A few weeks ago, Sophia came to me and asked me if she and her friend, Rita could drive to San Francisco, which is 75 miles North of Santa Cruz, to spend the day at Golden Gate Park to picnic and visit some museums. It was Memorial Day weekend and they were looking for an adventure. She and her friend are both 17, actually Sophia was 16 at the time, and I thought about it for a few minutes and said “no.” As in, “no way.” It’s not that I didn’t trust her, I  was afraid of the holiday traffic and that they were not experienced enough to drive there by themselves. Sophia’s friend ending up going with her younger sister, Maria, 14 and they had a great time. No accidents or mishaps, no flat tires, no tragedies. Read the rest of this entry »

I took Eva and her BFF, Jill, to see Justin Bieber in concert last Saturday night in Oakland. Jill’s mom Susie came too. For those of you not up to speed, we used to live two doors down from Jill and Susie before I married Paul and we moved way across town, a whopping five minutes away. But when you are  little and used to scurrying over to each other’s house in your pajamas, it may as well have been five hours away. (If the truth be told, Susie and I were traumatized as well because we too missed the convenience of living so close. I was always hitting her up for some wine and she often came over to my house, coffee cup in hand, looking for some cream. One morning Susie actually brought down a piece of bread, smeared some mayonnaise on it, and walked back to her house. Those were the days.)

It was a heart break for both Eva and Jill to not live so close to each other. Eva does not remember a time when they were not friends. They met when they were three. I have photos of them dressed in their Madeline costumes selling lemonade in the front yard.  It is amazing how close these two girls are and probably always will be. Their friendship has survived not only our move, but the test of middle school. Now they are both 14, starting high school in the fall and IN LOVE with Justin Bieber. Susie and I gave the girls the tickets as a gift for their 8th grade graduation. We took them out to dinner first and while they went into the concert to watch the opening acts we waited in line to buy T-shirts. I enjoyed spoiling my daughter this way. I used to worry that she was the neglected middle child … but not anymore. As we were leaving the concert, (after 3 1/2 hours of shrieking and squealing) Eva put her arms around me, squeezed me hard and proclaimed, “This was the greatest night of my life. Thanks, Mom.” I swooned with Mommy glee.

I took a much needed break yesterday evening to swim some laps. We joined a private swim club for the summer and I am really enjoying working out in the fitness center and relaxing by the pool. I often go at the end of the day so I can unwind and decompress. Last night Paul was working late in San Francisco and the kids were at their other parents’ houses, so I took advantage of my alone time. Read the rest of this entry »

This past week marked two great family gathering events in the Shwanda household.  Paul’s brother and five sisters all flew or drove into Santa Cruz (from as far away as Alabama and Ohio) for a family reunion  to celebrate Pop Pop’s 90th birthday. In addition, my ex-husband, Jared, took our two daughters, Sophia and Eva, to his niece’s wedding in New Jersey. Sophia and Eva got to spend the first part of the week with their step dad’s family and the second part of the week with their dad’s family. (Jared’s family is also rather large in that he has one sister and four brothers.)

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.

There is a 9th grade girl in Sophia’s high school who is pregnant. Eva told me first because she heard it at her school. Then Sophia told me and then everyone else  I know told me. Apparently the girl announced her pregnancy on her Facebook page and it is all anyone and everyone is talking about.

The girl is only a year older than Eva and went to the same grade school. I did not know the family well,  but I feel like I do now. How could this happen? Everyone wants to know. The girl  is not completely sure who the father is (there are four possible candidates) and she is going to have the baby, a boy supposedly, and put the child up for adoption. The mother of one of the suspected fathers has vowed to fight the adoption if the kid turns out to be her grandson. Oy. Double oy.

The scuttlebutt  on the paternal grandma is that she is super religious and never signed the waiver to let her kids take  sex education in health class. The scuttlebutt on the maternal grandma is that she dressed her daughter in provocative clothing, allowed her to wear makeup at an early age and bleached her hair when she was 10. All this I found out in the check out line at the grocery store.

I am not happy that this is happening to this poor girl and boy. And I don’t want to join in on the derision of their parents either, since my mother once told me, “Never criticize other people’s children because you never know what your kids are going to do. (Rumor has it that the mother of the boy in question is quite sanctimonious in the parenting department.) I did welcome the opportunity for discussion this has brought about and I happy and relieved to report that all three of my girls still think boys are gross. I trust that when those feelings change that they will make good choices. I am confident that they will have enough self respect to not have sex with the  football team. It’s been said that the poor girl in question has struggled with low self-esteem and self-worth (obviously) due to her parents ugly divorce. Her dad is apparently emotionally unavailable.  I can only hope that some day she will be able to put all of this behind her. In the meantime, I am holding all of my children close and making sure they know they are loved, so  they won’t go looking for it in all the wrong places.

One of the most sensitive issues in the whole blended family situation is the name thing. My kids have a different last name than my step kids and I now have a different last name than my children.  Which is the dominant name in the family? We sort of solved that problem by combining the two names into one, Shwanda, which is the name of this blog. (To read more about the transformation click here.)

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.

Last night I took Sophia, my almost 17-year-old daughter, out for some pizza. It was just the two of us and we enjoyed our “Mom and me” alone time. I took the opportunity to pose this question to her.

“I’m curious, ” I told her. “I want to see if I raised you right. How do you judge a person’s character, and by that I mean a boyfriend or a potential mate? What kind of things do you look for?”

She paused for only a moment while she considered her answer. This is what she told me.” In a situation like this one, where we are waiting in line to place an order in a restaurant, I would observe how a man treated the person taking his order. Was he polite? Did he make eye contact? Was he impatient? Pushy? Considerate? The way he treats others is ultimately how he is going to treat you.”

Satisfied with her answer she concluded by saying, “He also have to reasonably put together. Like he washed his face, combed his hair and he smells good. He has to show that he’s at least made some effort.”

Yes, I raised her right. I always taught my girls to look for the nice boys. And I can see that Sophia learned that lesson.

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.