shwanda

We had a wonderful holiday. It was a little dicey there leading up to it because there is always a lot of anxiety in a blended family over split loyalties between various households, fears that traditional customs will not be met and other general angst. Sophia seemed to have the most issues. For weeks leading up to Christmas, Sophia started telling me that she did not like the way we opened the gifts last year. Paul has a very take charge personality, very unlike Sophia’s father who never has a strong opinion about how we opened gifts or did anything for that matter. Paul really gets into the holidays and it was a tradition in his family that his dad was always the “master of ceremonies” in charge of giving out the gifts.  So Paul, naturally, wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. This bothered Sophia for no other reason other than the fact that she is a stubborn, contrary, obstinate person, in short: a teenager. She has the hardest time adapting to change and still mourns the loss of our nuclear family. I have to remind her (and myself) that our life together with Dad was not the rosiest picture and that I was miserable in an unhappy marriage.  She is old enough to understand this concept and young enough to still selfishly only care about herself. Sometimes I wonder how I am going to survive her teen years without becoming an alcoholic. Just kidding. Not really. I think my biggest challenge as a parent is that I have an overly active empathy quotient. Not only do I feel their pain, I relive my own. Adolescence is torture.  Even if her father and I had not divorced, Sophia would probably still be a pill.

It was agreed in advance that the children would spend Christmas Eve with their other parents and arrive at our house at 11:00 am on Christmas morning. When I dropped Sophia and Eva off at their dad’s on Christmas Eve, Sophia was a little weepy. She did not want me to go. She held on for dear life and I almost had to peel her off of me (just as I did when she was a screaming toddler being dropped off at preschool). I  looked her firmly in the eyes and told her, “Daddy made you a wonderful dinner and I will see you tomorrow.” and I walked out the door. When I got back in my car I thought, ” I am tired of feeling guilty about this. We’re divorced. That’s the way it is and everyone, including Sophia, is going to have to accept it.” Then I went home to spend a romantic Christmas Eve  with my husband. We lit a fire, filled the stockings and ate a delicious dinner of shrimp scampi and crab cakes. It is a tradition on the Italian side of my family to eat fish on Christmas Eve. At the end of the evening I burst into tears. I think it was a release of tension from the holiday stress. I was also feeling a loss of innocence. The kids don’t believe in Santa anymore and there are no more doll babies under the tree. I needed a good cry to feel better. That and the sight of Paul wearing a Santa hat (and nothing else) really cheered me up.

But I digress. In spite of my fears, the kids had a blast and said this Christmas was the best ever. Paul did his part to stimulate the economy by buying the family a plasma TV for the great room.  The kids considered this a real treat and are still enjoying watching movies on it. It was joy to watch them open the gifts they had for  each other. (We had given each of the kids money so they could buy each other presents.) They really got into the spirit of giving.  My ex stayed when he dropped off the girls  and we all had brunch together.  Later in the afternoon we headed up to Paul’s sister’s house. She lives in the mountains at a higher elevation than we do and it snowed!! The kids were overjoyed at this rare treat and  ran outside to try and catch snowflakes on their tongues.

We celebrated New Year yesterday by taking the children into the city see a museum that just reopened after a five year renovation. It hails as one of the most sustainably green buildings built in the world. It has a rain forest exhibit, an aquarium and a planetarium, as well as several other exhibits. We all loved it. Afterward, Paul and I took the kids to our favorite Thai restaurant. They had never been and I wasn’t so sure they would all like the food but they really did. I think it is important to take children to fancy restaurants with linen tablecloths and lots of forks so they can learn the art of fine dining and experience diverse cuisines. I have to say I was very proud of them. There was a little bit of reaching across the table and other faux pas but Thai restaurants tend to be “family style” so I did not ride them too hard. I’m a stickler for table manners and manners in general, but in the spirit of culinary conviviality I let a lot slide. I think I may  have even double dipped once myself. When we got home the children sat at the dining room table and  played one of their new Christmas gifts, a board game called Apples to Apples. I crawled into bed with my Thai cookbooks. Now that I know that the kids like curry and coconut milk, I will definitely be experimenting with some new dishes.

