No means No. Period.

Well, I have been very lax about keeping things up here.  Life has just gotten in the way, and I’ve found when I’m happy, it’s hard to find something to spout about, but today I found something. 

Before I go on, I want to say I am the happiest I've been in my adult life, ever, and I couldn't be more grateful.  I am in love with the right man.  He makes my good life great.  I wouldn't be who I am, though, without going through the trials and hardships I've had in my life.

Lately, the news has been full of teen suicides brought on by bullying, and today I read a particularly poignant story of a girl who took her own life after being raped.  The reaction of her peers was extremely negative... and I mean toward her, not her rapist.  Really.  I found I could relate to her story, and caught myself thinking "There but for the grace of God..."

I try to avoid bitterness in my real life.  I try not to ask “why me?” in most instances, and I sincerely try to embrace challenges as a life lesson.  Things rarely bug me once I've taken the time and thought them through, but I'm not perfect.  One of the few times I feel my heart twist with jealousy or bitterness, is when someone shares the story of what it was like to experience sex for the first time.  Usually it’s a cute story about their first love, and how awkward it was, but sweet too...  Everyone’s first time should be like that.  My story is vastly different.  You know I'm a middle aged woman... but when you read the following, I'd like you to imagine it happening to any one of the cute young girls in your life. Your daughter, neice, cousin, friend, or yourself.....  

For me, things went something like this…

For most of my teen years.  I was at a small, all girls boarding school in Italy, where I had a large circle of friends and felt very secure.  There were only 80 high school girls living at the school, and about 30 more who came as day students.  The boys I had contact with, were at an all boys boarding school across town, and our interactions were limited to after school and weekends, and were mostly chaperoned. 

Life changed for me in 1979, when my dad was offered a job back here.  I was uprooted at the end of 11th grade, and had to start all over finding friends and trying to fit in for my senior year. 

I know, right?  That would be a bitch for any girl of 17, but to add to the awkwardness, the school I went to senior year was co-ed and HUGE.  I went from having very close friends and an active social life, to being 'that weirdo' who grew up in Europe. 

Most of the kids who were in my new school were in the same cliques they’d been in for years.  Some were still hanging out with the people who had been in their first grade class.  That makes it hard to break in to any social circle, especially if you’re shy.  I felt alone, awkward and out of place… I made a couple of friends, but my social life was limited.

I'm a people person, so being isolated like that isn’t comfortable for me… and at 17, being dateless was not a natural state either.  I ended up meeting a boy from another area of the city I live in, and I fell hard.   I thought he was that “someone special”.  He was tall and handsome.  He was muscular had a great smile,  big blue eyes and shoulder length feathered blonde hair.  He was the bomb for me in 1979...

He was older than me by about two years, so he was working, and he was a little bit dangerous having grown up in a blue-collar area of the city.  That was like catnip to me.  We began dating, and in retrospect, I cared much more for him than he did for me. 

I was looking for affirmation from someone in my age group so I did all the classically stupid things a teenager would do, such as making myself available to him any time he felt like seeing me.  Paying for movies or dinner dates even though I was only working part time and he had a full time job.  I even forgave him when he stood me up without so much as a phone call the night of my graduation.  His excuse for humiliating me?  He "forgot".   

We dated at his convenience for about a year.  Because we didn’t have cell phones or texting plans back then, I didn’t always know where he was or what he was doing, but rumors spread that he’d become involved with the little sister of a friend.  It made sense, because I was a lily white virgin, still holding him off from home base, and she was a girl from his ‘hood.  Younger than me by almost two years, but WAY more experienced in “street smarts” as it were.  She was just 16, but had lied about her age, and was already a stripper making thousands….

 I elected to believe his BS when he told me I shouldn't believe the "lies", but when we showed up at a party at the house he and a couple of friends were renting, and she was there, their behavior convinced me the rumors were true.

I was upset watching her grab his butt, and giggling with him right in front of me.  He began to get drunk, and was ignoring me rather effectively so I decided it was time to go home.  I quietly went to leave, but before I got out the door, he said we should go have a talk. 

His bedroom was not unfamiliar to me, we’d necked in there a million times, so when he suggested we get away from the crowd and have our conversation there, it didn’t cause any alarms to go off for me.  Not even when he locked the door, so the people just outside the door wouldn’t “come in and interrupt us”.  Remember, I was only just turned 18 at the time.

