reMarriage Blogs
June 18, 2009
Don’t Remind Me: Ex Names Resurface
Kathy Ely
When he scrunched up his teeny little forehead, he did look remarkably like an old man. Or, as a friend of mine used to say about these bald newborns, “a Soviet leader.” When at peace though, this adorable eight-hour-old son of my niece proved once again that babies are the salve for any ill. You can’t help but smile when you get close to this innocent perfection.
We smiled even broader when we walked in to see the little bundle of joy perched so comfortably on the lap of his BIG sister, all twenty some pounds of her two-year-old self. “My baby,” Marissa cooed. “This is my brother.” And then, with all the cuteness she could muster, “But who is it?”
Funny you should ask. Now, even twenty-four-hours later, we were still all asking the same thing. It seems that nine months is not quite enough time to come up with the perfect moniker-something with a hint of sophistication, has to roll off the tongue. Needs to fit with the single syllable last name, one with the potential for teasing if not paired with just the right beginning. Oh, and the parents couldn’t know anyone with the name, worried that he would be washed with the personality of another.
Kathy's New Nephew
“Wyatt?” Don Imus’s son…cute, but no. “Dylan?” Nona vetoes that. So many get thrown over-Matt, Josh, Adam, Nate, Sam, Zack, Iggy (OK, we were reaching).
I had my own veto when they came up with Andrew (a perfectly fine name, mind you). But with names you get nicknames, and if it were Drew, there I’d be, every time we got together, being reminded of my ex-husband. Luckily, they didn’t love it. We took our pictures and fought for the right to snuggle with the tiny boy. Then we left the new parents to their laptop, trying on name combinations only they could fathom.
Summer is upon us, with birthday parties and beach weeks coming up fast. I can’t wait for Mikel Tyler to join in the fun. And I’m so happy I know nobody by that name.
![[BlogMarks]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/blogmarks.png)
![[del.icio.us]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/delicious.png)
![[Digg]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/digg.png)
![[Facebook]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/facebook.png)
![[Google]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/google.png)
![[MySpace]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/myspace.png)
![[Newsvine]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/newsvine.png)
![[Reddit]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/reddit.png)
![[Shoutwire]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/shoutwire.png)
![[StumbleUpon]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/stumbleupon.png)
![[Technorati]](http://www.remarriagemag.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/technorati.png)
June 11, 2009
The Pickle
Patricia Lasher
As an associate judge in the family court, an occasional responsibility was talking with children who were the subject of the custody litigation. I was reminded of one such experience recently over a ham sandwich.
The litigation involved a child who had been the first- and only- born of a young marriage. Years earlier, the Husband and Wife had readily split up cars, big screen televisions, timeshares (these were more prosperous times) and bank accounts. Agreeing to a house sale, each received enough sufficient down payments for more modest homes. (Definitely, more prosperous times.)
Often the case, the very young child, who was top priority, had been the last, most difficult ‘item’ to be decided. After spending the equivalent of an Ivy League college’s tuition on psychologists and private eyes, the parents finally agreed in mediation. A detailed parenting plan put the child at Mom’s for a majority of the school year and at Dad’s for most of the summer, with lots of back and forth throughout the year.
Years later, when I met with the child - John - by then a teenager, each of his parents had remarried. His mother had two additional biological children and his father had three. The litigation concerning John involved summer vacation and a Sunday overnight.
So - back to the ham sandwich - I asked John to describe his life during the week and weekends. He first talked of soccer successes and trouble with Algebra, shying from anything too personal. But as cold sodas and my drawer of Snicker Bars loosened his tongue, he articulated a common complaint: You’ve ordered a ham sandwich? He asked. Yes, of course, I answered. If it comes with a pickle, do you eat it? He asked. Of course. If it comes without the pickle, do you complain? No, I answered. Well, I’m the pickle. At both houses, if I’m there; fine; if I’m not, fine. Life goes on with or without me. The child, who had begun as the main course, believed himself - right or wrongly - to be a dispensable side dish.
