ridin' the waves

Eliza is truly a beach babe... and Joe, well he's a bum.

{Click the picture to see more}

Taking Eliza boogie boarding could have gone either way. There could have been much resistance on her part, begging and pleading 0n ours. We probably would have told her that she won't get hurt, that it will be the most fun she's ever had. Then, we would be proven wrong... she would get sand-burned, get sand in the eyes, salt water in the nose... and I would be thinking "god forbid the water might actually touch our skin. "

Drama did not ensue since it "went the other way." I cannot express how grateful I am that she absolutely loved boogie boarding. She now has something to do at the beach besides searching for sea shells and running away from the last remains of a wave, the minute aftermath of a wave crashing 10 feet away. She dove right into boogie boarding. She didn't even want help. She would ride the waves in like a pro (if there are indeed pro boogie boarders). She did walk away with a few sand-burns on her knees (like rug-burns) and got salt water in her eyes and nose more than a few times. She did not, however, allow that to keep her from running right back out to be attacked by another wave. Way to go baby!

step-moms unite

{I have to add an aside, a pre-script, if you will. I found another step-mom site, Step Chicks, that is also positive and reassuring.There are some inspiring step-moms out there that are the creating and providing best possible situation for their families. Best of luck and wishes to all of you out there. I added the link at the bottom of the page under "moms."}

I Recently took some time to look at blogs and forums for step-moms. "Stepmother's Milk" is the only one I found that I really enjoy. Izzy is witty and insightful. She has the unique ability to bring step-moms together in a positive way. Part of the reason I enjoy her blog is because she is a successful and independent woman who does not use her blog to vent. She relays no hostility or jealousy of the children's real-mom. (I like to call Brigitta the "real-mom" and me the "other-mom.") A few years back this would have been like being lost at sea and finding the only buoy. At this point, it's simply enjoyable, since Brigitta and I seem to have created a positive relationship.


The other step-mom sites I found are discouraging. I stopped looking at them because they tend to become "bio-mom" bashing episodes. I was surprised at how many step-moms out there write to the world about how horrible and difficult the real-mom is. They discuss on public forums the faults and shortcomings of the mother of their step-children. They even use alienating terminology used, such as "bio-mom," with the guise of allowing for anonymity.


Perhaps it is unfair that I criticize these blogs. I was definitely there. I'm just glad that I reserved my hostile venting for my dear friends. [These friends were my salvation during the first, most difficult, years. I could not thank them enough for all of the unpleasantries that I allowed to consume our time together.] Who knows, maybe blogging these frustrations is better than pouring it onto a friend. I understand that talking about the feelings experienced as a step-mom is helpful, because I would have been institutionalized by now if I wasn't able to do that. I just feel that publishing this animosity onto a public domain is not the healthiest option. I would feel ashamed at merely the thought of the real-mom stumbling upon my blog.


Looking at these blogs reminded me of how difficult being a step-mom can be. Some of their questions and experiences are so similar to what I experienced. It's emotionally confusing to be the "other-mom." At times, you feel like you can't fully discuss your feelings with your husband, because when you do they feel guilty for creating the situation. The spouse has no way to know how it feels to come second, they are a real parent. No one, other than a fellow step-mom, knows how it feels to be incessantly compared to the "real-mom." It's difficult to have everything compared to the real-mom's perfection. You already know that you will never take the place of their mom and you are constantly reminded that you also don't measure up. Feelings of jealousy often rage inside, and knowing that your child loves you doesn't take that completely away. I love Eliza as my own, and knowing that I am not "her own" is difficult to embrace.


This is why I understand these blogs. I respect that they are trying to create a safe place to vent. There are real benefits of feeling a sense of community and having other step-moms to consult. Because as I mentioned, there is no one else that will understand your situation quite as well.


