No One's the Bitch

The Fragile Bridge of Trust

When Indiana Jones threw sand out into the precipice, suddenly revealing an invisible bridge, he found the magical solution to quickly getting across, away from his enemies.  But… he still had to actually cross the narrow bridge without falling.  Trust between you and another person (in this case, the stepmom or ex-wife) is like that same skinny bridge made real by the sand. Sometimes you can't see it, but you can sense the fuzzy edges, suspended there in mid-air. It's ever-ready, but requires a leap of faith.  And even if the link is there, shining under a spotlight, it may require balance and nerves of steel to get safely to the other side. It's scary! Plus, you know…you could fall off. But let's not go there. Until later.

Not to mention, all the different levels of trust.  There's the taken-for-granted trust you have with people you're close to, the ones who know all your dirt.  The functional, logistical trust you have with people you work with.  There's the underground river of trust between you and your friends; the simple, surface trust between you and acquaintances.  As the level of mutual need and dependency goes up, so does the risk.

Why the risk? 

Because both parties need something from each other.

Stepmoms need to know that the mom will respect her way of doing things. That she has every right to establish rules and principles in her home, guidelines that are just as valid and important as the mom's. She needs to know that her responses and emotional reactions to the children, whether good or bad, are just as valid as anything either bio-parent might be feeling - they're not just "pasted" onto the family unit bubble like something "extra."

She sometimes needs space from the whole chaotic jumble that is a stepfamily, since this is probably not what she originally imagined for herself when she envisioned having a family. She wants respect. She wants closeness. She just wants to be appreciated for who she is and not treated like a permanent outsider.

And moms need to know that the stepmom will not be subtly working to undermine her, to turn the children against her. She needs to know that, while the children now have a different world to immerse themselves in, their old one is still treated with respect and held in a certain esteem. She needs to know that if she starts bumping up against difficult behavior in her children, it's not because she's a bad mother and the stepmom is better.

She needs to know that the stepmom is not in secret competition with her, wanting to lure the kids permanently away from their home with promises of fun and material goods that she can't provide. She wants respect. She wants closeness. She wants to be appreciated for who she is and not treated like a permanent threat.

When one or both parties first attempt to reach out to each other, to risk a little something of themselves and work together it can actually feel kind of scary. Even if it's over something as simple as helping little Jane transport her art supplies from house to house without always losing something, or keeping Mark the man-child from continually sneaking out of the house and into trouble.

Here's the biggest fear: what if the other woman slaps you down? What if the ex-wife or stepmother is just waiting in the lurch for a show of weakness and then, she goes in for the jugular? And how the hell do you trust someone you don't like anyway? And what if she's already given you plenty of reasons never to trust her again?

Well, it's true—stepmothers and ex-wives typically have very different agendas, different end goals.  But they're both working with the same fears and that's actually a good thing, here. They're in the same boat. Use that commonality to help you! Neither wants to be further tackled when she's down. Neither wants to reach out for the olive branch and then have it yanked away at the last minute, humiliating her. Neither woman wants to leave the door to the ammunitions room open overnight.

All I can say is it takes time. And repetition. Two things we hate hearing.

Time makes it sounds like you could be at this for years and years, getting nowhere. And repetition has as much appeal as doing scales on a violin when you're just learning how to play.

Start out small and see where it gets you. If you get nowhere, take a breather, then try again. If you still get nowhere, take another breather and regroup. Monitor your self-talk: is it the stuff of drama and tragedy, or a shrug and "Enh, moving on…"? Can you put yourself in her shoes and imagine what she might be feeling?

Where is it you're trying to go? How high up on the scale of cooperation are you shooting for? What would you consider a success? It's going to be different for everyone. Movement for some might be an exchange of tight grimaces at the front door, whereas before, no one ever even got out of the car for a kid pick-up, they just laid on the horn with anger. Improvement for others might be a heartfelt talk on the phone about Lily's grades, Timmy's depression, Sarah's pot-smoking.

What would be progress for you?

And if it's hard, will you keep trying?

And even if you get somewhere, don't be surprised to find that you and the stepmom or ex-wife aren't always on the same page. I remember, early on, thinking Carol (the stepmom) and I (the ex-wife) were doing pretty well, only to hear from David (my ex-) that she was upset over something inconsequential (I thought) I'd said weeks before. It took several awkward conversations to make things right, but we did, and then we plowed ahead….

It takes a certain kind of humility to keep reaching out, to keep trying to cross that bridge of connection. You've got to set aside the score-keeping, your ego, and all those vague voices in your ear that belong to friends and family, making the other woman wrong. Have you ever truly forgiven someone who's hurt you, I mean truly forgiven them? Same kind of softness required here.

The payoffs for developing trust, even a semblance, are many. Less stress between the two of you. Less stress thinking about her when you're alone. More partnership and collaboration (what kind of cake should we make for so-and-so's birthday?). Less bitching with your partner. New ideas when brainstorming. And let's not forget how important it is to create a virtual wall of parenthood in the face of children's bad behavior!

