The Harvest

Looking out the window I can see that the autumn leaves are falling fast. They are accumulating in random colourful patterns across my “in desperate need of a mow” lawn. For me this is a sure sign that the holidays are quickly approaching. It never fails that once they arrive I feel like I am constantly pressed for time.  I can never seem to get all that I would like done accomplished. Come to think of it, that sounds like my life’s story the remaining days of the year too! Regardless of my obvious poor time management, I do love the holiday season and the hustle and bustle that it brings.

This Thanksgiving I am going to be ready. Today I sit and plan the dishes for the day; I salivate as I leaf through my favorite recipes. I think this years Ella Mental menu will include Herb Roasted Brined Turkey, Cranberry and Sausage Cornbread Stuffing, Garlic-Parmesan Mashed Potatoes, Roasted Autumn Vegetables, Savory Turkey Gravy with Yorkshire Pudding, Cranberry Chutney, Pumpkin Cheesecake, and a crisp bottle (or two) of Pinot Noir to aide in tackling the preparation of this delectable feast.

Personally, I feel that great food is one of the key elements that contribute to the foundation of a happy and healthy home. So, it is a good thing that I love to cook! Cooking is one of those instantly gratifying pleasures I like to indulge in daily and it has become my art form-or as my waist would say, “body form!”  I confess, I am Ella Mental, and I am a food-oholic!  I am guilty of loving all of the delightful pleasures that it brings-and there is nothing better than when my kitchen is filled with mouth-watering aromas, the laughter of Super-girl as she dances in and out for taste tests and samples, the too many cooks (my family) stumbling around each other to help. Yes, in our home it would seem that food has become the tie that binds.  I look forward to this Thanksgiving, the gathering of us quirky and authentic souls surrounded by a scrumptious abundance.  It feeds my heart, my belly, and my soul, and I am so very grateful!

Of course, it wasn’t always this way; I can remember a time that the holidays brought with it platefuls of rotten emotions and a heaping of distasteful things. That first Thanksgiving with Mi hombre and his Spanish brood did not resemble  anything pleasant or grateful. Instead, with it came enough mounds of insecurities, irrational emotions and resentment that would have flattened even the finest of chef’s soufflés. It was a series of disasters; not the typical Thanksgiving disasters one would normally encounter like an accidental charbroiled bird or the family dog eating the stuffing off the counter. No, it was nothing of that sort. Lets just say that when Thanksgiving arrived that year I was ready to stuff more than a turkey, I was ready to stuff my whole relationship.

I can still recall myself sitting on the kitchen floor crying between my charred parmesan potatoes and a pumpkin cheesecake that had split right down the middle (the dish I was to bring to my future in-laws.) The sadness and disappointment that I felt with the absence of a congratulatory “Welcome to the Family!” I had expected from Mi Hombre’s parents and siblings. (It was our first get-together since the announcement of our engagement.) The anger and resentment that I felt when the ex wife threatened Mi Hombre, “don’t you forget I gave you your daughter!” (Over disliking the holiday boundaries he had set.) I remember being distraught and dumbfounded over how much turmoil family, exes, and the holidays could bring, questioning whether that was what I wanted for my life and feeling so sad that I couldn’t muster up even an ounce of gratitude.

Since that Thanksgiving I am happy to say, things have come full circle. Well, some things have-and other things (the ex wife), they may never change. But, C’est la vive! I have grown to love Mi Hombre’s Spanish brood-their kindness, their values, their culture, mmm, and their food…They have become my family and an integral part of my life. For this, and many reasons I am excited for the holiday, this year more than ever!

Thanksgiving is the time people gather to share food and companionship with those they love. Coincidentally, for me it is time for the harvest… No, I am not a mid-western farm girl getting ready to reap the last crop of the season. I am mid-30’s stepmom and mid-cycle of my second IVF treatment. At sunrise they will harvest and prepare my eggs (not the deviled kind if ya know what I mean!) and hopefully by Christmas I will literally be with a bun in the oven.  Although, it has been a rough 3 years of adjustments and unsuccessful fertility treatments,  I have no doubt that this year we are in a much better place.  I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and when and how it should.  It is Thanksgiving, and with all that it represents I feel it in my soul that we are surely in good alignment for a successful harvest.

Pray with me if you will: 2009 is the year and the season for wonderful things; a life filled with love, happiness, good food and great eggs-Happy Thanksgiving!

The Shiny Bauble

The way Mi Hombre proposed to me was a disappointment. I did not squeal “Yes! Yes! Yes!” and I was not giddy like a school girl. I was not expecting a proposal, especially when we had just stumbled in from the casino, showered off the remnants of smoke and we were both in our hotel bath towels. Not exactly the most ideal atmosphere. He positioned his knee on the hotel room floor and asked, “Will you marry me?”…And I said, “OK”.

According to Mi Hombre he had cleverly intended it to let the shiny bauble fall from the casino slot machine, and I would then without hesitation squeal “Yes Yes! Yes!”  like a giddy school girl. Instead, he talked himself out of proposing that way for fear I would be devastated by the public attention that it would bring.  Then for two days after the official engagement, (trying to make up for my disappointment) he would take the ring off my finger during romantic moments and would ask me to marry him again…and again…and again.

Those moments, the unexpected and disappointed, the expected and excited all symbolized the beginning of the rest of my new life. It was official, and regardless of how the proposal was delivered, I wanted to shout from the top of the hotel in which we were staying, “Mi Hombre and I are getting married!”