It's still unsettling to see so many women becoming trapped in a community where their anger and jealousy is nurtured and reinforced. I cannot see what benefit that has in the long run. In the end, I hope or believe that every step-mom wants to create a stable relationship with the real-mom. You are all parents of this child (or children), and maintaining a healthy relationship is the only way to ensure the best environment for the child.


It took me a long time to reach the place I am now. For the first year or so, I saw everything that Brigitta did in relation to Eliza as selfish. Everything appeared to be for her convenience. When situations would arise between her and Joe I would become defensive and angry, as if she had personally offended me. Everything was personal. Everything seemed to be about me. That may be the biggest difficulty with transitioning into a blended family. Each parenting decision made in Brigitta's home was open to attack. I loved Eliza and all of the decisions we made in our home was for her best interest, but I was failing to see that that could also be the case in her Mom's home. I failed to realize that while I was struggling with the transition into a blended family, Brigitta must have been as well. At times, she may have been selfish, I don't know. But that's exactly the point, I don't know. I can't assess whether any of her decisions were good or not. It's not even my place to do so. Maybe that's the real point. It's not my place, and as a parent we all make mistakes or decisions that no one else gets to weigh-in on. At that time especially, it was not my place to worry about parenting decisions made in her home. Even if there were times that decisions were not ideal, I could have allowed her the understanding that she was transitioning into a complicated, newly blended family as well. Instead of pining over the top position, step-moms should be trying to understand that the real-moms are undergoing similar difficulties. In fact, some of her struggles may have been more difficult. I can't imagine the anguish she must have felt when Eliza would mix up "Mom" and "Michelle." As a real-mom, knowing that someone else is spending more time with your child than you cannot be easy. Far worse would be the moment you realize she views that "step-mom" as another mom. It was difficult for me to be incessantly compared to Brigitta. Again, I failed to consider that she was also being compared.


With all of these difficulties there are legal difficulties, there are questions of changing living arrangements, methods of disciplining, and other endless concerns. Many of these decisions, if not all, were difficult to sort out in the beginning. For a while, I dreamed of moving far away, away from her… far enough away that we could have our "own" lives. Then, things changed. They changed slowly, but looking back it seems to be almost overnight. I began to respect her… One day, we sat down for coffee. I explained some concerns I was having at the time. I was surprised to find that she was very pleasant and discussed the situation honestly and openly. From there, I began to let go of that consuming jealousy. I still find myself comparing myself to some of her accomplishments or attributes, but I loosened my grip of the jealousy of her relationship with Eliza. I began to appreciate what she has gone through as a mother. I was able to respect her decisions and opinions fully. I no longer felt weighed down by anger.


Similarly, I think that Brigitta underwent some changes. As time went on I think we both matured in respect to how we viewed each other. I hope that I am not wrong in saying so. It just seems that we both became accustomed to our new family, in its entirety. In fact, I think we both began to appreciate and care for each other.


I could write about the development of our complex blended family endlessly. The major point here is: although it has been difficult, we did it. I realize I have just some of my family and close friends reading my blog, but just on the chance that some step-mom out there might stumble upon this…. We did it. So can you. Don't waste your life feeling angry and competitive. Don't throw things onto your blog that you'll wish you could take back. Use your family and friends for support, and get on with your life. Vent, but remember that eventually you might feel hypocritical for any judgments you cast. Try to find empathy for your counter-mom. She just might do the same for you. She brought that beautiful child to life, and no matter how many reasons you believe you have to be angry and even combative, nothing changes that. As the mom she deserves more. As the step-mom, so do you. Create a bond. Find reasons to love her. She will be in your life forever.

she's got the whole world in her hands.

Eliza has had many answers for what she wants to be when she grows up. The newest is photographer. She used to answer with "Maybe a dancer and a rock climber and a professional snowboarder and a soccer player and an artist and a teacher." I think she still wants to be any one of these things.

She is entering a photography contest through National Geographic Kids. She has some great pictures so far. She has taken pictures at the zoo here in Florida, on a hike in Utah, and in St. Louis of the arch.

