If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.   ~Audre Lorde

Multi-taksing Stats: Gosh, it’s been years since I’ve done this, but here goes…I posted this whilst grading, tweeting, lounging on the couch thinking about the red velvet waffles I’m going to make in celebration of a milestone later this month and being underwhelmed by the leftover salmon I had for dinner tonight, and helping my bonus daughter with her math homework over the phone.

ETA…A couple of friends have asked about the chicken and red velvet waffles.  Read on to see what they look like (WARNING: Do not blame me when you can’t focus for the rest of the day.)

I got the idea from this guy, who got the recipe from this woman. My stomach thanks them both in advance.

America

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,

And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,

Stealing my breath of life, I will confess

I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!

Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,

Giving me strength erect against her hate,

Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.

Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,

I stand within her walls with not a shred

Of terror, malice not a word of jeer.

Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,

And see her might and granite wonders there,

Beneath the touch of Time=s unerring hand,

Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.

Claude Mckay, from Harlem Shadows,

copyright, 1922, Harcourt, Brace & Co.

(I’m sick. I have deadlines. Pardon the brevity.)

As a kid, I was always the last one to learn a dance, if I ever learned.  I remember practicing The Spank and The Smurf in my grandparents living room for over an hour one summer.  But I never did get the hang of the Roger Rabbit or the Running Man, which, for an ’80s baby is akin to heresy.

I basically have one move: shaking my hips and making sure I look good doing it. Nevertheless, I’ve danced more with FBH in the 5 years we’ve been together than I did in all the previous 35 years combined.  He makes me feel like dancing, what can I say?

At home, my bonus kids get in on the action, and our living room becomes The Club.  The kids like to show off their moves, and fall out laughing at their dad and me (mostly me).   But sometimes, they take pity on me. Like this text I received from one of them: “‘Teach Me How to Dougie’ just came on…you will learn this weekend!”

I’m so excited! She hasn’t given up on me.  My previous attempt at dougie lessons ended up with her shaking her head. But she believes in me, so dougie we shall!

And maybe after that, I can learn how to Wobble (I’m always about 1.5 years behind these dances):

But what I can always share and celebrate and revel in is their love for me and mine for them.

This is my comfort today. Despite the many things I cannot change,  no amount of eye-rolling or lies can change the fact that I enjoy a close, loving relationship with my husband’s children.  They are treasures in my life. I treasure the mundane and special moments we share, our talks, silly texts, and inside jokes.  I have never, ever, ever wanted to take their mother’s place.  Instead, the children have created a space for me in their lives and in their hearts, and for that I’m grateful.  Children have a boundless amount of love to give and they can never have too many people in their lives who love and care for them.

All children are gifts. Just showing up in a child’s life doesn’t entitle you to anything.  Giving birth doesn’t either.  How we love children teaches them how to love others.   How we treat children teaches them what they can and should expect from others.  A child’s love is a humbling thing. All we can do as adults is try and be worthy and embrace the gift when children open their hearts to us.

I’m grateful for the four girls who freely choose to open their hearts to me.  I believe my children love me for the same reason my bonus children do: Not because I’m their mother and they’re obligated to love me, but rather because they choose to love me.  Being a mother doesn’t entitle me to anything that I don’t prove worthy of by my actions and commitment.  And obligatory love is no love at all.   No one is owed a child’s love. Even, or perhaps especially, biological parents shouldn’t take this gift for granted.  None of us have that kind of time.

We have a saying in our  family, one that TechBooHusband and I share with each other, and that we’ve passed along to the kids: “I don’t always like you, but I always love you.”  I was texting with my bonus daughters today and one of them wrote, “Okay…stepparent who loves and likes me .”  She understands that love is a choice, that we’ve chosen to open our hearts to each other, and that this is a special thing.  And with that reminder, I had to get out of my earlier funk: I am blessed.

As usual, time with FedBooHusband leaves me feeling some kind of way. Several kinds of ways actually. Wistful, always wishing we had more time. But then resolute that things are they way they have to be because of the commitment we both happily make as parents.  And then wistful again because our time together is like oxygen, fuel.  Our time, his love…they move me forward.

I was talking with a friend recently and she was lamenting something in her marriage that I knew all-too-well in my first marriage: That running on empty feeling, and the inevitable crash and burn that comes with it.  It feels good now to be full.  FBH is fond of saying, “We’re not perfect. But we’re perfect for each other.”  And he’s right, because whatever challenges we face, we face them together, and he keeps my tank full which is exactly what I need.

FBH and I have a standing joke; we say:  “You know, I love you today and I like you.”  So…I’m feeling really, really in love this morning, and really in like too.  When I feel things strongly, sometimes I struggle to find the words to express it.  Or rather, the words that do come to mind feel inadequate, so I look for others’ words, to capture what I’m feeling.  To affirm and, in this case, celebrate it.  On love, Anaïs Nin is my go-to woman:

“Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.”

“Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.”

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”

“The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.”

This morning, these words are my meditations, my prayers of thanksgiving.  I’m ready to start my day.

