I cannot even begin to describe what an awesome, happy and successful trip we had. I am so proud of her and happy that she is in such a wonderfully enriching and scenically beautiful setting. We all expect that Sophia will thrive very well in her new home.

Although the moments leading up to the actual departure were very emotional for all of us, I have to say once we said our goodbyes, it was not so bad, perhaps because we were well prepared. Sophia is a strong person, very intelligent, dedicated and hardworking and to say she is extremely motivated would be an understatement. In many ways, her father and I have been preparing her for this experience her whole life.

The best part of the trip for me, (and there were many) was the sense of accomplishment and satisfaction her father and I shared together as co-parents in launching our daughter off to college and into adulthood. We reminisced one night over a glass of wine in the hotel lobby and patted each other on the back for doing such a great job, as we also lauded Sophia for turning out so well. Lucky us. Below are some photos I took of the stunning Lewis and Clark campus (voted the second most beautiful college campus according to the Princeton Review) and the many sites we visited while touring Portland.

Jared, Eva’s dad, and Keith, his partner, decided to drive up early to have dinner in the city. Sophia called me to tell me she wanted to go with them and invited Cheryl and Mark. Now that in and of itself is noteworthy because Jared has always been so kind and generous with my stepkids. He’s like their uncle, which I guess is the best way to describe his relationship to them. Paul and I drove up separately and waited patiently in baggage claim at the foot of the escalator. We joked. We laughed. We waited with bursting excitement and anticipation. We couldn’t wait to see Eva.

And there she was. Excited to see us too and smiling sheepishly at the large entourage waiting to greet her. It was a warm welcome for sure. Cheryl noticed her first and rushed to give her a big hug and then Eva warmly embraced her other two siblings, high fiving her “bro” Mark. It was very sweet.

We collected her luggage, got her a drink at Starbucks and drove home to meet up at the Santa Cruz Diner so Eva could have an American hamburger.  We heard all about her amazing trip. The “genie” pants she bought at the Arabian flea market, the delicious ice cream, the paella, the bullfight, the churros, her lovely host family and all of the new friends she made.

She came home bearing gifts. Mine was an azucar bowl. Doesn’t it match my kitchen counters beautifully? I love it. I’m so happy she’s home and thrilled she had such a great time. She really embraced the culture and for that I am very thankful and proud of her.

It’s time. Not just for them, but for me too.

As much as I have feared that I would be struggling with this issue, I am happy, surprised and relieved to say that I am not. I’ve had my reminiscent nostalgic moments when I hark back fondly on when my children were adorable and sweet (and I was thinner didn’t need bifocals), but I am also looking forward to getting my life back.

The growth of my children has been a natural progression for me. As they’ve matured, so have I. When they were little, it was all about them. I met their needs, and was by most people’s estimation, a power mom. I was the room parent/fundraising/field trip driving/dance chaperone for as long at they and I could stand it. But even in my super parent hey day, I never really got my sole identity from being a mom. I guess it was because I had a full rich career long before I had children and I remember what that was like. And I want it back.

As I approach life’s half-way mark, (I’ll be 50 in October) I’ve gradually settled in to a time of rediscovery and reinvention.  I went back to school and I got my master’s degree, something I’ve always wanted to do. I returned to my early roots with a new career in theatre and in a few more weeks, I will be launching a new business that I have been developing all year. I continue my writing with this blog as well as JustImaginate and SeaweedArt. And … I’ve started work on a novel.

I wonder why this transition to  children-not-living-at-home has been so easy for me and I have to say it is probably because I have been slowly getting used to if for years. I can still feel the palpable loneliness I experienced as a newly single mom and my kids were spending the weekend at Dad’s. The silence was deafening. I filled the void with my writing, my art, a new business and classes at the local community college. Similarly, my darling husband Paul and I have had a lot of kid free weekends and our relationship has grown and flourished as a result of our private couple time.

I am confident that when my children are ready to leave home, I will be ready to see them go. I may throw myself across the bed and sob, but I’ll get over it.

Our family just returned from a week long trip in Northern California hiking the trails at Mount Lassen State Park and riding the rapids of the Trinity River in Willow Creek. We had a blast. We even experienced a Big Foot sighting! (Not really.) It was a fun trip and everyone had a great time. Everyone except Cheryl who didn’t go. She refused and stayed with relatives instead. Why did she not want to go? Well, its kind of a long story.

You see, Mount Lassen is a place Cheryl considers her mother’s “special place” because her maternal grandparents have a cabin nearby, which she has visited every summer for as long as she can remember. Both with her father, Paul (my husband), while he was still married to her mother, and more recently with her mother and brothers the last several years after their divorce. This year Cheryl’s mom was unable to go, so when Paul and I were planning our vacation, Paul thought it might be nice to visit Lassen (we did not stay at the family cabin) and also tour a nearby guest ranch where we would spend the day hiking, horseback riding and later have dinner in the lodge and swim in the geothermal heated swimming pool. Paul wanted us to experience something that their family had always enjoyed. Just like I took all of the kids last summer to visit my family back East in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. However, Cheryl did not see it quite the same way. Having a very strong loyalty to her mother, she somehow felt that visiting this place would somehow taint or ruin the memories of her experiences there with her mom.

I first got a taste of Cheryl’s emotional attachments a few years ago when I took all three girls, my two daughters, and Cheryl to San Francisco for a mini girls only vacation. As soon as we arrived, we dropped our bags in our hotel room and made plans to head out to tour Chinatown. My girls were very excited, but for some unexplained reason, Cheryl protested and put up a fuss. She. did. not. want .to. go. She pitched a fit all weekend. No matter what I suggested she complained. Finally, in complete exasperation, I sat her down and implored her to tell me what was bothering her. She tearfully admitted that she had been to San Francisco a few months previously with her mother and her then boyfriend (they had just split up) and that we were ruining her memories of her time there with them. At the time I chalked it up to Cheryl’s immaturity, she was 9, and the fact that she was still missing her mom’s boyfriend, whom she really liked.