Look at this little photographer. She's so very serious.

re-vamped... again

I have been obsessively changing my blog. If you noticed, you may have thought, "She has become a nerd." It's not that I have become a nerd per se, but that I have become friendless. So, until my classes actually got underway with reading assignments, I pathetically devoted myself to fixing my blog. Tonight I have actual assigned reading to do.

Friendless might mean nerd, right?

just you wait

I would cry, inconsolably. I would feel as although I couldn't take a breath because the crying was consuming. Dad would hold me close, gently rocking. "Michelle, what's wrong?" He would beg me to tell him what thoughts were going through my head. The tears would momentarily subside. The thoughts would become clear within my mind. I would not voice any of these thoughts. In my mind they were not clear enough. Still too jumbled. It wouldn't make sense if I say it out loud. It's just giving up. He wants me to say it out loud and I can't. I just can't. The cries would start again, but louder. Dad would be frustrated, lovingly so. He would get up and ask me again, to just tell him why I'm so upset. "I'm upset because I can't tell you! I'm upset because my thoughts are trapped inside of me." I just sit there and cry. Too upset to look at him. He probably thinks I'm ignoring him. He tells me, as if he just lost a battle, resigned to the fact that I'll not talk to him, "I can't just sit here if you're not going to talk to me." He leaves the room and I'm heart-broken. He's given up and doesn't even realize I was about to say it! I was about to open my lips and explain myself! I sob uncontrollably until I fall asleep.

Later on in life... I always had a messy room. As did most teenagers. I still believe that Kelli's was usually messier than mine. Either way I loved to tell my parents, "It's my room! Don't open the door if you don't want to see it." My parents would usually say something to the effect of "You just wait until you have your own kids." Statements like this (from any parent) always imply that one day they'll get their revenge. Your kids will be worse. Or worse, the same. You will understand why they make you clean your room once you're the parent.

For me it reminds me of the pain and frustration I often brought upon my parents. The crying would ensue over shoe laces that were not tied just so. I liked the loops and tails to be of even length. It would begin over sibling arguments. Over bumps in the hair. Over pennies lost in a store. I've heard these stories many times throughout the years. Always with a look of relief that I turned out so well. The "just you wait" reminds me that my own future child may be just as emotionally inept.

Eliza is not this way. She's not biologically mine. But at times, remembering what I felt like in those "trapped words" moments, helps me to understand her. Her first day of first grade she cried because her khaki pants had a bump above the button hole. She was afraid that the other kids would see this. I assured her that everyones jeans do this. That it's "normal" for the button hold material to stick out a bit at the top. She said "I've never noticed your pants doing that." I remember how I liked my socks rolled a very particular way and just try to reassure her that no one else will know that it's bothering her.

We were at our favorite pizza joint last night. Eliza was so hungry she was getting quite ornery (That I understand all too well!) Looking at the menu, I ask her "Do you want meat on your pizza?" She says "No." Joe asks her, "So, you just want vegetables on your pizza?" She looks exasperated... "Well, I don't even know what there is to have." Her voice has gotten quiet. Tears are on their way. Joe asks, "Do you want pepperoni?" She looks a little relieved and nods. "Did you know pepperoni is meat?" "No." Okay, we've gotten somewhere. By this point I am quite frustrated. If you don't know that pepperoni is meat, then what do you think it's classified as? If you want pepperoni and don't think it's meat or vegetable than just ask for pepperoni!

We ask her if she wants mozzarella sticks. We get a shrug of the shoulders. We ask again. "I guess," she responds as if she's given up on food altogether. I say, "Eliza, what does that mean? Do you want them or do they just sound okay? Would you rather have something else?" This was way too much! "I want mozzarella sticks!"

After dinner is through I find out that she really wanted bread sticks.