Happy New Year.

No Surfing Santa this year, at least not yet. Paul and the boys had to redo the lights because the ones left on “the wave” were sun bleached white and since they were no longer blue, Paul wanted to replace them. He purchased $150 of new blue strands of lights and halfway through attaching them with swift ties, they realized they were putting them on the wrong side. The boys hands got frostbitten since the temps were in the low ’30s, which is extremely cold for us, and they were not used to it. Meanwhile, the girls and I were in the house making roll out sugar cookies which did not turn out because I threw the recipe together from memory because I mistakenly gave away my cookie cookbook. We kept adding flour because they were so sticky and then they tasted like starch. Mark ate them anyway because he will eat anything.  The boys put the Surfing Santa project off for a warmer day which never came. Then it rained. And we threw a party for 100 people at our house this past weekend. I always have all these high hopes that we are going to make gifts and spend so much time doing things together and it is always so unrealistic. The kids get sick or they have too much homework. I’m tired because I threw a party for 100 people and then there’s work. Can’t forget about that. I’m trying to take some time off but Paul can’t. The house is a mess. I took the kids Christmas shopping on Sunday only to discover that my ATM card was canceled due to “suspicious activity”. Sophia got her learner’s permit last week and wants me to take her driving. I keep making cookies to give away as gifts but Paul and the kids keep eating them all. That reminds me, I’m searching for a long lost cookie recipe from Paul’s family. His sisters remember it but don’t have it. If anyone knows of a recipe for caramel walnut cookies in which you place an unwrapped caramel in the center of the cookie, please let me know.

The inflatable man arrived in the mail today. Now we can put the finishing touches on our Surfing Santa. Last year Paul and the kids made a “wave” out of chicken wire, strung it with blue lights, and placed a blown up doll dressed in a wetsuit wearing a Santa hat inside it and put in on our roof.  It was the talk of the neighborhood. Everyone got it because we live in probably one of the most famous surfing towns in the world. We actually have a Surfing Museum where you can  see the remains of shark-gnawed wetsuits on display next to video displays of the wetsuit owners showing off their bloody stumps and talking about their encounters with Jaws. Having grown up on the East coast where it snowed from October until March, it was very difficult for me  at first to adjust to tropical Christmases. I’ll never forget the first time I went to the Lighted Boat Parade at the harbor to see Santa arrive on a sailboat dressed in a Hawaiian Luau shirt. Yes Virginia, there really is a Santa … and he’s drunk on Tequila.

Now that I’ve lived here for 16 years, I’ve adapted to and have embraced the California Christmas and Surfing Santa is one of the highlights. Last year’s Santa we bought at one of those cheezy gag gift stores at the mall and he was kind of porny looking. When he deflated, we needed to replace him and ordered a new one on-line. This one is much more realistic, complete with chest hair. When the Surfing Santa display is finished I’ll take a photo and post it.

Happy Surfing Holidays.

We got our tree on Saturday.  The kids looked forward to it all week. This is our third Christmas all together and it is a comfort and a joy to see that we are already forming our combined family traditions. Paul’s kids have thoroughly embraced the advent calendar daily gift opening ritual. (They loved the ribbon calendars I made for them.) Getting the tree is definitely one of the highlights. We’ve gone to the  same Christmas tree farm the past three years and cut down our own tree. The place we go to is Christmas storybook wonderful complete with fresh made popcorn popped over an open fire, hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies.  They even have a craft table set up to make homemade ornaments. The owners have gotten to know us and we have developed the reputation as the family that picks the  biggest tree on the lot. The ceiling in our great room is 14 feet high and we like to fill it up. It usually takes a few hours to cut it down the tree. This year Paul took one look at the tree and said, “We need a chainsaw.” It was kind of embarrassing in a way to destroy the pristine serenity of the tranquil scene, but we needed to call in the big guns. When they were bagging the tree we overheard people saying, “That must be the tree they needed the chainsaw for. ” It took four men to heave onto the top of our car.  Paul, being the methodical engineer that he is rigged up a pulley system to set the tree in place. The kids had to stand on a ladder to decorate it. There was a great spirit of cooperation. The older kids helped the younger ones and in no time the job was done.