Lucky for you, and maybe, surprise!... you're not in control. It's not only your show. That is, a lot of stuff happens without your input, permission or direction. Which means, in the context of this post, some very good things… might… just… happen—all on their own. It just takes YOU to get the train rolling with a little push. And before you know it, you'll be on your way to developing some threads of trust between you and the stepmom or ex-wife that might turn into something strong and weight-bearing.

Best of luck!

(A side note about comments and bulletin boards -- Please forgive me, I'm way behind on responding to comments, sorry. Have been a bit overwhelmed lately and am just behind. If you've posted before, please check back for a response. And E. asked about bulletin boards…. They're coming, once I can work out a few technical glitches. I'm no tech-whiz and have asked a programmer friend for help, so they should be up soon and I hope many of you will participate!)

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine       All Rights Reserved

Relevant posts:

Two dinners

How do you reach out to the stepmother or ex-wife in your life?

Which house would you rather live in?

Fields of... huh?

Pics

Meet Carol, TV teammate extraordinaire

Imagine yourself in one of those adventure races - with orienteering challenges, cross-country running, kayaking, maybe a touch of horseback-riding and cycling. Now imagine how much harder this would be with a partner you can't stand — the hidden resentments, the one-upmanship, the stubborn lack of cooperation. Then… envision the relief of being spurred on past your limits by someone you inherently knew and trusted. Huge difference, huh? Okay, so the metal chairs we were sitting in weren't really going anywhere, but still, it sure felt like Carol and I were on some kind of journey together. On Monday, we filmed our first TV interview and I know we can both say, unequivocally, thank god we had each other!! It's not often you can turn to someone and say, from the heart: if you weren't for you, I think I would have peed in my pants.

We trained hard and well before the big day.

When it came to going over "talking points", discussing what we were going to wear, the particulars of how much make-up or not, well, we just… didn't. We took refuge in the blurry fog of denial. We were just getting together for tea, right? Along with her three year-old son, Jacob, and my 17 year-old daughter, Sophie; hanging out on the playscape in the background. Plus someone we'd never met before asking us questions about our lives and a camera in our faces. Just another day in the neighborhood. We shared a good chortle over this (any opportunity to use the word 'chortle') and then, lamented that in many ways, the outcome was out of our hands. We were going to come across as we would. Spastic, dork-like, inarticulate. So be it. We had no choice but to be ourselves, that simpering adage that people fall back on when really, they've got nothing else.

Elizabeth the Reporter was warm and friendly and Steve the Cameraman was polite and reassuringly bored, but it was disconcerting that we were going to be interviewed separately. What? We wouldn't get to turn to each other when we got stumped or were mangling our words, letting the other person run with the ball?

I went first. I was excruciatingly self-conscious of the fact that I couldn't find a comfortable way to sit without hurting my back (newly broken rib). I crammed my purse behind me, held myself upright and tried to keep my eyes on Elizabeth, as instructed. Because I was attempting to keep perfectly still, I barely used my hands to talk, and I'm one of those horrible hand-people. This threw me off even further and I struggled mentally to stay focused. God only knows what the final piece will look like. Here I had been worrying about coming across like an excitable sparrow and I was probably closer to a ventriloquist's dummy.

Luckily, Carol saved the day.

Whereas she tends to be the more introverted of the two of us, she seemed downright in her element during her interview—laughing, smiling, telling funny stories. She was clear, calm and confident. (Am I smelling a new career?)  I felt a bit like a peeping Jane, listening to her describe the evolution of our relationship to someone else.  After our individual stints, they got a few shots of all of us sitting at the table together, eating and drinking like normal people and taking a walk down by the pond.

All in all, it was pretty painless, thanks to Elizabeth, who was endlessly patient while helpfully prodding, and Steve, who seemed to enjoy zooming in on the little ham that is Jacob. (Thanks so much to both of you, and to HEB for letting us shoot on their property at Central Market.)

I've said it before and it still holds, when our two families come together, even if it's not all of us, there's the feeling of pieces of a whole reuniting. I never had a sister, but Carol feels like one to me. We both knew that the other was scared shitless, but we also knew that if we were in it together, everything would come out alright in the end. Even if it had been a total disaster (which, come to think about it, remains to be seen!), we would have gotten a good laugh out of it.  And I mean more than a chortle.

So if you feel like rubbernecking, tune in this coming Monday, May 12 on the five o'clock news for KEYE, CBS channel 42, and see for yourself!

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine    All Rights Reserved

Relevant Posts:

• Two dinners
• How do you reach out to the stepmother or ex-wife in your life?
• Which house would you rather live in?
• Fields of... huh?
• Pics

Taking a break - literally

Just wanted to let folks know I'll be taking a break from posting for a few days, so new content probably won't be up 'til Wednesday or Thursday.  I took a bad rock climbing fall this weekend and broke a rib!  Who would have thought cracking such a simple, ol' bone (and there are so many of them! and they're not really doing anything hard!) could be so painful and limiting?  An extension pole used for painting has become my new best friend as I hobble around.  (There's my bed to the left.  Not bad, huh?)

