Pepe le pew made another visit to our house last night. You can read about his first visit here. He must have been rooting around Joey’s dog food, got spooked, by Joey, and left his indelible stinky mark. I slept through it, but apparently no one else did. Poor Sophia, the dog house is on the other side of her bedroom window and she and her belongings got the brunt of the skunk. As soon as she got to school this morning her best friend told her she stank and she called me in a panic. I had to rush her over some new clothes (but not before I gave them the sniff test), and some body spray. Hopefully that abated the smell a bit. Poor kid. She was pretty good natured about the whole thing. As if we don’t have enough chaos in the morning.

Yesterday was Paul and mine’s fourth wedding anniversary. For those of you who are not up to speed, we got married twice. We eloped in secret on April 25, 2006 in front of the Santa Cruz lighthouse and had a public ceremony later on August 5th at a winery with our friends and family. Why two ceremonies?  Find out why by clicking on blended family finances.

It was a kid free weekend and I had hoped to spend the day yesterday with my hubby, but I was slammed with homework and finally came up for air around 3. Paul worked on the outdoor kitchen, which he’s been working on for about four years now, while I finished up my paper. Earlier in the day, we had made plans to go down to the light house and sit on the jetty while we sipped some champagne, but first I had to go to the store to get some champagne… and bread and toilet paper and stuff to eat for the week. I left the house and told Paul I would be right back. I was gone maybe half an  hour.  I was stopped at a red light as I was heading home when I saw him on his bicycle. He was waving his arms excitedly like he hadn’t seen me in years and smiling with a grin from ear to ear. I thought to myself, “Where is he going? And why? He knows we have plans?’ And then it dawned on me. He’s getting me flowers. Sure enough, as I was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen  I saw him zipping down the driveway with a colorful bouquet tucked under his arm. For as long as I live, I will always remember, and savor, that look on his face. That was the best anniversary present of all.

My daughter Sophia has recently started her own blog called Stepkids Stories,  which is her account of her experiences as a daughter, stepdaughter sister and stepsister in a blended family. Many of her stories bring tears to my eyes, tears of sadness and joy, when I recall, through her perspective, all the struggles, challenges and changes we faced in becoming a blended family. I am happy to report that it appears that we have come out on the side of success and happiness, but for a while there it did not always seem that that would be the case. I welcome you to read her stories and to share with others, especially all the kids and stepkids in your life. Sophia is also looking for comments and contributions, as she is very anxious to hear your stories too. You may contact Sophia via email: Sophia(at)Shwanda(dot)com.

This is the first in a series of Blended Family Stories in which I or one of my fellow moms and stepmoms will recount their experiences, challenges, frustrations and joys being the female head of a blended or stepfamily. If you or anyone you know would like to participate in my video log, please contact me at Carol@shwanda.com.

One of the many swimming pools at Bellagio.

After my wonderful four days with the girls touring colleges, shopping and sightseeing  in San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara, I headed home Tuesday night only to unpack and repack to head out to Las Vegas with Paul for a business conference. We stayed at the opulent, over-the- top hotel, Bellagio.

I had only been to Las Vegas once before, a year ago, which was also a work related trip. From a business perspective, the trips were both  huge successes. From a personal perspective, I have to say, Vegas is not my cup of tea. Or martini, or vodka tonic or whatever they drink in Sin City.

The town simply offends me on so many levels. I don’t know what bothers me the most, the manufactured ambiance, (fake oceans for instance), the cigar/cigarette smoke everywhere (Paul requested a non-smoking section in a restaurant and was informed there is no such thing.) the over-stimulating excess (re-touched posters of Cher) or the Frank Sinatra/Julio Iglesias/Celine Dion music blaring from the sound system.  Just in case you haven’t heard, Frank Sinatra was a member “the Rat Pack” and he and his buddies, Dean, Sammy and Joey, used to play a lot of gigs in Vegas. Lest we forget, his image and voice are everywhere. So are impersonators of Marilyn and Elvis. The best comparison I can make is to say  visiting this town is like sitting through a screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show … on steroids.

But I was never a party girl. I like dressing up for maybe an hour and then my feet hurt from the high heels and I want to kick them off, put on some sweats, crawl into a club chair and read a book. OK, so I’m boring. I missed my kids. We are already planning our next college tour.

