Divorced with children. Now there’s a dating category fraught with complications. One thinks ahead to the possible next step in the relationship hierarchy: married with stepchildren.
Oh, the gothic tales you’d hear from friends dating/living with fellows with children. “They’re so mean, rude, manipulative,” they’d moan about these off-spring. They were the kind that put you in the me or them mode…not a good place to be with Mr. Right – potential or hooked.
And one, thankfully, that I have never found myself in, going on 25 years as a stepmother. The trio I inherited – Stephanie, John Gordon and Zachary – was welcoming from day one. Sure, it’s had its dicey moments – that middle, kind of no women’s land you navigate during graduations, weddings. And now, what do the littlest ones call this quasi grandparent? That would be me: Granny Goof, Gigi or GG.
So on this Mother’s Day – er Stepmother’s Day – I’d like to praise all my stepchildren & their spouses & their children! Many choice memories over the last QUARTER OF A CENTURY – yikes!, but here are some that standout with current photos of this golden gang.
Ever curious Zachary who once told me he would read the Yellow Pages just cause – well – you never know what you might learn. Talk about a snooze-producing endeavor, but I loved that. Not as much though as the email he sent me in June of 2008 thanking me for “my support” during the two years a teenage Zach lived with Jack and me in Ashland, OR.
The first phone call with Stephanie. Now I would have come close to killing my father with this caper. Jack and I are chatting one day – he in his store in Boulder, me in my office in New York. Stephanie walks in to his store and he says, “Here, speak to Pamela.” There’s a fun assignment, make nice with the girlfriend over the phone. But not a grumpy tone in her voice which I would so have been guilty of in her place. She was her bubbly, friendly, warm self. She was Stephanie.
Back to Oregon. John Gordon was visiting and there was some near disaster in the kitchen which became quite smoke filled – like the oven was going to blow up or something. First thing I know is that John Gordon rushes over to me and whisks me out of harm’s way.
I’m one lucky gal.