He told me he had gone out with “little sister” a couple of times, but they were just friends.  He said he had no interest in her, and  I had no reason to be insecure.  When I told him I was upset that he went out with her behind my back, he tried to placate me by kissing me and telling me to lie down with him for a bit. I wanted to believe he was telling the truth.  As I said, this wasn’t unfamiliar territory.  We’d necked several times before, without things getting too heated.   This night would be very different. 

I remember exactly what I was wearing, where I bought it and how I felt when I was getting ready that night.  It's seared in my memory as clearly as though it happened yesterday. I’d bought a new outfit to wear over that night.  A pair of high waist, yellow jeans with slash pockets, and a cute little yellow peasant blouse with cap sleeves and little pink roses embroidered on the collar.  Certainly not suggestive clothing in any way.

When he became a little insistent with me, trying to get his hands in my shirt, I fended him off.  He continued to pull my shirt out of my waistband.  I told him I wasn’t comfortable, and started to move away.  That’s when things turned.  In a fraction of a second, he held me down, pulled my shirt over my arms by the tail and then leaned on my hands with one forearm.   The shirt was covering my face, and effectively curtailed my being able to lower my arms. 

With his other hand, he pulled my bra, up over my breasts without undoing it, and bit me.  Then he proceeded to undo my pants and rip them and my underwear off just ONE leg.  He used his hip to pry my legs apart, with me saying “No” louder and louder.  That didn’t even slow him down.  Keep in mind, he was about 185 pounds of drunk young muscle, and I was about 118 pounds of female, with no upper body strength.  What was I to do?

He proceeded to rape me.  He didn’t care what he was tearing or bruising.  I screamed for him to stop, but nobody outside the door even heard me because the music was so loud.  I became so numb, that when he lifted me on top of him I couldn’t even fight him any longer.  Once he was spent, he fell asleep, leaving me to pull on my other pant leg, and try to clean myself up before going out to walk the gauntlet of people at the party to get to my car.    

I struggled to unlock the door, so when he heard the door open, he followed me out to the party, and put his arm around me.  Because I was in shock, I stood there like a zombie for about 15 minutes before I found an opportunity to escape when he went to the bathroom. 

I drove to my sister’s house because I’d arranged to stay there that night.  The moment she saw me, she knew something wasn’t right.  My face was puffy, my makeup and hair a mess, and where the collar of my shirt had rubbed, my neck was raw.  I basically stood there, stiff and shaking while she put two and two together and demanded I take my pants down.  When I was standing there in my panties, with my pants around my ankles, she could see the angry bruises starting to show.  You could see where each of his fingers had bitten deep into the flesh of my arms and legs. 

I had bruises all over my arms, the bite on my breast, and to add to the injuries, he had torn my peritoneum open which allowed for an infection to set in just as my bruises were fading, days later. I went to the doctor when I realized I wasn't healing, under the auspices of having my first "real" check up.  When he saw the damage to me, he knew exactly what had happened. 

My doctor urged me not to press charges because the victim is often the one who pays the price.  I agreed because it would be hard to keep from my parents if I did.  In collusion with my doctor I went through months of torture trying to deal with the physical damage because the treatment was to have a large q-tip soaked with silver nitrate solution inserted inside me to burn away the damaged tissue.  I suffered this without alerting my parents, because they'd warned me about my rapist months earlier.  They hadn’t liked him right from the first seconds of meeting him…


Because I wasn’t able to talk with my mother about this situation, I talked to a few of my new "friends".  Many of them asked me why I would talk about it at all.  It should be something I locked away.  I was told it wasn't a "big deal" and I should just "get over it".  Many asked what I was wearing that night.   Everyone offered an opinion on how it could never have happened to them if they'd been in the situation.  They'd have kneed him in the balls, or screamed louder, or bitten or scratched.  They acted as though I hadn't tried to defend myself.  Some even accused me of “blaming” my rapist because I’d “allowed” him to deflower me and then regretted losing my virginity. That was the one that hurt most, and caused me the most damage.

I didn’t seek any sort of therapy, and so my behavior was not healthy afterward.  I spent years wondering what I had done to “invite” him to rape me.  Maybe people were right.  Maybe I didn't fight hard enough....  

I began to believe I didn’t deserve to be treated any better than he'd treated me..  That I had asked for it because, after all, I had gone into his bedroom alone with him…  I MUST'VE let him go past the point of return, and then just let it happen. 

Even my wonderful, strong mother’s reaction was way off base. I didn’t tell her what had happened until my infection became so bad I had to be hospitalized to treat it.  Her initial response was that it was my fault for seeing “that boy” after she and dad had told me they didn’t like him. 