Eva is taking a multi media art class at school and a few weeks ago the class headed to Goodwill to pick an article of clothing they could decorate to make a piece of wearable art. This is Eva’s version of a “straw” skirt. I loved it.

One of the many issues blended families and stepchildren have to deal with is the conflict over divided loyalties. Our family is no exception.

Last week I told you  about our trip to San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara to look at colleges for Sophia. We had a blast. I took all three girls, my two daughters,  Sophia and Eva, and my stepdaughter Cheryl. We planned the trip a few months ago and even went shopping  for new outfits; shorts, swimsuits, etc. just for the occasion. What I did not plan for was that we were going to be gone for Easter. I had gotten the dates mixed up and thought Easter was the following week, which meant that  I had actually planned the trip so that we would be gone for Easter.

A few days before we were to leave, Paul got a call from his ex-wife, Cheryl’s mother, saying that Cheryl had decided she did not want to  go because she would much rather stay home and hang out with her friends. She also informed Paul that Cheryl  was afraid to tell me herself for fear that I would be “mad at her”. Paul relayed the news to me, and  I did not buy it for one second. Not want to go because you want to hang out with your friends??? Come on. I knew there was more to the story, but I didn’t want to put on any pressure for fear that I would be characterized as one who “gets mad at things”. So I said nothing, even though I was concerned that Cheryl would be missing out on a great opportunity to visit colleges and that she would regret it. Quite frankly, I was a little pissed. I told Paul, “You should encourage her to go. This is a great opportunity. Seeing these college campuses will inspire her.” But he resisted my prodding, which only exacerbated the problem further. Our differing parenting styles often clash. When it comes to kids (and just about anything), I believe in getting to the bottom of things. Paul does not. He thinks we should let things flow “organically”.  “Don’t get involved and don’t imagine things,” he always tells me. So I kept my mouth shut and I didn’t say anything to Cheryl about not going.

The night before we were to leave Cheryl was sitting on the couch playing on her iPod and I asked her, “So, Cheryl, what are your plans for this weekend?” She replied, “I’m going on the trip with you.” This was news to me, but I did not let on. Instead I said, “Well let’s do your laundry and get you packed” While we were in the laundry room sorting through her clothes she admitted to me, ” I never not wanted to go. I just felt bad about being gone over Easter…” and her voice trailed off. I realized she felt guilty about leaving her parents. After all, I’m not her mother.  She had divided loyalties.

I called Cheryl’s mother to tell her Cheryl had had a change of heart and decided to go. She was surprised. If she was disappointed she didn’t let on. She had Easter plans with Cheryl, but to her credit, she did not object and respected Cheryl’s decision to come with us on the trip.  Cheryl and her mom celebrated Easter on Wednesday after we returned. Sometimes, that’s what you have to do in a blended family.

Bubblegum Alley

Sophia, Eva, Cheryl and I are on a Southern California tour this week to visit colleges that Sophia is considering.   We arrived yesterday in San Luis Obispo and have an appointment tomorrow to check out Cal Poly. We are having a blast. I am delighted to watch the girls explore their new surroundings, making coffee in the room, checking out the ice machine and testing the firmness of the mattresses. I am always so charmed by the sisterly camaraderie they have. You would never know that they are not blood sisters who were not raised together from birth. Their allegiance and loyalty to each other is astounding and remarkable.

Last night we had a nice dinner in downtown San Luis Obispo, which the locals here refer to as “SLO Town” for its meandering, laid back pace. We window shopped and checked out Bubblegum Alley, a local landmark that is known for its accumulation of bubblegum on the walls that has apparently been written up in the Guinness Book of World Records. It was fascinating and gross all at the same time. Later back at the hotel they watched a movie together in bed while I did homework. We just finished a workout at the fitness center and they are at the pool. When they return we are going to head down to Avila Beach to check out the sights and maybe do SOME SHOPPING !!!.

This past week, Tuesday, March 30th, to be exact, marked the fifth anniversary of Paul’s and my first date. As I mentioned before, we met online on Match.com. He wrote to me first. We met at a coffee shop. He bought me a cup of  chai and I bought him peanut butter cookie and he wore this really dorky Hawaiian shirt, leather jacket and cowboy boots, which I believe he still has. We had a connection … and the rest is history.