These times I have to remember that sometimes our words are just stuck in our minds as children. Sometimes as adults, too. I have to remember that asking extended questions doesn't help. I have to remember that little girl on her daddy's lap just wanting so badly to say what's in her head. I have to remember to wait... to find new ways to ask what she wants on her pizza.

behavior analysis

I love seeing the principles of behavior analysis at work in my daily routines (and in others'). On the most fundamental level, behavior analysis operates on the assumption that behaviors are preceded by certain antecedants or stimuli and followed by a consequence. This consequence can either increase or decrease the likelihood that this behavior will occur again. If it increases the likelihood of the behavior it is a reinforcer and if it decreases the likelihood of the behavior occurring in the future than it is a punisher. That is enough information for me to get on with the fascination. Eliza has, knowingly, been a case study of mine since I am constantly using the principles of behavior to my benefit in parenting.

Our prior apartment was two-story. At bedtime, I would tell Eliza to go get her pajamas on and brush her teeth. Inevitably she would get her pjs on and come back down. For a split second I would wonder whether she was superhuman. Then, I would realize that there's no way in Hell she managed to brush her teeth. (and if she had, certainly not for 2 mintes). I would then ask her "Eliza, did you brush your teeth?" If she answered "Yes," I would explain why I knew that she hadn't. She quickly learned to say "No." The problem behavior consistently occurred after the next exchange. I would tell her to go back upstairs and brush her teeth. This was invariably followed by an audible moan of despair, then by a stomping up the stairs I am certain our neighbors were aware of. Once, she even sobbed, "I already walked all the way up the stairs once!" As a future behavior analyst I looked for the function of this behavior. Was she reinforced by a reaction I had given her? Did she believe, from other similar behaviors, that I would let her escape from this task? I decided to take care of that right away. A behavior analyst cannot allow their child to grow up with contingencies that increase the occurrence of such socially inappropriate behavior! I began to require her to re-do the exchange and re-walk the stairs-- without the sighing and stomping. This is, of course, just one example. Clearly it worked or I wouldn't be going into behavior analysis. She no longer stomps around or moans with despair when she has to go back to brush her teeth.

Have no fear... I have not altered the essence (this word makes me groan inside as a BA) of Miss Eliza. She still rolls her eyes and yes, sighs in mock despair. I love the drama that tiny beautiful girl can dish. The sarcasm that drips heavily, like molassas, from her lips...

Recently I have been trying to increase the "loud voice." Miss Eliza's "soft voice" is well known and I am trying to get that girl to talk with confidence. We'll see... maybe I'll carry some m&ms in my pocket and give her one each time she speaks clearly. wink.

UPDATE: I may actually be carrying skittles or m&ms in my pocket. I just finished reading this post aloud to this Miss Eliza girl and she is literally drooling on my shoulder. Jumping on the bed exclaiming "Really???? Really??? I can have m&ms???" "Maybe even a big butterfinger in your pocket????"

check it yo

Just across the street.

In our parking lot.

Hurricane within a pot hole.

Just outside of our door.

To the side of the road.

tropical storm Fay

"Entertainment box. Has a bunch of entertainment. I'm going to organize my entertainment box, Michelle. Yes, isn't it lovely. Oooh, let's see... what can Piggie do? Piggie can play with these rocks that are too big to fit in his mouth. Cuz that's exactly what he would do with them. I'm giving Suzie and Piggie their entertainment. And that bag. Oh there it is. He he he he. This is very secret. It's just a bunch of words, so it's not actually secret. And here are some stickers. Piggie do you want a sticker? Piggie does not want a sticker. And doorknob will be holding this sign. It's what my palace is called. I'm joking. I'll find what my palace is called. This is the W palace. Doorknob is on lookout. And she'll tell the guards if anyone's coming. YAAY! This is not entertainment. It's boring entertainment. So it's not even entertainment. Here, you can have this entertainment. It's not entertaining. Here, I must give swords to all the guards. One eared bunny, hold your sword. One eared bunny doesn't need a sword. Here's Hop's sword and Caramel's sword. Sundial's sword is in his mouth. And one eared bunny, I'm sorry but you cannot have a sword, because you just sit there for no reason. Entertainment box is wonderful. Entertainment box is very wonderful." Indistinct singing.