In the meantime, there are some exciting developments going on around here that will be revealed in time, so stay tuned!

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine       All Rights Reserved

What impact do stepmoms have upon us? An interview with Kelly Gray

We've heard from teens about life with a stepmother. We've heard stepmoms themselves discussing what it's like for them, trying to manage an instant family and competing loyalties, all while adjusting to a new marriage. I thought it'd be interesting to hear from someone who has the luxury of hindsight in this situation. 

I met Kelly Gray while rock climbing down at the greenbelt one lovely, scorching day and I could tell his climbing mates were enjoying his infectious laughter and sense of playfulness. Before I knew it, I got sucked in too. Not many climbers like to sing while they're climbing—but he does. And if you don't mind making a fool out of yourself, you'll find that it actually helps both your climbing technique and your nerves….

I'm proud to now call Kelly a friend and I thank him for letting me pick his brain!

How old were you when your stepmom came into your life? How did that go for you? And any siblings?

My step-mom came into my life when I was about eight, though she was my Dad's secretary at the time and didn't become my stepmom until I was about 17 or 18. I was good friends with her son, too, so the transition was actually a little easier. You know when you spend the night with your friends in grade school, their parents kind of "mother" you or whatever, so I was kind of used to her being in a parental role by the time she became my stepmom. She'd also come to pick me up at school a couple of times when I was sick. 

I think the transition was a bit more difficult for my little sister because here was another woman with different ideas about what it means to be a woman. My stepmom's kids both basically turned their backs on her because she was dating my Dad (her employer), which made the circumstances surrounding her divorce suspect for her family as well. The situation was pretty insane for her, and at the end my sister and I both felt really bad for my stepmom because her situation was just so out of control.

Did your relationship dramatically change with her over time?

Not really. Well of course mine did—when I came out of the closet my very religious step mom got on the phone and told me that God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Bob…. She kind screwed the joke up, but you get the point. Eventually, I felt like she was really hostile towards me and probably drove my Dad to disown me. My father and I had talked about my sexuality before that; of course anybody paying attention would have guessed, and he'd always promised to be supportive. So when I got dropped, I naturally blamed my stepmom. To this day, I still feel a little like she played a part in all that.

Did you ever feel like your relationship with her impacted your relationship with your father, for better or worse?  

This one is really funny, because my biological mother ended up with two step kids herself, and I'm really close to my step-brothers. We've all talked about this one –actually my stepmom acted sometimes as a mediator between my Father and I, and my step-brothers both said the same thing about my biological mom! We all agreed that it was easier to talk with our stepmom about some things we couldn't even tell our biological parents, and in some cases, helped "break" the news to our fathers. In a lot of ways it improved the relationship a lot. I did always kind of resent that third person being there, though. My Dad and I were best friends, and when my stepmom came along it added this layer of complexity, I think.

Did you ever feel guilty (in terms of your mom) about having a good relationship with your stepmom? 

Hell yeah!!!

Hey, when Dad marries the Secretary and I find myself being compassionate despite the fact that she's "the other woman", you can bet that the guilt is going to flow freely. In a lot of ways, I felt like was constantly betraying my mother, but I had to do it in order to be on good terms with my father. My mom was always pretty understanding, to a point, but there were times when she'd talk about my stepmom in a really negative way that really drove the point home.

Did you ever play the adults off each other for your benefit? 

No, our parents never really denied us anything so we didn't really need to do that. 

What are some good memories you have about the way the adults in your life related to each other?

Honestly? I think the best memory is when my sister's first child was born. The two sets of parents sat in the same waiting room and had their experience as if the other wasn't there. It was great, they kind of mutually agreed to ignore the other set of parents.

What's your relationship like now?

Pretty good, actually. My stepmom is more like a friend than ever, and when I went home recently, we even rode around in the same car together and talked about what all was going on in each other's lives, including the new guy I'd been dating and her drama with her kids. 

What are you most grateful for now with your relationship with your stepmom? How about then?

Now, I'm just grateful she's willing to be an observant third party. Then, I was grateful she didn't try to send me to military school!

What did you wish you had known before about how to better relate to her?

I wish I'd have avoided venting to her about my mother, and to my mother about her. I treated my stepmom like a best friend, and in retrospect she really was, but I should have understood where to put boundaries. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to hear me talk like that - or for my Mom to hear me talk about my stepmom, without commenting and getting involved. I wish I'd have talked to my friends about that stuff instead.

Anything you'd like to tell other stepmom's to reassure them, or help them head off problems at the pass?