My physical problems continued for years, culminating in surgery to repair the damage when I was 24.  When I was put under, I wasn't sure I'd have a uterus when I awoke.  That was devastating, because I always wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world. 

The emotional damage was insurmountable.  I had self esteem issues for years afterward.  I convinced myself I had brought this on myself, and that I was being punished.  I honestly believe I sought out men I thought would mistreat me because THAT’S what I deserved.  I allowed behavior no woman should allow.

My mom later admitted many times over that she reacted badly.  She became an outspoken advocate for women whenever she got the chance to change someone’s view.  I remember several years ago, when my uncle, her brother in law, was pontificating about how women invited rape by dressing provocatively.  He was an ordained minister, and was discussing the topic of his next sermon.  He stated his case, not knowing what had happened to me, and ended his point with the question “What do women EXPECT when they dress the way they do?” 

My mother calmly let him finish, and then said “Listen.  I will bet you a million dollars, you could walk down the street stark naked and you wouldn’t have to worry for one second that some woman couldn't control her urges enough to keep herself from having sex with you!”  The look on his face was priceless. 

Why do we continually blame the victim? 

Happily, I can say I turned a corner some time ago.  I still struggle with insecurity and self worth, but most of the time I can overcome my negative self talk with a little reflection.  The man I spend my time with now, is the man I deserve to have in my life.  And he deserves me.  How lucky is HE?

Wait.  Don’t answer that!  ;-D

Later…

What a difference a few months can make!

So today I received a beautiful note from a friend I made in South America while I was dating “The Bachelor” long distance.  Getting her cute little note this morning sure got me thinking how different life can be in such a short time…. 

The last time we saw one another was in the airport in Rio de Janeiro.  She was with her family, getting ready to hop a plane to Florida for a vacation in Disney World. 

I was travelling home after having been unceremoniously dumped the night before by a man I trusted.  I managed to keep it together until his name came up… then I dissolved.  Not the Demi Moore, single tear, beautiful cry, but that ugly cry where you end up as nothing but a big ball of tears and snot ….The hugs she and her husband gave me in that airport, were a welcome kindness, even though I'm sure they had to change their jackets afterward.

14 months ago, I seriously thought I would never survive the pain from the loss of my dad, let alone losing the support of the man I thought had my back, just two weeks later, but the best thing he ever did for me was to leave me.

The slow realization he had been cheating on me when he announced his engagement to a woman from the country he'd been working in just a few months after dumping me, put icing on the cake.  Thing is, I don’t regret the time I spent in that relationship. I grew a lot during those years.

On the positive side, the Bachelor is very patient and has a gift for making people see their potential.  It’s a talent that makes him a great boss.  He helped me see what I was capable of achieving both professionally and personally.  He helped me see myself in a different light, and I am a far more confident woman because of the time I spent with him and alone during the 3 years we spent in a long distance romance. 

His gift to me is that I am now the happiest I’ve ever been in a relationship. Bar none.

While we have no doubt crossed paths a million times I know I never actually MET CG until that first internet date.  Even though we hung out at the same bars, and later lived in the same area of our city, I know, because if we had, there’s no doubt I would have fallen for him. 

I’m a sucker for that amazing combination of thick dark hair and blue/grey eyes, great smile and dimples.  His sense of humor would’ve sealed the deal.  We couldn’t have lasted though.  The younger version of me would have driven him nuts with my insecurities, and I would’ve eventually mistaken his self confidence for arrogance. 

I told him once I wouldn’t have appreciated the man he is if I’d met him when I was younger.  His response was “I wasn’t ME back then.”   I thought that was an astute point.  He has obviously changed and grown over the years as well.  He's gone through the breakup of a marriage, and raising children alone which has no doubt helped him grow as a person.

  Our 23 year old selves may not have fit together, but our 49 year old selves sure seem to fit like two puzzle pieces.  We GET each other.  We have spoken almost every day in the past 11 months, and have never run out of things to say.  He is the first person I want to share good news with, the one I need a hug from when things are tough, the best person to seek advice from, and is the only person I want to see naked.

I've heard him tell his daughter and son many times, "Don't marry a person you can see yourself growing old with, marry a person you can't picture living without."  I would change that a little because to me, it has a little desperation to it.  I would say "marry a person you don't WANT to live your life without." That implies a confidence and a choice to be together.  I would prefer to be with someone who WANTS to be with me to someone who can't be without me. 

