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 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 »

There was a spring fair at Eva’s school today and I had no idea. She called me at lunch to ask me if she could go.  I vaguely remember getting some emails about donating cookies to a bake sale or buying raffle tickets, but I didn’t pay much attention. Why? Because I don’t care. I’m burnt out. I’ve become one of those moms, the kind I used to deride for “not doing their part.”

I have no guilt about this what- so- ever.

This is a very timely topic for all those 30- ish moms with young kids out there who are still killing themselves to be power moms. I recently had a conversation on this very topic with my newly found cyber mom friend,  Carley Knobloch of Mother Craft Coaching, who specializes in helping moms simplify their lives. She teaches busy moms how to apply her “ADD” formula to prioritize their daily tasks. The “A” stands for act, as in act on things you should do right away, like opening and sorting mail before it piles up. The first “D” represents those things you should delegate, like buying the cookies for the spring fair instead of baking them yourself. The final “D” stands for delete and these are all the things you really don’t need to do, like volunteering for everything. I’m in the delete parenting phase of my life right now.

As I told Carley, your lives get much simpler as you and your kids get older. First your kids start to feed themselves, then they go to the bathroom alone, followed by bathing themselves, putting themselves to bed and finally driving, getting jobs and supporting themselves. Along the way you stop obsessing over every activity. You come to terms with the fact that your child is not going to be an Olympic gymnast or professional soccer player after all,  and you eventually lose that drive to have it all, do it all and be it all. This usually happens around  middle school when your kids don’t want you hanging out at their school anyway. So all you young moms out there, chillax. Take a breather. Savor your babies now because it goes by so fast.

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.

I took just Eva shopping on Saturday to find a dress for her 8th grade graduation. We made the 30 mile trek to the mall in San Jose. I wanted it to be just the two of us so that the day would be special and all about her. Usually I take the three girls together which means  my attention is divided. Because Eva, the middle child, is so easy going and agreeable, I often worry that she is neglected.

We had a delightful time shopping for dresses and Eva found the perfect one. But ony after a bit of searching. We first went to Macy’s junior department and it was jam packed with beautiful, fancy dresses. Eva tried on several, but none suited her. There was one that I just loved because she looked so lovely in it. It was a bright yellow, flowing floral party dress that suited her olive skin tone beautifully. Eva did not like it. She looked at me and the discarded dresses strewn throughout the dressing room and sighed, “I like the dresses. I just don’t think they’re me.”

I did not protest or try to convince her to settle on one. Instead I remarked cheerily, “Then let’s try another store and we’ll keep searching until you find the dress that is just perfect for you.” And we did. The next stop was Nordstrom’s, who surprisingly had a pretty skimpy selection. We were about to give up when Eva spotted the dress hidden in a  corner on a rack by itself. It was a pinky, mauve satin strapless chemise with a lace overlay. She tried it on. It fit and she loved it. I bought it even though it was a little more than I wanted to spend. And not because I couldn’t resist her pleading look,  but because I know how wonderful it feels to have the perfect dress.

I remember shopping for my 8th grade graduation dress with my mother. We had been searching a while and I sensed my mother’s growing impatience. I finally found the dress of my dreams, but it was too expensive. I knew my mother couldn’t afford it so I didn’t even bother to ask. Instead I picked a cheaper version which my mother purchased and we took it home. I thought I had covered my disappointment pretty well, but apparently not. The next day when I got home from school, there it was lying on my bed …the perfect dress. While I was at school my mother exchanged the dress for the one I really wanted.  I wore that dress proudly as I walked in the graduation procession, wobbling in my first pair of high heels.

After Eva and I purchased the dress we went shopping for shoes. We found the perfect pair: solid mauve suede high heels. Her first.

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 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.