A Swim In The Deep End

FACT: It is estimated that 50 percent of first marriages in America will end in divorce. The odds are even higher at 60 percent for consecutive marriages, and then if you add kids to the mix it moves your rate of potential failure to a staggering 70 percent.  I know you are thinking “Wow!  That’s encouraging!” Just imagine how I felt at the revelation of this jolly factoid when I began proclaiming that I was ready to try marriage again for yet a third time.

Nonetheless, I was convinced that if I were going to say, “I DO!” then the only “D” that would be heard of in this marriage would be the “D” in “…until death do us part”. The grim statistics for consecutive marriages with children had me more determined than ever to ensure that I was going to do things right.  My tenacity led me to begin a journey towards cultivating a healthy remarriage and sent me on my own personal stepmother crusade.

I knew very little about what it meant to become a stepmother. Single career women don’t romanticize about settling down with a man and his already established brood.  We envision a much more passionate love affair filled with romance, late nights, and jet setting about the world before settling into a chic urban retreat. There was no history of discussions involving custody battles, parenting agreements or baby-mama-drama over cosmopolitans with my gal-pals.

What little knowledge I did possess was through hands-on experience in my professional life and the jaded stories from my single mom friends who have “dead-beat-dads” to contend with.  Sadly, stepmotherhood has never been painted as a pretty picture. Instead the very mention of the word in my social circle was met with a facial grimace and a cringe followed by the predictable Disney stereotype society so willingly embraces. This in itself left little to be admired about the idea of becoming a stepmom and me wanting even less to entertain it.

It was clear I was heading into uncharted waters.  When I began my research on becoming a stepmother in 2006 there wasn’t much of anything supportive out there—a few books and blogs, but no support group I could turn to, no local meetings at the town hall, no hot-line I could call.  I needed a person.  Someone who could look me in the eye and tell me it was going to be worth it. My own Life coach….”My Guru” as I have affectionately called her for over 10 years asked me, “ Are you sure that this is a path you would like to go down?”  I thought, “Oh my God! Will someone throw me a life preserver? I am going to drown out here in the unknown.”

Like biological parents, stepparenting doesn’t come with a manual.  So I made do with what I had.  I found solace in the book by Sally Bjornsen, “A Single Girl’s Guide To Marrying A Man, His Kids And His Ex Wife.” I started a support group on Facebook to cope with the nuances of blending a family. I confided in my dearest friends, and stocked up on wine for the (not so graceful) tidal waves of inexplicable emotions that accompany transitioning to not only remarriage, but also becoming an instant parent.  Admittedly, it has been like treading water most of the time.

Never Say Never

It had been decided in the parenting agreement between Mi Hombre and his ex that there would not be overnight sleepovers with Super-girl present until the opposite parent had a chance to meet their ex’s new partner.  “Fair enough” I thought.  The only trouble was I lived in another city over an hour away.  This made play-dates with me treacherous on the little 5-year-old Super-girl.  Not to mention very tiring for our love life.  We had spent six months seeing each other when he didn’t have his Super-girl. Sometimes that would mean for us having only phone or email contact for over two weeks at a time.

Now, for a wining and dining romantic woman such as myself this was clearly unacceptable.  I was in L-O-V-E with Mi Hombre and I was old enough to know that this wasn’t some puppy-love infatuation fling. This was the real deal. I have never been surer of something in my entire life.  I wasn’t just sure, I was CERTAIN.  I knew this because I swore that I would never again considered marriage, especially after two failed attempts at it.  At the time that was all I was thinking about. The more I thought about it the more I began letting go of the long list of “I will never’s.”

You know those things that we secretly or sometimes out loud tell ourselves we won’t EVER do.  My list became one big fat contradiction to everything I was getting ready to say yes to.  For example, I once heard myself say, “I would never conceive of dating, let alone marrying anyone with kids.”  Or “ I will never sell my house with my Zen garden, I am going to live there until I die.” And my personal favorite,  “ I will never again relocate my life, my job, or my friends for any MAN.”  I laugh loudly now at the thought because at the time I could think of nothing more than that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Mi Hombre. Even though it appeared to go against what I stood for.  Somehow it made absolute perfect sense to me.

So, I vowed to never say never. I ordered a ton of step parenting books, and began my search to find the information that I needed to learn about becoming a stepmother. As time passed, Mi Hombre and I fell deeper in love and the pain that we felt with each absence became unbearable.  We both knew that it was time for me to cultivate a more significant relationship than play-mate with Super-girl.  So, I agreed with Mi Hombre…it was time to tell the ex about the seriousness of our relationship.

Wicked Wicked Stepmother

“But I don’t want to have a stepmother!  They are all MEAN!” Cried Super-girl as Mi Hombre and I shared the news that we are planning a future together.  Talk about a heart wrenching reality to see through the eyes of a child from divorce.  She was so paralyzed by fear of the stereotype that comes with the label stepmother.   She even thought of ME…the woman she squeezes with all her might and says “I LUB you!” to as possibly turning MEAN if I married her father and became her stepmother.  All I could think of was, ”Thanks a lot Disney! Thanks for making my adjustment to stepmotherhood that much more trivial.”

We wiped the tears and held her tight.  It wasn’t long, Super-girl came around…”Will you marry me too!”  she would say with excitement…”Now hold up kid, don’t rush it, you have to get engaged first!” I would say.  Laughing at how quickly she adjusted to the idea that I wasn’t a wicked witch incognito.