I count myself lucky to walk beside a man who is generous, self confident and strong.  He has a good moral compass, and I would bet my left arm he woudn't cheat.  He is professionally successful, and personally comfortable in his own skin.  He strives to be a “good man”. 

Does that mean he’s perfect?  NO.  I don’t want perfect.  Perfect is boring.  I’ve said before, he’s just enough “bad boy” to keep me entertained, and our kids perpetually disgusted by the fact their parents are still… um… “active”…. And nothing could be more fun than making them squirm a little.

I don't WANT to live my life without him, and don't WANT to picture my life without him in it, but if he chose to leave me, or if I decided I needed a committment he wasn't able to give, I COULD, albeit unhappily. 

Am I perfect?  No… I just try to be grateful for all the lessons I’ve learned over the course of my life… and I try to be as charitable as possible…

I truly hope the now-reformed Bachelor gets everything he’s wished for in his new marriage… yup, all that, and THEN some… See, NOT perfect …

LATER…

Residue buildup

Ok so one of the super-duper things about dating in "mid-life" is figuring out how to deal with the residue of a past marriage or relationship.  Yours AND that of your partner.

I've been divorced a long time.  I haven't ever wished I'd put more effort into bailing to try to save that sinking ship.  I gave it my all for 10 years, and figured that was long enough to spend on something that was never going to change.   I couldn't afford to stay in the home my ex and I built, so my boys and I started in a crappy rental, and as my financial situation changed, we've moved up a few times to get to where we are, so we didn't get super attached to our houses.  Moving makes it easy to jettison a lot of residue. 

CG has been through a similar situation, but has been in his home for many years.  His kids were very small when he and his wife chose that home to raise their family in.  There is sentiment attached to many things there. 

I haven't asked CG to change.  Really.  He is perfect for me just the way he is.  I have really appreciated the fact he's made some changes to his home and his life in order to accomodate me, but it's not because I've insisted. 

It's funny how women seem to attach sentimental  feelings to things more than a man will.  CG sized his wedding ring down to fit his pinky and has worn it since his divorce.  He didn't attach any meaning to it other than the fact he liked the ring. 

I liked my wedding ring too.  It was a gorgeous gold band hand made by my ex-husband, so rather than selling the gold, I sent it to my beautiful step-daughter for a right hand ring.  I just thought she might like the fact that her father made it, I had worn it, and it was made with gold from several of my dad's tie pins... I would never have put it on to wear again, because it signified a negative time in my life. 

Anyhow, rather than magpie-ing the way women will,  some time ago I asked CG if there was any significance to his wearing the ring.  He assured me there wasn't but I guess my asking got him thinking.  Last night he asked me if I noticed how much he's growing and changing... I said I had noticed a lot of things he'd done recently... Then he said, "Did you notice my hand?".  I hadn't noticed he wasn't wearing his ring....

His removing that ring meant a great deal to me.   He did it of his own accord, not at my insistance or suggestion, so it means so much more.  


That's the difference between the me I am now, and the me I was at 27.  When he told me there was no longer significance to the ring for him, I'd taken him at his word, and moved on.   Back then, I'd have shredded myself into a ball worrying about what wearing that ring meant, or why he had photos of his ex in his yearly albums or whatever else.  How do I know?  Because that's how old I was when I became a second wife... tough gig being second wife during my first marriage... 

The me I am now, realizes when he reminisces about his first significant girlfriend, or smiles at an old memory, it's ok.  I do the same thing from time to time.  It doesn't mean I'd go back to that person if they showed up on my doorstep, and more significantly, I don't feel threatened that HE would either.  I love my life now.  I love this man now, and I like myself way better than I did at 27.  CG and I are who we are now, because of the experiences we had in our life up until this moment. 

So... I'd like to acknowledge all the other women he's had relationships with.  That doesn't mean I want to meet them and become BFF's.  It also doesn't mean I won't feel a twinge if I meet them and they're prettier or skinnier than me. 

I don't have to like it when I know he's reminiscing about his time with another woman, but I appreciate the man he's become because of his relationships with them.  Most significantly his ex wife... She, more than any other ex, helped to shape him into the man I love. 

Like my ex, she left some permanent and very positive residue... beautiful kids.  Our children are living proof that we both lived and loved before.   Don't get me wrong..there are days I'd like MY 21 and 19 year old "residue" to get school finished, move out and start their adult lives, but they're the sort of residue I hope keeps coming back...  To VISIT....

Later...

I'm so thankful it's nauseating. Really.