Who knows what the long-term effect of this is? Unless we’ve been a flight attendant or a commercial pilot or the child of divorce, we haven’t lived the vagaries that come with sleeping three nights here, two nights there, often out of a suitcase, back and forth at someone else’s schedule for years on end.
How to make a child feel integral, without making him feel as if he’s abandoning his family when he leaves for the other is a challenge for parents. Permanent possessions and places to keep things in each home? Permitting easy flow from house to house? Access to items needed, but left at the other home. The right to say No and to demand occasional schedule changes.
It’s a real pickle.
June 4, 2009
Move From Oldest to Middle Child
Ty
Ever since I was a young lad, I was the big kid in the house. Being four years older then my brother, I was always the top dog and gained such recognition. Then when my mother remarried, three new stepsiblings were added to our family, all of whom were older than me. Spanning between one and six years in difference of ages, my stepsiblings were now the oldest. This may seem like a drastic and unrecoverable loss on my part, but do not fear, for I assure you that it had no affect on me. In fact, the new dilemma that I was a middle child humbled me and allowed me to see all the experiences that I would soon face in the future. I could see all the crazy mistakes of those older than me, as well as the triumphs that I would be sure to emulate. So many remarriages involve children, and most likely, these new relationships will affect age gaps. There are bound to be those who are seriously affected from this change, and then there are those who just go with the flow and live their life to the fullest. Which one are you?
June 1, 2009
These Boots Were Made for Walking…
Patricia Lasher
Mom was in her late thirties; Daughter around twelve. Mom was examining the tag to see if the shorts were on sale; Daughter was checking out how they looked from the back. Inside the pushcart were a sleeping bag and assorted camp paraphernalia. “Okay. Two pair. That’s it,” Mom instructed. Daughter, answering first with an audible groan, hissed: “I need new riding boots.” Mom, with equal hushed venom, responded through clenched jaws: “Then tell your father to buy them for you.”
As they walked away, it seemed there were three of them: sulking Daughter, despondent Mom, and - like a ghost - unseen Dad. Shopping with a preteen can mean a battle.
Frankly put, simply living with a preteen can be a struggle. Add the stress of shared parenting, the agony-ecstasy of bidding farewell to a child for the summer, and the spiking costs of everything — the results can mean a roller coaster ride of emotion for everyone in the divided/blended/re-compounded family.
So why did this vignette linger in the mind’s eye?
Perhaps because it is a play I have seen before in family cases - one acted out annually by families across the country. Maybe Mom won’t mention Dad. But, if she does, perhaps Daughter won’t ask him about the boots. If she does, what will Dad’s response be? “Sure.” Or, “let’s try to find some second hand ones.” Or, “tell your mother to get them. With all the child support I send her, she can afford to buy a horse to go with them!”
With my rarely utilized fairy tale mindset — where rainbows have pots of gold and happy endings are fundamental truths — I pictured an alternative to the play. In my version, and well before summer began, Mom and Dad (out of earshot of Daughter) had a civil conversation, in person, or by telephone or e-mail. One of them had a list of needs for summer camp, summer school, vacation bible school - whatever was occupying the children for the summer months. Together they talked about what is a “need” versus a “want.” They touched - however gingerly - on what they could honestly afford. They came up with a plan.
And, in the following month, when Daughter said, “I want new riding boots,” Mom or Dad’s line was: “WE will have to talk about that.”
For parents who do that: Take a bow, and exit, stage right.
May 19, 2009
A Look in the Back Seat
Patricia Lasher
I had a good read last week that set me thinking. It was by a young woman who found herself - barely thirty years old - on a date with a fellow who had two car seats firmly affixed in his sedan’s back seat. She admitted surprise - and acceptance - that at her age, a permanent relationship as Wife might bring with it the immediate title “Stepmom.” About 50 percent of first marriages end in divorce, as do nearly 70 percent of second marriages. This means, among other things, that when it comes to romance, the chances of being a StepSomething are pretty good. But the sight of the car seats drove the point home faster than a table of cold statistics could.