It is getting late and I am sick with a miserable sore throat, but tomorrow is December 1st so I have spent the evening  busily  making advent calendars for Sam, Mark and Cheryl. I have always had a tradition with my girls starting on December 1st that they  would each open a small gift every day leading up to Christmas. A few years ago, a very dear friend of mine who lives in Germany, made Sophia and Eva embroidered cloth calendars with little rings sewn on each day of the month. A gift is tied to each of the rings as is the tradition in Germany. They are absolutely adorable and such treasures. Setting them out every year marked the beginning of the Christmas season with all the excitement and anticipation that goes with it.   I wanted to continue this tradition my first Christmas married to Paul, but I did not want my stepchildren to feel left out. By chance, Paul happened to travel to Germany on business a few weeks before our first Christmas together. I asked him to look out for similar calendars for his kids but he only found cardboard ones. You couldn’t hang the gifts from them so instead I wrapped and numbered the presents and, bless their hearts, they were thrilled to open the gifts since this tradition was new to them. Still, Sophia’s and Eva’s calendars are so much more elegant and I have always felt conflicted about it. Call it stepmother guilt. I did not want to take this tradition away from my children and yet I did not want my stepchildren to feel like, well, “stepchildren.” So I decided to make them my own version of  homemade, keepsake advent calendars.

I took Sophia with me to the craft store on Friday and she helped me pick out wide velvet ribbons. I also got small 1-inch wide plastic rings. I cut each ribbon (we choose three different kinds) into five foot lengths. I sewed 24 rings about three inches apart  down the front of each of the ribbons. When I was finished I figured I needed to hang it from something so I used chopsticks I found at the bottom of my utensil drawer. (I’m really great with improvising. Ask me about the time I made a wholly mammoth costume on short notice out of the dog bed.) I tied thin ribbon on the end of the chopsticks to act as a hanger and the “calendars” are now hanging on the walls in our great room for Sam, Mark and Cheryl to see tomorrow morning when they get back from their mom’s. They don’t compare to Sophia and Eva’s  embroidered ones, but these were made from the heart and I know they will appreciate the thought and effort that went into making them. I can’t wait to see their faces tomorrow.

Sophia and I were driving in the car yesterday when we passed an empty lot where a naked guy was walking around aimlessly holding a cardboard box. At first we weren’t sure. We saw him from behind. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that barely covered his bum and that was all. Sophia asked, “Is that guy naked?” With that he turned around. His shirt was open and just below, there it was, for the whole world to see– a very obvious naked penis dangling in the breeze. I don’t know about you, but I have always found the male genitalia to be a bit goofy looking. Kind of like a sausage squished between two dinner rolls. What an inconvenience it must be to have it just hanging there. You have to tuck it into pants and men always seem to be adjusting it. Not for me.

Sophia is 15 and I do not think she has ever seen a naked man before other than her father when she was very young. She was a bit embarrassed. We were incredulous because it is not everyday that you see a naked guy walking around town. I called the police to tell them. The dispatcher asked me a lot of unusual, and I believe, unnecessary questions like, “What is his race? What kind of shirt? What color hair did he have? Any facial hair? Body size? Medium? Large boned? Heavy set?” I told her, “The police should recognize him immediately because he’s the only person standing in an  empty lot and HE’S NAKED, YOU CAN’T MISS HIM.”  Sophia was able to give the dispatcher all the details like “silver hair, goatee, flannel button down shirt, medium build. ” I could not. I was too preoccupied staring at his PENIS. I couldn’t stop myself. It was like driving by a car wreck. You know you shouldn’t look, but you just can’t help yourself.