Kids can be real shits, I know for sure that I was. My stepmom managed to stay ahead of the curve as far as level of maturity, and for that I'm truly grateful. I think my stepmom understood that my sister and I were both A) teenagers and B) insane after our parent's divorce, and honestly gave us unconditional love, even though we really made some attempts to hurt her as badly as we were hurting inside. I know that had to be so hard, I can't even imagine, loving these two people who aren't even your own blood, even when you're getting the absolute worst they have to offer.

Despite the ups and downs, I think that woman probably deserves a medal. And let's not forget that this very religious, very Southern Baptist woman now has a gay step-son (and all that comes along with that) and has found a way to make that OK?  She's a better person than me.

Thanks again, Kelly!

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine    All Rights Reserved

A Tiny Bridgemaker - Part Two

I watched David and Carol go through the emotional rollercoaster of trying to adopt with one agency and my heart softened, even though I could tell the girls were nervous about the possibilities of such massive, looming change.  I witnessed Carol and David's intense heartbreak from afar when their efforts fell through; growing in sympathy, but also feeling that familiar guilt at my pangs of relief. 

 

I did my best to surf the bumpy waves; pulling back a little, making my friendship with Carol more superficial so it'd be easier to be a bitch, if I needed to be. I'd let some time pass between attempts at reconnecting, trying to create some space and formality. Then, feeling remiss and out of sync, I'd bend back the other way to make up for less than friendly behavior. It was scary to think of losing control; bricks for my wall; the buffer that emotional distance provides when it's time to put up your dukes and defend your territory.

 

Many times, I just tried to bury my head in the sand, wishing it could just all be over so things could "get back to normal". But life wasn't heading that way anytime soon, and sometimes, life shows you: you have a lot more choices than you think you have.

 

Time passed as Carol and David regrouped, and they tried again with another agency. This round we were all more used to the idea. When a young couple picked them out, the girls were ecstatic, and I was surprised to find that I was truly excited too.

 

The clouds finally parted over a new day in my head: hmmm... maybe this wasn't such a win/lose situation?

 

Now the waiting game began. The birth mother still had two months to go until she delivered. Would she change her mind at the end? David and Carol befriended the birth parents — had them over for dinner, talked names, potential personalities, introduced them to the girls. We were all beside ourselves with anticipation and curiosity. In fact, we could talk of nothing else!

 

Finally, the baby was born. David and Carol spent most of the weekend at the hospital, wanting to spend as much time as possible with the baby. We were all on pins and needles, wondering if the birth mother would finally sign the papers during the 72 hours she had to change her mind. Handing over her new, scrunchy-faced, beautiful baby boy to Carol and David, who wanted him so much, and to M. and S., who would gain an instant baby brother.

 

I was asked to bring the girls to the hospital only hours after Jacob was born so they could see him. There, I met the birth mother, a wonderful, young woman; her kind mother, and the baby's quiet father.  A bittersweet sadness tinged the bright euphoria in the air. It was a bit disorienting in the crowded room. I felt like a clumsy, obtrusive invader – surely I was imposing. And yet, when I hastily mentioned leaving, I was warmly asked by all to stay. I looked into Carol's eyes with humbled awe as she handed me the baby to hold in the rocking chair, fighting hard to blink back tears.

 

Can you imagine?

 

I was deeply touched by everyone's generosity, especially Carol's, but still, part of me felt intensely uncomfortable. This was their experience, Carol's experience. The last thing she needed was "the mother" sticking herself into her life again, inserting her presence out of logistical necessity, when it was least convenient or desired. I tried to merge into the background. There was the feeling of walking on a tightrope and I didn't want to fall off. Or make anyone else fall off theirs.

It was done. Jacob came home on his second day in this world to live with his new family.

I still wasn’t sure how I fit into this picture, and honestly, now that Carol and I had so strongly connected in a way that even I didn't understand, was hesitant to step on her toes at all.

I hung back and let her take the lead.  

As she explained later, when she started thinking of the baby as not just hers, but as “M. and S.’s” too, then her feelings about “sharing” him with me started to change. It became easier and easier for her to invite me into a sense of a larger family as we shared stories of sleepless nights, the art of deciphering different cries, the irresistible cuteness of baby butts. I began to love this spunky, outgoing, little boy; I began to feel connected, to look forward to seeing him. I even began to miss him if I went too long without seeing him. He would squeal with delight when I came over and make my day.

Who would have thought?

Looking back, I can see that widening a net that included me could not have been forced. It was an evolutionary process that was slowly and sometimes painstakingly (emphasis on pain) built upon forgiveness, mutual understanding, and wanting to build a bigger sense of family for the girls and now, for Jacob. We had three very good reasons to try so hard. The last thing any of them needed was another broken family unit and as we all know, the odds aren't in favor of many marriages, especially remarriages.