I realize writing when life is really good is probably way less engaging than when my life sucks and I have a big, fat target on my back, but my life these days is just how I hoped it could be.  I realize I’ve had my teeth kicked out and handed to me more than once, but instead of waiting for that to happen, I’m enjoying what life has become.  For the first time in my life, I’m feeling secure.  

Yesterday, I discovered a great song writer.  Shazam-ed a song in the middle of Michaels’ Craft store… hadn’t heard it before, and just fell in love with the guy’s voice.  The song is called “My Favorite” by Gabe Dixon.  It just caught my heart, and expresses pretty succinctly how I feel… that led to feeding my iTunes addiction in purchasing the whole CD… which has quickly become my favorite playlist.  Yes, I’m sentimental as hell… and found myself in tears more than oncelistening to “Even the Rain”, just absolutely overwhelmed by my good fortune.  So here’s my plug for the day… go to iTunes, and listen to this guy. 

I think having lived through absolute Hell a year ago has given me a new perspective.  That hell started in October, when my father was diagnosed as having terminal cancer.  We thought he’d beaten it, but it came back with a vengeance, putting him and my family into a world of hurt, with the crescendo Christmas Day when my dad left us.   When my relationship ended just two weeks after my dad’s death, I think I was about as low as I could get.  I couldn’t see how there could possibly be an end to the pain…

Slowly, though, things started to get better… I’d started seeing a counselor earlier in the year when I recognized my then boyfriend and I had some communication issues.  She realized long before I did that relationship was a dead horse, and I was wasting my time.  She also realized I was ready to have someone in my life who saw my value, and would appreciate my nature.  She knew I had to mourn not just my dad, but the death of my long distance relationship, so she led me through that dark place and encouraged me to look forward.

When she decided I needed to “get out there” in April, I thought she was crazy.  I didn’t feel ready, but she could see the rust had begun falling from my heart, and it was time to feel again.  She assigned homework.  I was to join a dating site and get out there into the land of the living again.  I did what she asked with a great deal of trepidation and dark humor.  I hated every second of being online, but started a dialogue with about 3 or 4 men with whom I seemed to have something in common, but the “fit” just wasn’t there. 

Then I came across a profile that had something in it I found interesting way beyond the one photo of a smiling dark haired man.  I generally didn’t make first contact with anyone online, but with him I chose to send a “wink”… basically a lamo little notification that I’d found his profile interesting.  

He wrote me an articulate, warm email about a week later.  Just long enough that I’d given up on hearing from him, so it was a pleasant surprise.  We exchanged a couple of emails back and forth, and then decided to meet.  We’d both been through a few disastrous meet and greets, so neither of us was expecting to have things go well... but they did. 

Our timing was interesting... that first meeting took place on Friday the 13th.  Turns out it was a pretty lucky day for me.  The instant I saw "CG" as he’s become known, I just knew this date, at least, was going to be fun.  3.5 hours later, when he realized he had to go rescue his poor cats who were tethered in his back yard, I think we knew we had potential.  I was absolutely sure I wanted to spend a lot more time with him. 

We have spoken on the phone, texted and/or seen each other every day since, and every single day, I can’t wait to hear his voice or see him.  He is the first person I want to call to share good news with, and he’s who I turn to for advice or a laugh.  He gets me.  I get him.   It’s good.  As good as it gets.

This Sunday we will have our 5th Biweekly Sunday dinner as a "family".  We all just seem to fit.  As much as I wish our weekends lasted much longer, I look forward to those Sunday afternoons.  We’ve had small dinners with as few as 5 of us, but the last two have been much larger… our kids like each other, and have started to bring their friends along to enjoy a good meal and conversation. 

CG and I sit there like parents do, enjoying the fact that our kids, his neice and friends are there, enjoying the banter, the laughter and stories… the best part, is they have all expressed how they want to start eating together EVERY Sunday.  CG figures they want to spend time with each other, and we just happen to provide the food and location, but being a big suck, I like to believe they enjoy the time with us too…

I know our kids are happy to see us happy.  My oldest told me the other day, that he really likes the feeling of family and belonging.  I couldn’t have said it better myself.  One day, I look forward to having my step kids from my marriage and their partners and children there to join us.

Why do I deserve this any more than my beautiful girlfriends who are still out there trying to find the place they belong?  I don’t.  I realize how fortunate I’ve been.  I hope with all my heart that each and every one of them will find what I have right now.  I hope, too, that CG and I are able to keep the momentum going.  I simply love this man.  I have never felt so cared for, and I’m truly 100% happy for the first time ever.
Later….