Cheryl is now almost 13 and it is time for her to learn how to work through these issues and know that her special times with people will  last forever. I understand Cheryl’s feelings. I get the whole conflicted, divided loyalty divorce thing. What I also understand is that it is our job as parents to shepherd our children through life, to guide and shape their behaviors. To teach them compassion, empathy and generosity. To recognize that the  hallmark of maturity is being able to let go of things, to move on and to above all, learn to see beyond your own perspective.

Cheryl, who was allowed and encouraged by her mother, to retreat into her self-indulgent world, lashed out at her sisters saying she didn’t want them to go on the trip because she was afraid they would complain about the place. (So what if they did?) She blamed them in advance for ruining her experience. Her mother, if she had chosen to take the high road, would have said to her daughter, “You go on that trip and you have a good time. Share your special place with your sisters, just like they have in the past with you. And if they complain, so what.” Instead, she supported her decision because “feelings are valid.”  Yes, feelings are valid, but are they right? Is it OK to be selfish? OK to be unable to identify and work through your feelings, regardless of whether or not they are “valid”?   In the end, she  deprived her own daughter of a wonderful vacation, and even more significantly, of an important life lesson. Too bad.

It was a fun filled, busy and joyful occasion filled with lots of activities during the day with  surfing, sailing and  kayaking, and in the evenings at each other’s homes playing charades, board games and reminiscing over old photos of Pop Pop in the army and on his wedding day. Those were the moments when I looked at my girls blending in with their “step” aunts, uncles and cousins, enjoying themselves and feeling included, even though they don’t share the same heritage, history or genealogy. After Sophia and Eva left for the wedding in New Jersey, where I heard reports that they ripped up the dance floor with their East coast cousins, we had one final big party at our house on the last day of the reunion.

I had planned a menu of grilled chicken kabobs, homemade potato salad and coleslaw. It was  a pot luck and everyone brought their contribution. Paul’s older brother decided he wanted the family to take a trip down memory lane and asked his wife to prepare “bun burgers,” a dish their mother made for them as children. It stirred some fond and not so fond memories. (Apparently not everyone liked the bun burgers.) I didn’t quite get the recipe, but I watched them being prepared. Basically, you prepare ground beef like you are making hamburgers. Throw in some spices and some chopped onions, but instead of adding bread crumbs, pick out the bread from the tops of hamburger buns, which leaves a big O, tear it into pieces and add to the mix. The top of the bun is placed on the bottom half of the bun and then on a cookie sheet. Next, scoop up a  generous dollop of hamburger meat and place inside the opening of the top bun. Bake in the oven at 400 degrees and just before they are done, top with strips, in an X shape, of Kraft processed American cheese. Place back in oven until melted.

I have to say they were pretty darn good and could easily be adapted to something healthy and rather gourmet if using, say, ground turkey, whole wheat buns and  perhaps some goat cheese, instead of the fatty beef and fake cheese. The culinary nostalgia didn’t end there. No. There were fish sticks too! You know, the frozen kind that comes in a box with lots of fillers and mystery ingredients. They were a  once-a-week staple in Paul’s family’s house. Paul’s brother felt that no family reunion was complete without fish sticks and bun burgers. As we were standing around the kitchen, noshing on the retro delicacies, he lamented, “Too bad we don’t have fake milk to go with them.” Anyone who grew up in a large, budget stretching family in the 50′s and 60′s would know what fake milk is. I do. My mom used to take powdered milk, mix it with water and add it to the real milk to make it last a little longer. It was gross, but we accepted it because that’s just the way it was.

As Paul’s family reminisced about their childhood memories, I reflected on my own (I’m one of five kids.) and realized that big families are pretty much the same.  It isn’t just the food, the family vacations, the sibling squabbles and competition for the bathroom that they have in common, but rather the inherent bonds, life lessons and experiences that go with the territory. I’ve always said being part of a big family prepares you for life’s greatest challenges: To be able to get along with anyone, to know how to wait your turn, to accept delayed gratification and to tolerate things that can at times be somewhat unpleasant.

My thoughts wandered to the future as I pictured myself at Sophia’s or Eva’s wedding and imagined all the guests who would attend.  There would be my family, Jared’s family and  Paul’s. It would be  a blended family wedding… and one hell of a party.

I changed my last name when I got married to my first husband because I wanted to have the same last name as my children. Maybe not the feminist thing to do, but it was my decision. When I got married to my second husband he was sensitive to the fact that I had my first husband’s last name. Go figure. He told me he wouldn’t have minded if I had kept my maiden name, but the first husband’s last name kinda bugged him. I debated a bit because then my children would be offended and they were, but I changed my last name to my Paul’s anyway and my kids eventually understood. I explained to them that their last name would always be their tie to Daddy and that I wanted my last name to be my tie to my husband. So it was settled. But not quite.

Sophia, my oldest daughter, wrote about this very subject in her blog Stepkid Stories. In her post titled The Name Game Sophia revealed that she has often been asked if she has any plans to change her last name. She considers this a bizarre and intrusive question and so do I. Why would she change her last name? Even if her father were dead, I would never change my children’s last name. I could see if her dad were a dead beat and not in the picture, but anyone who knows us well knows that Sophia’s dad is a very active part of her life. Even still… it is NO ONE’S business and is a question that should never be asked.

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.

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.