 

We worked on creating warmth and peace, and eventually, even love between our households. Small presents went both ways between the adults; burned CD's, desserts, birthday cards, a nice shirt the other person might like that was just hanging in our closet. And somewhere during those first few seasons of Jacob's life, one of the greatest honors in the world was bestowed upon me: I was made his honorary aunt. It is one of my proudest titles and most treasured, unusual gifts. I am acutely aware of its rarity, and that makes it even more special.

And so, when I was asked to babysit the "first boy in the family" — of course, I jumped at the chance. I took directions about what to do just like a regular babysitter, knowing I needed to do it their way, instead of mine. With Jacob tucked in my lap, growing drowsy with sleep, I rang with such mixed emotions — a bit of sadness at the permanent duality of our families, but delight at the delicious joy of holding an infant again, thanking the powers that be for helping us all get to this point in such a typically fragile and acrimonious situation.

Jacob recently celebrated his third birthday and indeed, he feels just exactly like my nephew. I look forward to watching his life unfold and hope it's a long, rich and happy one. Unlike previous "official" parties, this one was just a small, but typically raucous family get-together at their house. We watched him stare in amazement as he unwrapped real-life versions of Woody and Buzz Lightyear (Toy Story is his favorite movie) with a whispered "Whoa….", then burst into laughter. Little did I know, years ago, how much this little person would come to mean to me, or how powerfully he would pull us all closer together. Quite an achievement for such a sweet and growing boy.

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine    All Rights Reserved

Relevant posts:

• A Tiny Bridgemaker - Part One
• Extended Families through a Teen's Eyes
  
• A Family Osmosis or, Watching My "Nephew" for the Weekend
• - and +
• Which house would you rather live in?

A Tiny Bridgemaker - Part One

"All I know is, when we have a baby, she can’t see it, hold it, or have anything to do with it. She just needs to stay… away!” Those sentiments belonged to Carol, my children’s stepmother.

Luckily, I wasn't around to hear this.

Because "she" meant… me. 

But now, here I was, lodged in the green velvet chair of the living room, next to a snazzy, new diaper bag full of jammies, clean diapers and an extra bottle. Teething rings were cooling in the freezer. My daughters, M. and S., were happily tucked away in the family room, watching a movie. Six-month old Jacob was leaning heavily back into the crook of my arm drinking from a bottle; big, blue eyes framed by long lashes, looking intently at my face. I gently combed his fine, blonde hair away from his forehead with the tips of my fingers and felt my heart catch. His hands tightly pressed down over mine on the bottle as if to say, you are not allowed to move and he swallowed steadily and loudly. Why have I always loved the sound of babies drinking?

It was all pretty surreal…. 

Quite a leap from there to here. And certainly where I never imagined I’d find myself: babysitting the child of my ex-husband David and his second wife. 

I found out later that Carol’s worries started from the very beginning of their relationship. She wanted kids — but he already had two (and a vasectomy meant they would most likely need to adopt). If it were up to him alone, he would have been “happy with what I’ve got”, but once he understood how important it was to her, it became a priority for him too. The more he thought about what it would actually be like to have another child, the more excited he became, despite memories of intense sleep deprivation and the weight of two other eighteen-year commitments.

Privately though, Carol fretted that he wouldn’t love “their” baby as much as “his own”.  What if he always ending up feeling more connected to his first daughters? Could she bear to see their son or daughter ever for one single moment treated as second best? The very prospect pained her deeply.

And life as the other "hands-on parent" made it even easier for her to daydream about how much better it’d be with her own child. It was the Stepmother’s Curse in action — you work your ass off to win over the children, to try and bring structure and order and harmony to their lives in that woman’s-overview kind of a way, and what do you get in return? They fall down and wail for their mother. They’re rewarded at school and they instinctively run to their dad to celebrate, even though you helped with the project too, maybe even more. You try and give yourself absolutely to your marriage, but some doors never open to receive you, rooms already full and brimming. 

From her vantage point as a woman longing to be a mother, we, the parents, slacked off on some of the hard work, like consistency and consequences; yet reaped all the goodies, like instantaneous forgiveness, unconditional love and affection, and boundless, unreasonable enthusiasm.

My brain had kicked into overdrive when they started dating too.   When I'd heard they were actually going to marry, a part of me panicked.  I fished for details about what she wanted in terms of children in awkward conversations with my ex- (imagine!).  It’s bad enough knowing that your children are going to be exposed on a continuing basis to someone you barely know or approve of, but when you think of her and your ex- adding to their lives—a whole, new family unit that your kids now have to integrate with—truly, the mind boggles. 

She and I were like wary dogs circling each other in the beginning – distrustful, nervous, suspicious.   We had no good reason to think well of the other.   She was young, beautiful, artistically and domestically gifted in spades.  I, well, I was the older, haggard single mother, not so full of promise and the blush of youth anymore, but trying to make do, nevertheless.   Over time, and perhaps out of selfish necessity, we began taking peace-making baby steps in the opposite direction, just to ease some of the nail-biting stress of dealing with each other.   It wasn't easy – we'd proceed along nicely and then some little thing, some perceived slight, would set us back again for weeks or even months.  There'd be strained conversations, little eye contact, knots in the stomach.

