I’ve been hanging out with some saucy broads. I’ve been in the San Fran area working on a radio show called Juicy Tomatoes based on a book by the same name (and hosted by my mom). Forgive my shameless pimping. Essentially, the show features a bunch of boomer women (in their 50’s and beyond) talking about a range of issues from cosmetic surgery to career change to the importance of friendships. And even though the target demo is 50+ the issues are universal. For example, I’m sure many of you (like me) can easily join a discussion on gray hair. At what age, do we stop coloring it? My short answer is never, but I have several decades to think about it.

The Tomatoes are an inspiring bunch. Just this week, I met a yoga teacher, mystery writer, triathlon athlete and whimsical painter, all in their fifties and sixties and boldly defying the stereotype of what it means to age.

These gutsy women possess the qualities I admire in my own mother: daring, confidence and curiosity. It struck me just yesterday how lucky I am to have grown up with such a powerful role model. I thought, what if she’d been a disappointment instead? If she had been unhappy with her life…if she’d been afraid to take chances… if she’d settled for less than her worth or ability. What if she hadn’t encouraged me to imagine great possibilities and push the envelope? Who would I be today? Jesus, I’d be a wreck.

The Tomatoes are an inspiring bunch.

I suddenly felt sympathy for the many tremendous women I’ve met throughout my lifetime who didn’t grow up with a positive mother figure. You know, the ones who don’t look forward to holidays? Or the family phone call? Where did these women get validation and unconditional support?

I have to think they tapped into their own strength and tenacity early on and made some important friendships. Whoever you are, I applaud you.

I also realized (it’s been the week of the epiphany) that as I’ve gotten older, it’s been my intention to surround myself with gutsy girlfriends. Women I can look up to. Since it’s not socially acceptable to climb into your mother’s lap well into your mid-thirties, I’ve sought out contemporary role models to hold my hand and show me how to live.

I suppose that’s why I started this blog. Because there’s no comprehensive manual on how to become a stepmother, I hoped to find a community of women to show me the way. And I have. I’ve discovered a network of like-minded ladies who have generously provided me with shared motherly (and very juicy) advice. Thank you.

Image courtesy of Rick Tang Photography

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Last night we ate beef patties in the shape of Texas. The Husband spotted them during his last grocery store run and wrangled them right into the cart. They’re called “Bubba Burgers” and they also come resembling the U.S.A. “Now, that’s just over the top,” said The Husband. Clearly, his patriotism has parameters.

Like true ranchers (we live in a ranch-style house. Does that count? ), we gorged ourselves well into the evening, reclining in the warm moonlight and counting lightening bugs until it was time for bed.

Then, early this morning I got on a plane to San Francisco. Four hours in the air and suddenly I’m in Union Square, my mother, sissy and I storming the Post Street H and M (my favorite European one-stop shopping). Then fast forward to the Ferry Building and we’re grabbing three seats at Ferry Plaza Seafood- crab cakes on sourdough, clam chowder and Chardonnay. And the Bay, blue and bright, right there- just how I remember it. Salty and delicious. It takes only a few deep breaths of Pacific air to confirm that I am home.

Talk about a change in scenery.

I love that about traveling, especially early morning flights or even better, the red eye. You leave one place, fall asleep and drool on your neighbor, and wake up somewhere completely different or absolutely familiar. It’s disorienting and refreshing. It shakes me awake. In fact, I was shaking in H and M. I was in the dressing room trying on tweed cropped trousers when my hand started to shake. That’s when I realized I was kamikaze shopping and I hadn’t even had my coffee yet. Never a good idea.

So, I’m in the Bay Area for a week: doing some production work, visiting with family and friends, reacquainting myself with the smells of eucalyptus and fog. The Husband and man-children are on their own. I arrived in flip-flops and short sleeves (what an idiot), and was quickly reminded that in Northern California, one dresses in layers. Always. Only in Austin is it still hot in late October.

Now, I’m in socks and long sleeves and wrapped in a blanket. I’m at my mom and stepdad’s house, where the Red Sox are playing in the other room and green beans are simmering on the stove. I feel very cozy, content and safe. And the Sonoma County wine isn’t bad, either. Isn’t it funny? In just a matter of hours, you can depart from one home and land in another. Last night I was the stepmom in Texas. Tonight, I’m the California kid.

Image courtesy of Ferry Plaza Seafood

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Ladies, I think we are on to something. A movement. A revolution. A breakthrough.

The Stepmom Shower: A modern-day celebration where new and seasoned stepmoms gather together for an afternoon of girlfriend gaiety and adoration.

Unlike the traditional baby shower, where mama-to-be receives gifts for the survival of the blessed babe, the stepmom shower honors the adult woman thrust into a scary and unknown world and like the infant, is similarly naïve and in need of care. We may have more years on the planet, but when it comes to stepmothering, many of us were born yesterday.

It’s time to start a new tradition.

I’ve been to countless baby showers and it seems that parenting inexperience is honored above more impressive qualities like daring or patience (Isn’t she adorable. She doesn’t even know how the Diaper Genie works. Dear, let me help you). If this is true, then who more deserves a kick-ass party with a bounty of presents, expert instruction and hard liquor than the stepmom, who gets no gestation period at all? No preparation. No handbook. If you’re like me, you just woke up one morning with half-grown kids sleeping down the hall.

It’s time to start a new tradition. There’s no reason why stepmoms shouldn’t be entitled to the same elevation and indulgence, if only for a long afternoon.

But, I’m hung up on one thing: the name. “Stepmom Shower” doesn’t sound all that fun. It’s got a dead ring to it, do you agree? Well, I don’t know about you, but if a party isn’t fun, then why did you waste your time cleaning the house and buying expensive cheese? So, I’m proposing a name change. A title that reflects the spirit and sentiment of the celebration.

Introducing, La Belle-Mere Party!

What the hell is that? She had me up until this point, but now she’s throwing around a foreign language. I’m confused.

Is this what you are thinking? Well, let me explain. First, I blame my mother and so should you. She is convinced (and works very hard to sway others) that the French are far more sophisticated and appealing than Americans. I do agree with her that the French have much prettier words, so there’s that.

Second, and more importantly, La Belle-Mere is actually French street slang for stepmother, so I didn’t just make it up to sound fancy. And translated, it means the mother even more, all the more or more than ever.

Now, I’m no language expert, so the following interpretation is my own (I’m sure my college French professor would shake her head “tsk, tsk” and fail me again). But, when I think of myself as a “mother all the more,” I’m struck with a sense of relief and significance. I am not Mom, “the original” and I will never replace her, but instead of imagining myself as the awkward, shadow figure in the background, I’m standing right beside her with my head held high. The mother more than ever.

I think it’s important that we (myself included) start thinking of ourselves as more, not less. We all bring something to the blended family table. We belong. We have a place. It may take me a while (like years) to truly feel this way, but I’m going to keep repeating it under my breath until I do.

With that, a raise my glass to you, my step-ladies! Here’s to your friendship, good humor and grit. Let the 2008 La Belle-Mere Tour begin! Start clearing your calendars for a trip to Austin. Details to follow.

If you have not yet read the SMS gift registry, I strongly suggest you check it out here.

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Because I got so many superb suggestions from you all for the Stepmom Shower Gift Registry, I decided to update it and repost. It makes me laugh every time I read it.

Case of wine
5 pounds of Brie (crackers included)
A day spa retreat including obscene bikini wax
90 minute massage complete with airy-fairy music
Countertop Mojito fountain
Pedicure with flips to take home
Scones for a month
Lipstick for a year
Xanax sampler pack
New bras
Personal flask
An overnight hotel stay with The Husband

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