We planned to mark the occasion by leaving the kids home alone and sneaking out after dinner to “reenact” our first date. But… that didn’t pan out. Instead I had a headache and homework to do and Paul, being the absolute doll that he is, sensed my bad mood and in his usual caring, loving way,  alleviated my stress by  offering  to pick up takeout. He came home with several dishes from my favorite local Asian restaurant and a bottle of Windy Oaks pinot noir, the winery where we got married. We stayed home and lit a fire.

While he was out picking up our dinner, I routed through some files and found copies of our original email exchanges I had printed out, which I read to him later when we were alone. It reminded me of why I fell in love with him, why I still love him and I shuddered at the thought that I almost never wrote back to him in the first place. Below is a quote in its entirety  of the very first email he  sent to me exactly as he wrote it.

“I read your profile iand see yours yours. Seems like parallel paths, but a few miles apart within Santa Cruz!”

That’s it folks. That’s all I got. Not only was it riddled with misspellings that made the statement  basically unintelligible, but THAT WAS ALL HE HAD TO SAY??? Where was the worship and adoration I was seeking? No, “You’re so beautiful and fascinating that I  cannot wait to meet you!” It is hard for me to imagine now, but I almost wrote him off for his bad grammar and lousy punctuation, which is ironic when I consider what a great writer Paul is. He proofreads all of my papers for school and his input makes them so much better. He is meticulous, neat and tidy in so many areas of his life (except that he often leaves his dirty socks and underwear on the bedroom floor) that it is hard for me to believe that I almost let him get away for the careless, inconsiderate slob I initially perceived him to be. This brings me to my point, ladies: Don’t let the good ones get away while you pine away for some idealized fantasy of some fairytale prince that you have built up in your mind as THE ONE.

I just finished reading a fantastic book that I believe  is perhaps the most seminal in depth study of male/female relationships that I cannot recommend it enough. It is called, Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough I know, the title puts you off a little bit. It is a little offensive. How dare anyone expect you to settle? Like it’s a dirty word. The author Laura Gottlieb makes a strong case for doing just that. Settling in this context is more about compromise and being realistic,  and ultimately  about acceptance.

Gottlieb learned this lesson the hard way and is trying to spare other women of committing the same mistakes. She says women today have a heightened sense of entitlement. They expect too much without really thinking about what they have to give to get. She quotes Dr. Michael Broder, a Philadelphia-based psychologist who specializes in relationships as saying, “For these women, not only is the imagined guy a fantasy, but so is the actual relationship. After all, there’s a limit to what a relationship can provide.  They are looking for a relationship from the perspective of what the guy can provide for them — a ‘me-me-me thing’ — instead of wanting something more reciprocal.” He went on to say that our mother’s generation was not like this. “They may have wished, but certainly didn’t expect, that their husbands would constantly want to please them, be attracted to them, entertain them, enjoy sharing all of their interests, and be the most charming person in the room. Instead they knew that marriage involved failing health, aging, boredom, periods of stress and disconnection, annoying habits, issues with children,  hardships and misunderstandings of all sorts.”

I know women like this and they are all alone. A few years ago I tried to introduce my never married 40ish friend to a really great guy I knew whom I described to her as, “Sweet, kind, really good looking, fun, active, smart, funny, has a good job and owns his own home.” Her response? How tall is he? She just couldn’t date him if he wasn’t at least five inches taller than she. He wasn’t. He’s now married to someone else and she’s still alone. I know another woman who will summarize her first date by telling you what he wore. She’ll describe his shirt, his shoes and the car he drove. There is never any mention of his character or  personality, how he treated her, what they talked about or how she felt when she was with him. She told me recently, “I just want a guy who’s crazy about me.” Oy.

Relationships are work. They take effort, investment, time and patience. NO ONE is perfect. We all have flaws. My 40ish friend was 30 pounds over weight when she made her  “I can’t date a short guy” proclamation.  Imagine if the tables were turned and he said, “Sorry, I can’t take a gal who’s chubby.” He’d be a cad. She, on the other hand, is selective. She won’t settle.

I didn’t settle either. I have my standards. My husband had to love kids and dogs. He had to be kind, loving, smart and funny. No bad tempers or substance abuse issues. I can still remember that first time I stood in Paul’s kitchen and he poured his heart out to me. He confessed that he really didn’t have much money. (As if I couldn’t guess. Financial hardship is often a by product of divorce.) I knew I loved him when I didn’t care. We could make a life together and we started planning that minute. Thank god I didn’t toss him aside when I got that first email.