And then we'd try again.

Bit by bit, we got to a neutral, casual place; one that you might reserve for neighbors you wave hello to in the morning.  Progress!  And, gradually, it took.  Still, when it came down to cave-woman concerns about my clan and theirs, all those efforts at social lubrication flew out the window.   From that base of cool and efficient self-interest, I flatly didn't care what Carol wanted; matter of fact, I could barely remember. 

 
And when it became apparent that Carol and David were now going to add to their family in earnest, my first line of thinking was, great, but how is this going to affect us financially, on a survival level—our bottom line?   Is more of a burden for unanticipated expenses going to fall on me?   Are they going to become uptight and unreasonable about every little thing?  Is responsibility for the girls going to fall lopsidedly my way? I listened like a hawk for layers of hidden meaning in my daughter’s responses to the possibility, trying to detect their true reactions. I worried about was what was best for them, and honestly, what was best for me. 

 

It doesn't make any sense, but even against the backdrop of such thinking, our friendship continued to grow and became more than superficial chit-chat during drop-offs and pick-ups.  I discovered the person beneath the role, like a wax figure slowly coming to life, and actually looked forward to talking to her.  We connected on the phone in occasional marathon phone sessions and I marveled at the both of us: look!   We're becoming real, honest friends!

Who would have ever thought it possible?

And yet, on another level, it stunk, because now I had a choice to make.   The stronger our friendship, the harder it was to return to my own selfish priorities; I was well aware that a new child might mean something "negative" for our household.   It was an odd conundrum.  If I was going to let Carol in—really reach out to her with acceptance and support, just the way I would a "normal" friend, I'd have to let go of the last vestiges of that us/them mentality and turn it into a collective us. But how? 

And sometimes I had to remind myself: and why?  I didn't want to make any stupid, weak-willed, decisions that I'd regret later—motivated by a desire to please, or avoid conflict — to preserve the young sapling stretching out in the sun, but forget the two plants behind me that were my ultimate charge and calling.

What would win out?

Come back on Monday to read the rest of the story!

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine    All Rights Reserved

Relevant posts:

• Extended Families through a Teen's Eyes
  
• A Family Osmosis or, Watching My "Nephew" for the Weekend
• - and +
• Which house would you rather live in?

One thing you can do when the other woman makes you go "Grrrr..."

How's it going with the ex-wife or stepmom in your world? On a misery scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst, are you pushing an eight? A 9.5? Is the dial turned to eleven? When it comes to pick-ups and drop-offs, does your stomach clench up within two miles of their front door? Five? Does the sound of your phone ringing fill you with dread until you see the other woman's NOT on Caller ID? Are you sick of hearing about how the ex-wife or stepmother "always let's us do it this way at their house" when it comes to TV, the computer or video games, staying up late, chores, homework or junk food? Do you just wish you could just give up, but you can't -- because you're stuck with her? Sometimes, no matter how hard you're trying, no matter how much you're biting your tongue, taking a deep breath, practicing patience, forgiveness, the extreme discipline involved in failing to murder the other woman, things are still… bad. 

Sorry to hear it.

So, what to do?

The only thing you can do.

Tend to the moment. And yourself, away from the whole situation.

Take it a chunk at a time. In bits and pieces. Day by day. I'm talking about getting out there and shaking your little (or big) tush.

Exercise can make you feel so much better. For the most part, it's free; can actually be fun (honest) and doing it for even five minutes makes a difference. Best of all, it diffuses stress like a magic little pill, without side effects!

Carol (the stepmom) and I (the mom) usually get along pretty smashingly, but to help dissolve accumulated stress from my grueling life (writing NYT bestsellers; going on yet another foreign sojourn with my children; sipping mimosas while lovingly surveying my extensive "grounds"; lifting that tiny, but oh-so-heavy silver bell to ring for my personal assistant), I consistently do two sports that I love: rowing and rock climbing.

I started rowing right before I turned 40. I got really sick of driving over Town Lake every day (it's called Town Lake, but it's really a river - the Colorado River to be exact, but not the one in Colorado, very confusing) and seeing all the uber-fit rowers, gliding along the water. I would sigh and long to be out there, but thought you practically had to be a tri-athlete in order to row.  Catch-22.

Long story short, it wasn't as hard as I thought, and after rowing for only about two weeks, I started seeing actual pecs! That alone was enough to sustain me for months while I tried not to row into the trees lining the water -- just self-obsessively gauging pec-progress. Kind of like navel-gazing. But different.

Two years ago, an ex-BF (hi Karl!) introduced me to rock climbing. Hmmm, perhaps now's not a good time to mention the young woman I heard screaming this weekend, a newbie on her second climb. Problem was, this shouldn't have been her second climb, because it was a bit beyond her abilities. She panicked when she fell (a normal, and usually fairly safe part of climbing) and ended up bumping her head as she flailed around, eyes closed. My heart went out to her, not only because she was so terrified that she started crying, but also because my own second climb involved a fall and ended in tears. This is dangerous and stupid, I remember thinking. I'm never doing this again!

