbarrow, some planting soil and some seeds.

When I arrived home, Grace was upstairs working on the last of her project and my husband was out back planting seeds. There were little tags that said "basil" and "eggplant" and "watermelon" that Grace had made. Watermelon was Grace's pick. They also got some tomato seeds and zucchini seeds in the ground.

I'm a pessimist when it comes to gardening. I kill almost everything. Grace gave me a couple of those seedling kits for my birthday this year. You know, the kind that include seeds and a little pot and a disc of fertilized soil? All you have to do is follow the directions and give the newly sown seeds some TLC? She chose strawberries and lavender. I decided to get after it and try to see what could become of the thing. I saw some sprigs about two weeks into it and I had a tad of hope. That hope, however, was dashed when the green sprigs wilted away and two months later all that was there was dirt in two little cute pots. I bought 6 herb seedlings four weeks ago. Basil? Dead within three days. Marjoram held on for a couple weeks before biting the dust. So for me, I just feel like it's so defeating to garden. I feel like Dr. Death.

But not these two. They are optimistic. They believe that watermelon can grow in Michigan. And they're hoping their tomato plants sprout, despite the fact that they are months overdue for the prime growing season.

In the flower beds close to the house, there are several plants we've had the pleasure of discovering throughout this spring. Just in the last few weeks, we realized that we had three healthy peony plants getting ready to bloom. The biggest plant had one bud so heavy, the whole branch was falling over.

After I watched the depression PDA yesterday afternoon, the sun was setting and my husband finally came in from gardening. Everything felt odd. All was good and right with the world, yet something was not right. He said to me, you haven't even noticed anything around you, have you?

Indeed, I had not. There, only a few feet from me, was the biggest, heaviest peony, carefully cut and opening in a crystal bud vase on the mantle. A gentle yet robust expression of life, sitting there as if it came into the world just to try and cheer me up.

Hopefully this is a passage in my life, a phase. Maybe it will bring me to a better place. But in the meantime I'm trying to realize that the world around me is much, much better than I deserve. I have people around me who love me and who are happy just to see me happy and laughing.

Update on homeschooling

When I was a sophomore in high school, while studying the Renaissance as part of World History, I was assigned to write a short report on the Italian architect Brunelleschi. I remember little else about the architect except that he designed the dome for Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, Italy. It never occurred to me at that point in my life that I might get to actually see the dome.

As if our family life did not involve enough ups and down and turnabouts, my husband and I decided the last couple weeks to do something a little unexpected. Not crazy, just unexpected. We thought we'd take the family to Italy for a semester. My husband had been pursuing teaching abroad for the winter and spring of next year. I encouraged him to do this, since he hasn't gotten the chance to travel for a sabbatical. The one snag of course was that going would mean he would leave our family behind. Me, Grace, and our new baby. Not the end of the world, but not what we really wanted either. So we started working on the unexpected plan -- taking the whole family to Italy for a semester.

No problem for me. No problem for the baby. But Grace. How do you work in a semester away when a kid is in high school and still make sure she stays on track to graduate? People do these sorts of things, there must be a way to do it. I contacted her guidance counselor and asked what we could do. He was more than enthusiastic and helpful. He said, no problem, he'd contact one of his colleagues at one of the other high schools in the city. The solution? Grace could do her studies at home using online resources already approved by the district, and while she was here in the states, she could still participate in swim team, orchestra, sit in on classes that would be good (like language classes and an AP course). Once we went abroad, she could continue her homeschooling using these resources and supplement using anything we wanted that seemed of use abroad (hello, AP World History).

We didn't tell Grace. We wanted to wait until we knew everything was a go. I was pretty sure she would go for it because she had been begging us for weeks to let her do an exchange program abroad during her sophomore year. That was out of the question because, oh my god, do you know how much those programs cost? But still...Italy...in the spring...I didn't think it would take too much convincing.

I started thinking about all the amazing benefits and possibilities. Our family, by that point the full four of us, could travel together and live away together. We could spend 4-5 months together. Grace with a new little sister, me with my two daughters, my husband with his daughter and his stepdaughter together, my husband and I, away from the hub bub of our typical American life. We'd get the chance to be in a new place for longer than a few days or a few weeks...we could actually get the chance to settle into a place and get to know it, a place that presents new perspectives and new experiences.

Under these conditions could I take up the task of homeschooling? Oh, yes. Sure, it would be a change of pace and something I'd have to begin planning for. But the chance to have one year just to give it a shot, spend time together, do learning in a way that Grace wanted to rather than how a teacher wanted to...that is irreplaceable.

Just about the time everything was settling down and the guidance counselor was pulling together all the information, we hit a glitch. The project abroad had been downsized and we no longer had the opportunity. Some other year in the future, maybe, but not now. But at that moment I realized what I had lost. It occurred to me that my family, one that is still in the making, has precious short years before the oldest child becomes an adult. The chance to sweep the whole family up and go on a venture together is slipping away from us.

So now I'm trying to figure out how to have that experience without the actual act of going away physically. I'm realizing that it's very important for me to have the family bond. I'm trying to figure out how to make the most of every day, every holiday, every birthday, every moment.

Ciao, Italia.

Once upon a time

Four years ago today I married my husband.

It was an awesome day. Really, it was. Just perfect. Sure, there were things that didn't go the way they were planned; doesn't it always happen that way? But in the end, after everything was all said and done, we fell into each other's arms and said, "that was great!"

Since I put up pictures of my bouquet last week and went on and on about how much I loved it, today I'll put up the uncropped photograph. It was taken immediately after the ceremony, in a quiet alcove in the back of the church. This, I think, is one of those pictures worth a thousand words.


The ring on his finger was our best man's; 25 minutes before the ceremony I realized I had left his ring in my overnight bag that was still at the hotel I had gotten ready in. That was at 5:35p. On a Wednesday afternoon of rush hour traffic of greater DC. No chance that ring was going to make it to the church in time for the ceremony. Why didn't I give it to the maid of honor? Because she was 11-years-old. Despite her tender age, she performed her duties very well, but when it came to her new stepfather's wedding ring, I thought it best not to put that responsibility on her shoulders. Now that I look back on it, she might have done a better job with the responsibility than I did. Our best man has promised that the secret is safe with him.

I have to go out now during lunch and find a card for my husband. Finding cards for him is one of the most difficult things I do. The prose is never quite right and always seems canned. But to buy a blank card is even harder because then I have to think of how to put my feelings into words.