Maybe we've been indoors for too long. Maybe Eliza just has a wonderful imagination. Maybe she's crazy. Maybe things sound crazy when you only record one side of the story or conversation.

the neighbor who knew too much

I know that my neighbor does not use toilet paper when he pees. You may be wondering, "How can she know this?" I'll explain... but realize that once you have this information your life may be at risk as well.

I can hear my neighbor pee. It's clearly a male because the sound of a long stream hitting the bowl of water is very distinct. Much like filling my watering can with the hose held a couple of feet above. I can even hear the last drips from him shaking it dry. Guaranteed: he does not use toilet paper.

home sweet home

We hired a moving company to help us move. Much better than driving a U-Haul. Especially since we would have needed the largest size they rent and I wouldn't trust myself driving one of those. That would leave Joe driving from Utah to Florida on his own with an ornery wife and 8 year old daughter trying to sleep in the front of a lousy U-Haul truck across the country.

Still, we seem to have hired the wrong moving company, as they still have our stuff in a storage unit in Las Vegas. They were supposed to load our stuff onto a bigger truck with other people's stuff the day that we left. This is fantastic. Eliza asks when her stuff will come (because she insists she is bored out of her mind even with the beach and the pool and the zoo and...) At least Eliza's air-mattress is in the proper location of her bedroom. We finally finished painting her room. She chose all of the colors and the pattern herself. She helped through the whole process- from taping up the room to throwing out the plastic trays. She's so excited for school to start so she can plan a slumber party in her cool new room with friends. You should check it out. I'm not posting the pictures on my blog since she has already done that on her own.

the pillows are always too big.

I'm sitting here watching Joe and Eliza watch Back to the Future. One of them. The one with the Western theme. Doc is now trying to help the woman he loves make it onto the next part of the train. Dramatic. Joe and Eliza are so cute watching so intently. They both have their legs crossed and their hands folded on top of their bellies. Lying on the bed propped up on the fluffy hotel pillows. That's the thing. We have been staying in hotels every night on this trip and the pillows are always so blasted fluffy. too fluffy. Joe would disagree I am sure because he always has to have 2 of them whether they are fuffy or not. Even the nicer hotels have these huge ass pillows. What's up with that?

Eliza doesn't seem to mind about the pillows, she's just excited that we are staying in hotels. The first two nights they were nothing to speak of. A little on the dumpy side. We're talking Super 8 here. Literally. Last night was a sweet hotel. (as Eliza would say). Hotwire is killer. Tonight we are staying right on the beach in a nice hotel so that in the morning Eliza can experience what will soon become her beach bummin,' surfer girl sweet spot. I'm so amazed by her. She has been simply delightful on this long road trip. We stopped by the St. Louis arch. Eliza went wild. She's been taking pictures so that she can enter this Discovery Kids photography contest. She took 52 pictures of the arch and the Missouri River. She is pretty sure that she will win a prize.

The last 3 nights there have been beautiful thunder storms. Last night and the night before were midwest storms. Eliza had never seen such lightening or rain. The rain was falling like it did in Kansas when I was a child. Buckets of water falling on the car. Lightening that seems to strike the ground just in front of you. Lightening that lights up the entire sky without a visible bolt... I think she loved it like I used to. Tonight it was a smaller storm but there was lightening over the ocean in Florida. She seemed to enjoy watching it more than the nights before. The bigger storm might have made her a little nervous. It's funny because I don't remember being afraid of it. I always loved the sound of rain on my window and crashing thunder and bright flashes of light. Florida should have some good storms for her to learn to love. Hopefully not hurricanes.