Well, now I'm an enthusiastic convert (which could be a whole other essay), but that's not why we're here. We're here to talk about YOU and why YOU should exercise!

Onward.

So... first....

Find something you love to do and enjoy

It might take some experimenting before you really stumble upon something that makes you say "Ahhhh…" at the same time that you're grunting and sweating away, but trust me, the combination is possible.

 

When I'm out on the river and I hear the rhythmic swooshing of the oars; when I smile at the stacked dominoes of turtles sunning themselves on fallen logs and turn my face to the side to let the wind blow away wisps of hair escaping my cap -- all while pushing my legs as hard as possible so I can feel the boat slip along the top of the water with increasing speed -- well, how much better does it get?

 

If you hate working out at gyms, then don't go. Get outside. Explore. Try things out. And  all that sampling is the perfect opportunity to get better at something else....

 

Don't worry about how you look or seem

So you feel like a newbie, ignorant and stupid amidst all the experts. A klutz, dorky and unathletic, or simply fat and out of shape. So you feel like you're spilling out of your clothes in all the wrong places or like you're not even sure what clothes you "should" be wearing. So you may as well have day-glo yellow paint annointing your behind -- who cares?

 

Get used to blowing that feeling off.

 

I'd bet money that feeling stupid or feeling bad about your body are the main reasons people either don't take up exercise, or don't stick with it. Mortification is a temporary experience. De-stressing is worth a few cringe-worthy moments here and there, even if it takes weeks or months for them to finally stop coming.

 

Find something cheap that doesn't require tons of equipment

My initial investment in rock climbing was slightly over a hundred dollars (later on, once I knew I was really into it, I spent more). I can row every day of the week for as long as I want for thirty-six dollars a month, the cost of a really inexpensive gym membership. This is SO MUCH BETTER than signing up for a gym and then berating myself every single day for not going, like I used to. (You'd think all that guilt would have at least burned a few calories, but I doubt it.) Be creative. There are lots of things you can do with a pair of tennis shoes.

 

Do something close to home or at home

Which leads us to location. Tell the truth -- if it's a pain to get there, huffing and puffing's probably not going to happen much, is it? I just happen to live five minutes from the nearest climbing wall outside and seven minutes from the river and know I'm lucky in that respect.

 

Can you ride around your neighborhood or city block, can you make it fun with music you love? Does yoga appeal? Weight-lifting? Are there hiking trails around you? Places to run or ride a bike?  Somewhere you can go shoot hoops?

 

Find other friends to do it with, if possible

Things are always more fun with the occasional buddy. Sometimes, this makes all the difference between fear and drudgery and procrastination -- and a shared learning curve, a good laugh, and ultimately, commitment. I've made some really close friends through both climbing and rowing (nothing like putting your life in someone else's hands to forge a bond!). It's helpful to pair up with someone who's on the same level, but not absolutely necessary. It’s good to learn, but it's nice to teach too.

Do it on a regular basis

Face it, you're always going to be tired - in the morning, after work, on a Saturday or Sunday morning. But the secret trick about exercise is that once you do it consistently for about a week or two, it starts giving you energy. All of a sudden you stop having so many mid-afternoon comatose crashes. You bounce back a little easier when you wake up early. Exercise is the gift that keeps on giving. Give it a chance to prove it and ignore your excuses.

Don't do it on a regular basis

Enh. Just like anything in life, your routine, time and wherewithal will falter. When I first started rowing three years ago, I was so afraid I'd permanently "fall off the wagon" if I didn't exercise every. single. day.  So I rowed in 30 degree weather on dark winter mornings, in the wind, in the rain (okay if there's no lightening). I rowed through colds and nights with little sleep. Now I know I can have a few bouts of non-exercise, lasting weeks, or god forbid, even a month or two. I trust that I'll always come back to it, because it's something I genuinely love and miss when I don't do it.

 

Do it on a tiny basis

Even if you can only get down on the floor and stretch for seven minutes, or jog in place for ten. Even if you can only hop on your bike for a quick jaunt, or have time to do a fifteen minute walk -- do it. Your body will thank you. Your monkey-mind will thank you (and shut up for a bit, instead of harping on everything that's wrong in your life). Your levels of emotional angst will drop and your feeling of strength will rise -- yes, EVEN IF you're struggling with someone else you can't stand on a daily basis.

Is there a correlation between stress relief and how well you might end up getting along with the ex-wife or stepmom that you're "stuck" with? Absolutely. Even if nothing else changes and she stays as impossible as ever, things are already better in the moment because YOU are.

Have fun and I'd love to hear about how you exercise, or any other stress reduction techniques that work for you.