When we arrived home,  Mark and Sam were in the kitchen making hot dogs. Guess where I am going with this story. We were out of hot dog buns so I told Mark to put his wiener on a hamburger bun. It didn’t really fit and was hanging over the sides, kind of flapping over the edges.

Sophia said, “Mom, did you tell them about the naked guy?”

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. We were driving by that vacant lot and we saw a naked guy, ” I informed them.

Sam asked incredulously, ” Naked? Really naked?”

“Oh yes, there was no mistaking it. I still can’t get that image out of my mind. There it was for everyone to see, that very obvious and unmistakable penis and scrotum bared for the world to see,” I barely choked the words out I was laughing so hard.

“Please stop, I’m eating a hot dog.” Mark implored as he bit into his overstuffed hamburger bun with hot dog bursting over the sides.

All four of us had a good, long belly laugh. I thought later how relaxed and comfortable Sophia and the boys were making jokes about the naked guy. First of all, they all have a great sense of humor. They’d have to to live in this family. Sam recognized that Sophia was a little self-conscious about it and was less inclined to make the joke. Mark, on the other hand, showed no mercy. Sophia overcame her embarrassment and laughed along with us. Once more, I could see the benefit of my girls having brothers. They provide them with a safe haven to make jokes about something like this without any concern of it being misinterpreted or misconstrued.

Yesterday was the last day for soccer. Yeah! What a relief. I am happy the girls play and support their decison to do so, but it is really hard on the dinner hour to get both girls, Cheryl and Eva, to their practices since they have to be at two different fields at the same time. In addition to that, Sophia had water polo until last week which meant I had three kids to juggle and make dinner. Now that it is getting darker earlier, I really like to be home. Early evening is a really a pleasant time in our house. Our kitchen is centrally located so when I am preparing dinner I get to watch or hear the kids in the study or their rooms. Last night when Cheryl and Eva got home after soccer practice they performed their usual ritual. Eva took a shower while Cheryl got out the IHome and they sang in the bathroom together. It was delightful. I don’t know if they knew I could hear them so I didn’t say anything. I told Paul when he got home and we both marveled at the fact that these two girls who once hated each other when they met three years ago are now the  best of friends and do everything together. We are so fortunate. I can’t believe we have come this far.

Sunday is Cheryl’s 11th birthday and it is her weekend to be with her mom and my kids will be with their dad. She told me yesterday that she wanted to spend the day bowling with her siblings. I told her I thought that could be arranged and that my girls could meet up with her at the bowling alley. She told me today that she wanted me to take her bowling instead of  her mother. I asked her why and she because I would buy pizza and soda and her mother wouldn’t. I explained to her that perhaps the cost of bowling would be a financial hardship for her mother who is single with one income and that I was planning to contribute to the cost so her mother would not have to bear the burden herself. I then suggested that we all go together and Cheryl was happy with that idea. Now I have to talk to her mother and arrange it.

Today was a big deal in our blended household. We are finally unpacked!!! For the last two years we have been looking for things that I was almost ready to give up on. For the umpteenth time,  Paul and the boys (my heros) went out into the storage room with flashlights and didn’t come out until they found a box marked “kitchen bakeware”.    It was wedged between the snow gear and the Christmas decorations. Cookie sheets, bundt pans, muffin tins and rolling pins were all in that box. I didn’t want to go buy anymore because I knew I had them somewhere.  My girls also went through boxes that were marked from their bedrooms. Not surprisingly they got rid of mostly everything that was in them. We found our quarter collection. Yeah! And some half-melted candles. Why did I pack that stuff? We lived without a lot of stuff for two years and we survived. Except I really missed my bakeware.