Our whole family vacation at Cedar Point, 2010

When our oldest daughter Taylor approached El Ex and me with the idea for an all-kids episode of “Co-Parenting Matters”, we thought it was a genius idea (not that we’re biased on anything). She said, “Co-parenting is for the kids, so kids should talk about it, right?”

Right! So our kids are taking over the next episode of “Co-Parenting Matters”! Join our daughters, Taylor (13) and Peyton (8), and my stepdaughter Lauren (almost 13) as they answer kids’ questions about co-parenting, give shout-outs to co-parents from their kids, and offer some Kid-Approved New Year’s Resolutions for Co-Parents.

Does your kid have a co-parenting question or want to give a shout-out? Send them our way: info@coparenting101.org, or post a comment below.

We hope you and your kids will tune in for a very special show at a very special kid-friendly time, 6 PM EST, Sunday December 18th!

Last night, after a Thanksgiving brunch that left FedBooHusband and me feeling like we could never eat again, we got a call from some friends, a couple FBH has known for years.  They invited us to come over and “Come hungry!”  The idea of any more food made us weak, but we enjoy hanging out with this couple, so we went.  I am especially thankful for their invitations because even though they were friends with FBH and his ex-wife, they have always been warm and welcoming toward me.

After catching up with K, the woman half of the couple, on her pregnancy (she’s due next month), the conversation turned to someone we both know who has been spiraling down over the last few years.  “What happened to her?” K asked, somewhat rhetorically.  While there are many issues at play, this person’s divorce seems to have been the beginning of the downward spiral in which  she’s made a series of ill-advised choices, including another problematic marriage, and her children are suffering.  K, who has never been divorced, asked me what made the difference for me, how was I able to pick myself up after divorce.  I told her that while I’d certainly had my less-than-stellar, “What the hell was I thinking?” moments in the fallout, two things I can say for sure: I never put my children in jeopardy or neglected them, and eventually, I bounced back.

But “bouncing back” makes it sound like it was easy.  It wasn’t. But I’m fairly certain my behavior didn’t have people wondering, “What happened to her?”  The difference, I believe, is being honest about the divorce.  Divorce hurt.  It was embarrassing.  And because my kids were impacted, it was frightening. I worried what divorce would mean for them.  This fear and my commitment as a mother propelled me forward: I wanted to do everything I could to help my kids not only survive but thrive despite that fact that our family, as we had known it, was no longer in tact.  My devotion to my kids created a wall of protection, around all of us.  My stupid mistakes post-separation/divorce didn’t ruin us because while I didn’t always make the best decisions for myself, my kids were spared the consequences of my stumbles.

“I was honest,” I told K.  “Even when the truth didn’t paint me in the best light, I was honest about my pain, my mistakes, and my fears, with a small group of people I trusted.  I didn’t walk around pretending like the divorce matter or didn’t hurt.”  If I didn’t acknowledge the hurt, I could never have moved past it. I refused to flail around or posture at my kids’ expense.  I didn’t broadcast my troubles to the world, but neither did I feel the need to lie about my well-being to people who cared about me. So I had to be honest and ask for the help I needed–from friends, family, and kindly therapists.  I wish I could say that I was motivated to do this for myself but truly, at my lowest points, my kids were my primary motivation.

“The other thing,” I said to K, “was that I didn’t need marriage in order to feel worthy.”  I am remarried, but I had also been open to the possibility of never marrying again.  I didn’t need marriage to make me feel whole or respectable. Divorce was embarrassing to me for a time, but not shameful.  Shame lingers and keeps healing from happening. The shame of divorce or feeling of loneliness can push people into rebound or reckless dating–or worse, rebound marriage.  In the case of Ms. “What happened to her?”, her rush into a rebound marriage has brought with it many problems and obligations, compounding already rough post-divorce circumstances,.  I’ve always believed that there are far worse things in life than being alone.  Loneliness drove me to some “What the hell was I thinking?” dating situations that served to confirm this belief, ultimately.  These situations also helped me to clarify my values and priorities.  They were mistakes that I learned from.

In the end, K and I couldn’t say with certainty “what happened to her.”  We can only make some guesses from the outside looking in.  But the conversation led me to look inward.  I was reminded of a conversation I had recently with Talibah Mbonisi, my sister-friend, and “Co-Parenting Matters” co-host.  We were talking about parenting and how it’s not our job as parents to spare our children all of life’s bumps, bruises, and disappointments.  It’s our job to model for them that it’s possible to navigate the inevitable responsibly, with grace and maturity.

So if my children or anyone else looks at me and wonders “What happened to her?”, I want them to see that life happened, divorce happened…and I picked myself up and kept going.  I want them to see that I pulled on my Big Girl Panties and set my life’s Plan B into motion.  I want them to see that despite our break-up, I honor my children’s relationships with their dad.  I want them to see that  instead of throwing pity parties, I move forward and try to handle stress and change and disappointment like a grown-up.  This is what I want to my children to see: that divorce was not the end of me.