The Brady Bunch...

Blending families is an interesting thing... it can be very rewarding depending on the people involved.

I can say I've been involved in family blending in a couple of different ways, and for me, it's been pretty great for the most part.  When I met my ex husband, he was a divorced father of two.  I met him at a bar, while I was out with a stunning girlfriend... you know the kind... the one who makes every man's head turn when she enters a room, rendering me invisible.  Part of the allure of my ex, was that he came over and asked me to dance after chatting with her a while... she was shocked that someone would choose me over her, and I think that was part of the bloom on that rose... that he actually noticed me.... the fact that he was a fantastic dancer helped too...

While we turned out not to be a good partnership, he gave me some of the best gifts I've ever had... my two sons, and my step-son and step-daughter.  I've spoken about the step kids and kids before, but my relationship and the relationship of my family to them is of interest here.  My parents accepted my 6 year old step son and 4 year old step daughter as though they wer their own grandchildren.  That's a model I plan to follow.  Family is important, and to me, whether other people's kids come into my life through blood, marriage or relationship, it's my job to be supportive and loving.  A soft place to fall, an ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on.  In essence, I have always tried to treat my step kids the way I would want them treated should my ex remarry.

The other very important part of making a blended family work, is to respect the other parents involved.... I have been extremely fortunate there as well.  The woman who was my ex-husband's first wife, has been a tremendous asset to my boys' lives.  She facilitated a relationship between my sons and their siblings.  That was the coolest act of kindness.  She didn't have to do that, but recognized how important family is, despite our differences... it's hard being a second wife.  There is always the spectre of the first wife there, but she modelled a wonderful example.  She chose to accept my kids as the siblings to hers, without judgement.  How classy!

In my current relationship, CG has two beautiful kids. A daughter and son.  They're smart, funny, articulate and kind.  They're kids he can be proud to say he raised.  We have that in common.  Our kids aren't perfect, but are certainly good people, and somehow we all seem to fit.  When we spend time with the kids, we laugh, interact and talk and it's good.  We've even started having family dinners together every other Sunday.

I enjoy every minute I'm given to spend with his kids, and we genuinely like each other... I get to spend good estrogen time with his daughter, and his son fits right in with my two clowns... My boys genuinely like CG, and best of all, our kids like each other!   Ok the fact that CG and I are in love with each other, and show respect for one another doesn't hurt either... life is very good.

The point I need to make about respecting the other parent, is I know there has to be something wonderful about CG's ex-wife.  I see CG so much in his children... The amazing people they are, is in a big way due to him as their custodial parent, but their mother contributed half the DNA to make them who they are. While they live with him, they look forward to the time they spend with her and with her family.  Let's face it the man I love saw enough in her to choose her as his life partner, even though that wasn't to be.  Because I trust the judgements he makes, I trust his choice was based on something special he saw in her.  Looking at things that way helps keep things in perspective. 

She and he ended, just as my ex and I did... it happens...  They have remained cordial just as my ex and I have.  The fact is, that's what's best for our children, and it causes way less drama for us.

I have also been on the other side of the coin.  My ex-husband had a girlfriend for about seven years after we split up.  I remained respectful of her and her time with him.  I never called him unless there was an emergency.  I ensured she got a nice Christmas gift from the boys, and that they treated her with respect as well.  There was a chance she could end up being their step mom, and I knew how that felt.

Not everything has been easy in my step, or ex relationships though...While I have remained quite friendly with my ex, and with one of his sisters, my ex parents in law never did care for me. They're born again, while I'm baptized but non practicing Catholic, and the fact that my ex husband had the first divorce in the family when he and his first wife split was very hard on them and the rest of the family... They really liked her, and I was very different in some ways.  I wasn't really ever given the chance to be accepted, and that's rolled down to affect my kids, and their contact with their paternal grandparents.   While I'm not perfect, I would never have kept my sons from their family, had there been any overatures made.  I will never understand the lack of contact.  I tried to set the ball rolling, even having the whole ex family over the day after Christmas about 7 years ago.

I hope later in life, I get to see I've done the legwork to let the people in my life know I love them.  That I have been the sort of grandparent my parents were to my nephews, my kids and step kids, and their kids....and that I have given them enough modeling to carry on that legacy. I hope too, that I was kind enough that my kids, grand kids and step kids think enough of me to put me in a NICE home... one with a pool and pretty yard boys would be great!

better late than...

later....