Another significant turning point  was Sophia’s decision to give up her purple bookcase. Of all the kids, she had the hardest time adapting to the move. She kept that bookcase even though it didn’t fit in her new room because it reminded her of her old room. Today, out of the blue, she told me, “Mom, this bookcase doesn’t go with my room. I want to get rid of it.” I said, “OK.”  We emptied it (giving a lot of stuff to Goodwill) and  put in out on the front curb with a sign that said, “FREE”. Time heals and eveyone adapts to change eventually.  

In other news, yesterday was soccer day. All three girls had games. My two, Sophia and Eva, had back-to-back games in the morning at 9:00 and at 10:30 at the same field. Cheryl, Paul’s daughter, had a game at 1:30 at a different field. I am mentioning this because I want to comment on the differences between the kind of relationship I have with my ex-husband, an easy going, kind-hearted, happy man and Paul’s relationship with his ex-wife who often seems uncomfortable around us.  My ex met me at the soccer field  and we sat together and had nice conversation about the recent election, books we’re reading, our jobs etc. After the games were over, we all went out for bagels at our usual spot. It was always our routine, before and after our divorce, to take the girls to the bagel store.

Later, Eva and Sophia said they wanted to go to Cheryl’s game so we drove over to her game and met up with Paul who was sitting with a group of other parents from Cheryl’s team. About a half-hour into the game, Paul’s ex showed up. I saw her and said “hello”. She mumbled “hello” back and walked to the opposite end of the field where she sat alone for the rest of the game. When the game was over she hung in the background waiting for Cheryl to come off the field, hugged her goodbye and left, never saying anything to Paul or me or the other parents we were sitting with. She deliberately and purposefully alienated and excluded herself. She was more than welcome to join us and could have had fun being a part of our cheering section, but instead she chose to sit alone.  I guess that is her choice, but I wonder if she realized the  unnecessary tension that created for Cheryl. 

On that note, I am off to make banana muffins with my newly found muffin tins!!

My husband Paul just told me that friends of ours, also in a blended family, are getting a divorce. They have five kids like us (four boys and a girl)  and have only been married 3 1/2 years.  The father, I’ll call Jerry, is really broken hearted about it and so are his  three children. When he first told Paul about it he attributed the divorce to the strain of living in such small quarters– a three bedroom house. He said they were always on top of each other. Later, in another conversation, Jerry told Paul that after a lot of soul searching, he admitted a lot of responsibility because of his own rigid standards and inflexibility. He was really tough on his wife’s older boys and he regretted it. They resented him which is too bad. I wondered to Paul if it wasn’t too late for Jerry and his wife to get counseling and work things out. The first step to reconciliation is admitting that you are wrong and are willing to fix it.

I am sure that my husband and children would have at times considered me to be rigid and inflexible and perhaps a bit uptight. To demonstrate this point, here is an example of an incident that happened in our family shortly after we were married when my oldest step son taught me a very valuable lesson on the wonder of living with boys. Eva, my youngest, who has always had a “spit” issue, as in she can’t stand to drink from anyone else’s cup etc,  came rushing into my bedroom to tell me that Sam was, ick, drinking juice right out of the carton!!! Ugh!! How uncouth! Not to mention germs and other gross stuff! I stormed into the kitchen to admonish him and found Sam and Mark standing around the center island chugging some Tropicana. “Sam do you  really drink juice from the carton?” I asked.  Mark replied for him, laughing at the ridiculousness of my question,  ”Yeah, he did. So do I. So does Dad.” Sam put the final note on the conversation when he said to me, “You live with men now. Get used to it.” Point taken. I’ve since learned not to care about stupid stuff and there is much more peace and harmony in our house. I buy separate cartons of juice too.

Getting married the first time when you have no kids is a big adjustment. Blending families is indescribably hard. It can also be fun and joyful if you keep an open mind, look at the big picture and see all the good you are getting instead of dwelling on the smelly socks on the floor and the dirty dishes in the sink. I’ve learned to go with the flow. It is the only way to survive. Drinking some wine helps too.