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine    All Rights Reserved

Relevant posts:

• How to stop hating the ex-wife or stepmother in your life in seven simple steps
• The Joy of Being Judgmental!

Extended Families through a Teen's Eyes

Well, I thought I'd do a Vulcan mind-meld with my eldest daughter, S. to see if she had any staggering insights into life in an "extended family" and she basically looked at me as if I were wearing pants that reached all the way up to my tattered pocket protector.  (What's wrong with pocket protectors?  Ink stains are hard to remove!)  Our conversation lasted all of about five antsy minutes, but it's posted in full for your edification nevertheless. 

Jen: So... uh.... How do you feel about living in a family where all the adults basically get along? Where the two women are friends?

S: I'm not really affected by it anymore, I never really think about it. Actually… I guess it is kind of weird. Most adults in this kind of situation can't stand each other.

Jen: Hmmm..... (curious, waiting to hear a nice, juicy explanation)  Why do you think that is?

S: Because they went through hell when they got divorced. I probably wouldn't try to get along with the other person if I were them either. You just want to let all of that go and not have anything more to do with them….  But I guess you need to try for the kids.

Jen: So you're saying more parents should make the effort? 

S: Kids shouldn't have to be in the middle, like the messengers. It sucks.

(Silence for a few moments.  We stare at each other.)

Jen: Okay then!  What's one good thing about us getting along?

S: Well, I don't have to deal with it NOT working, like some of my other friends.

(She looks longingly at the door.)

Jen: What about disadvantages?

S: It feels more like having three or four parents, instead of just two. And two's enough! I mean I love Carol, but geez…. You guys… (rolls eyes)

She's free to go.  I sigh.

Pretty earth-shattering, huh?  I don't know what I was expecting (oh, who am I kidding?  It was to be a two-hour love-fest, replete with peppermint tea, maybe a few slices of heavily-buttered toast for fortification, lots of hugs and tears at the end, and if we were lucky, the braiding of daisies into each other's hair). 

But this is what I got.

Perhaps the fact that conversation was so decidedly angst-free is a sign in and of itself.

Yeah.  That's what I'm going with....

Well, on a much PERKIER note, Carol's painting, Swiss Cheese and Grapes, placed in the Top 50 (out of 300) at the 2008 Salon International Show in San Antonio last week.  It's a juried competition and tough to get into.  Carol had TWO paintings in the show and we're all really proud of her.  GO CAROL!!!! 

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine     All Rights Reserved

Relevant posts:

• A Family Osmosis or, Watching My "Nephew" for the Weekend
• - and +
• Which house would you rather live in?

Stepmoms and Teens

Feel like you could sometimes throttle your teen stepchild(ren)?  How about your own child?!  Stepmother's Milk features a not-to-be-missed interview with Emily Bouchard (Ms. April, but not to worry, she's clothed), detailing her life as a stepmom with two teenage daughters. She does a great job of being honest about not only the nitty-gritty details of life with aliens--um, I mean, teens, but also the positive experiences that are possible.

Here's an excerpt:

"...It may sound odd, but the hardest thing for me to learn was the liberating notion that it’s okay to have the teenagers in your life hate you, not like you, disapprove of you, distrust you, and be disgusted by you. Learning to let go of needing their love, acceptance, or approval was the most important lesson for me. Of all the things I emphasize in my coaching with stepparents is to NOT TAKE IT PERSONALLY!"

To read more, go here.

(Haven't had the chance to post much new content - swamped a bit with freelance work.  New stuff coming Thursday!)

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine All Rights Reserved

Related Posts:

• Staying Connected with the Little Ones
• Give me a parenting manual and I'll throw it away
• Real life and bikinis

Calling all ex-wives and bio-moms

I don't get it. Where are all the ex-wives?

I took a look around the ethers for other websites having to do with what I call blended families, or e-x-t-e-n-d-e-d families -- and all I could come up with were sites for stepfamilies, or anthropological sites analyzing multi-generational families in other countries.

I did get one reference to the The challenges for Mom & Stepmom on urbanMamas, a Portland, OR-based site.

I did a search for ex-wife blogs and came across one that's entertainingly written and really extensive, detailing their nightmarish run-ins with a ex- who suffers from mental illness.  There are millions of mentions of celebrity divorces (Eddie Murphy, Paul McCartney, Bobbie Brown) and lots of references to a Serbian farmer who insisted on cutting his farming gear, literally, in half before he split his property with his ex-wife.

"Single mother" yielded even fewer results, though I've now bookmarked (Single Mother on the Verge, go check it out, she's a gas).  I thought I had maybe landed in the wrong place, at first, given the blonde model in a bikini, but no, it was an entry about boob envy.  I'm a bit of an Anglophile, so I got sucked right in.

If anyone knows about any other sites devoted to extended/blended families (and what should we call these things?!) besides the ones listed left, will you let me know?!  Thanks!

© 2008 Jennifer Newcomb Marine All Rights Reserved