I wonder if it is easier - or more difficult - to stepparent before one has parented. Does being a father first make you a better stepfather? Or, does the role of stepparent so vary from that of parent that whether or not you have Parenting 101 before enrolling in Stepparenting makes little difference? Does it seem that Parenting 101 follows rules that are self imposed; but, the rules of Stepparenting are often the creation of the original parent which the stepparent is expected to follow?
Is it easier on the family if both members of the couple are “Steps?” What is it that makes for good stepparenting?
May 18, 2009
Self-Con-”Graduation”
Kathy Ely
Tis the season for graduations, as proud parents line up around their smart children and grin ear-to-ear. These parties are always an interesting lens into the dynamics of the family unit; you can’t help but wonder what’s bubbling behind those smiles.
Gravy train is over, honey; don’t you have an interview soon? Economic downturn or no (or because of it), it’s time to make your own money, adult child, and contribute.
Are you really moving in with that young man [read: loser]?
Graduate school? What do you mean you need MORE tuition money?
And, you thought those parenting days were done.
It’s even more fascinating when there are multiple parents in the mix. At this past weekend’s celebration, at the mom’s house (the one with the newish husband), all was cordial, with extended family on both sides of the divorce commingling with old and new friends, neighbors, and long-lost cousins. Our daughter never realized that the gray-haired fellow offering directions was the mom’s second husband. See, he couldn’t have been any more different than the ex, our girl’s godfather. And the house, gorgeous to a fault, with no detail left unconsidered, was a long way from the casual, comfy tract house from their former life.
Do we find our match and truly become ourselves when we remarry? Maybe “mom” always wanted that showcase, but couldn’t exercise that design gene with number one. The relaxed nature of that first husband, echoed in the easygoing giggles of his girl (the graduate), had found an equally laidback match, so very different from her more reserved counterpart.
So, perhaps all is good. There are reasons we move on. Sometimes people kid themselves, and mold to another uninspired choice. More often than not, though, I see “real” selves emerging as we graduate to new lives. As my husband said when we were courting, “I can be myself with you.”
And that’s a good reason to be together.
May 11, 2009
In the Dog House
Patricia Lasher
My first Springer Spaniel, Pip, went to camp to learn to retrieve, but flunked out. When the trainer fired his shotgun over her head, it took two hours to find her. She never wanted to be a career dog, and instead, spent her long life retrieving dropped teething biscuits, chasing water balloons in the backyard, and later sitting at the feet of my children as they studied for math tests.
The next Springer was Stella an it was great fun to stand at the back door and yell “Stellllllllllaaaaa” like Stanley Kowalski. The runt of the litter, Stella was lean, and occasionally mean. But she conquered the heart of the LOML and came along, like an old maiden aunt, when remarriage brought us to Maryland.
I loved my dogs. But they knew they were dogs.
So, what do I do with Stella’s stepbrother? A territorial Bichon Frise who I call “Tuna Breath” when we’re just the two of us. A white bundle of curls who believes the sofa is his, that whizzing outside is grounds for sirloin rewards, and that I am an intruder?
I refer to him as “my husband’s dog from his first marriage.” As long as he gets the sofa, insults don’t seem to bother him.
May 5, 2009
Teen Friends of a Feather Stick Together
Ty
When I heard the statistics about the number of divorced couples in this country, I automatically said “yep that’s right.” I agreed with the percentage because I know of many kids at my school, especially friends that have parents that are divorced. My one friend is with his mom the majority of the time, and only sees his father on every other weekend. My other friend stays at his dad’s house the majority of the time and only goes to his mom’s on the weekend. Because of this, it was easy to relate with one another and create lasting friendships. In this aspect, I am a little happy that my parents are divorced, or else I would have never met the great friends I have today.
April 29, 2009
Is This Town Big Enough for the Both of Us?
Patricia Lasher
Baby boomers and younger movie buffs recall that poignant epilogue in The Way We Were. Years after their inevitable split, Streisand’s Katie Morosky Gardner runs into Redford’s Hubbell Gardner in front of New York’s Plaza Hotel. She is remarried, happily; he is comfortably entwined with a lovely young blonde. Babs and Bob greet softly, smile tenderly, exchange warm greetings, part gently. I know a long divorced couple who still gather around the same Christmas tree, swap recipes and exchange dog sitting chores. That’s one extreme.
Like a car wreck we couldn’t look away from, The War of the Roses set a different tone. While couples like the Roses often end up friendless - and less affluent — by the time the judge’s gavel pronounces them asunder, no one ever wonders whether to invite them both for a dinner party.
Years ago, I tried a lawsuit, defending a recent divorcee who stood inside the church door on Sunday morning, waiting for her ex-husband and his new wife to approach. Only when the newlyweds were nearing the first of the five wide steps would my client leap into view and, with the voice of a tent preacher, shout “Jezebel! You Jezebel!” We won the case, avoiding a permanent restraining order, but I’d bet the sum in the offering plate that the battles went on.
Most divorced couples (an oxymoron?) fall somewhere in between the Gardners and the Roses: a strained tension exists, but no one needs body armor. They often continue to live in the same city after divorce. They may belong to the same church, work out at the same gym, peruse the same bookstore, and shop at the same farmer’s market. For most, it works.
For others, it’s stressful. When he sees the Ghost of Wedding Past walking toward his favorite Stairmaster at the gym, blood pressure elevates. She returns a sneer and later tells her best friend “I think his new girlfriend just graduated from kindergarten.”
Maybe in those cases, the judge should forget dividing the property, and concentrate on dividing the state or city.
April 27, 2009
Seventh Heaven, Chap. 2
Kathy Ely
First it’s the networking event portrayed as a fishing tub for second wives. (See last week’s blog.) Now I hear about the website for self-described sugar daddies and sugar “babies.”
Evidently, says the creator of SeekingArrangement.com, those dissatisfied but well-off, somewhat socially challenged fellows can ply the waters of more young things who like “the finer things in life” in a site that makes even the skankiest denizens of match.com or eharmony.com look positively wholesome. OK, that may be a bit strong, and I know women enter into these contracts as well, on both sides of the deal.
The recent New York Times Sunday magazine profile is a fascinating tour through this less-than-satisfying (if you ask me) world. It introduces us to a range of girls, from the, uh, practical college types who view these pay-for-play arrangements as an honest second job, no different from waiting tables, to others just thrilled with the game of make upwards of $1,000/month for a wide-open job description. Prices can go for anything from just discussing Camus to nibbling on “daddy’s” ear to pretty much anything the buyer desires. (I won’t get into the obvious prostitution argument, though the author does.)
The guys? Well, some are bored marrieds, looking for adventurous young love to make their middle-age selves feel younger. Some, like the practical 39-year-old entrepreneur “Sam,” is looking for an “algorithm that will predict relationships’ success.” (Girlfriends, the article tells us, are cheaper in the long run than mistresses, prostitutes, especially wives.)
The feeling that permeates the piece is just pure sadness. Sure, several say that supposedly “honest” adults can easily manage this “business associate-with-benefits” deal, so much easier than actually forming a real relationship. Funny, though, that not many last. And the saddest of all is when B.K., the main character in the profile, is so thrilled with the renewed attention from one of his associates: “I’m almost giddy like a schoolboy.” Guess it wasn’t all business after all.
See, I don’t think we’re wired that way. Emotions do get in the way. Feelings are messy. But the millions of love-starved and hurt guys and gals who bravely move on to new marriages—we get messages from them every week—show that hope does spring eternal. And falling head over heels is priceless.
Many even find that it was worth kissing all those frogs to find the handsome prince/princess; and you don’t have to get paid for the work.
