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Weird is the word in Texas.

Transplants from the Bay Area, The Husband and I were super psyched to participate in the Keep Austin Weird 5k and Festival this past weekend where locals run in ridiculously “weird” attire to the beat of local bands (well, not everyone as evidenced by our hum-drum outfits left).

Had I participated, I might have mimicked a pixie of a woman in metallic blue tights and a hot pink tutu. It wasn’t the weirdest outfit out there, but it appealed to my flashy Tinker bell side. What can I say? She sparkled.

In many ways, this is Austin’s version of the Bay To Breakers. Except for one distinct difference: there was no prancing and dancing in the fog. We ran like slugs in upper ninety degree heat. I have now fully grasped the term: Hotter Than Hell.

But, the beer and the Texadelphia cheese steaks at the end of the 3.1 miles almost made me forget my wheezing breath and disgusting butt sweat. That is, until Austin’s resident cross-dresser– Leslie-- passed by in a tuxedo g-string and a cowboy hat.

Keep Austin Weird- Amen.

Photos courtesy of Dieter VonSchramm

To be perfectly honest, family dinner has been one of the biggest challenges for me as a new stepmom. Perhaps that sounds ridiculous, but until I settled down with The Husband and his man-children, I hadn’t sat down for mealtime with such monotonous regularity since I was a teenager. The Husband is used to the routine (he’s been doing it for years), but it’s taken me the better portion of the past year to digest the idea that dining at home involves more than just cheese and crackers. That said, I think it’s important for a family to set aside a chunk of time each day to connect, but there are those days when I think I might gag before the meal is over.

Family dinner has been one of the biggest challenges for me as a stepmom.

Surely, you say, dining with your ready-made family can’t be that much of a chore. It’s not that I can’t handle it (in fact, sometimes I’m perfectly entertained), but dining with children is not what I would describe as a relaxing experience. Especially, when you’re sitting across from kids who are not biologically your own and who developed their unique conversational style (bickering and often interrupting), and quirky chewing habits long before you came along.

I’m usually good for a solid stretch of four to five days and then I need a break. When I don’t get one, I become antsy and very afraid that the slightest gripe (this cheese smells like a flea collar) or primal influences (But, I like to eat couscous with my hands) might send me into hysterics so really, my negligence is doing the kids a favor.

As you can imagine, it was with great giddy pleasure that The Husband and I indulged last night in an expertly served and meticulously prepared eight-course meal outside the home. Mind you, we weren’t the only ones who abandoned their kitchens on a Sunday night. There were 25 of us who sat together at long, candlelit tables (sans kids) in a downtown art gallery; this is a growing trend in Austin: the Supper Club. Our meal took four hours to consume and included chestnut soup, scallops with caper and apricot relish, prime rib with yogurt and red wine jus and a chocolate tart with pomegranate sorbet that sent me over the edge.

If it sounds hoggish, it absolutely was, and if we’d left the boys at home alone with a pot of rubbery penne and four-dollar Ragu, I’d be suffering this morning from a guilt induced stomachache. But, they’re still out of town on winter break! The family dinner routine won’t start up again until tomorrow and by then, I’ll be ready to sit down to a simple meal at home with familiar faces.

Want to read more about dinner at Izzy’s house? Read this. Interested in hosteria verde supper club? Check it.

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.

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

According to the online gossip rags, Uma Thurman will soon join our ranks when she marries her Suisse millionaire lover and becomes a stepmom to his two kids.

I’m thinking about sending her a gift. I like pretending we’re kindred spirits and that we could be mistaken for sisters with matching platinum hair and sultry blue eyes.

“Suuuuuure,” you mock. Just let me have my fantasy. It’s not gonna kill ya.

So what does a woman, who will soon become an instant mother of sorts, require? Uma clearly doesn’t need any more handbags (although I wouldn’t mind an authentic Louis Vuitton ), and baby bottles and bum cream will do her no good. What this woman needs is some good old-fashioned nurturing. If this superstar is going to survive stepmotherhood, she needs to start by taking care of herself.

And this is what got my thinking.

Call me narcissistic and even a bit greedy, but I believe it’s not too late to throw myself a stepmom shower. (I’ve been married just over a year. Surely, I’m still within the proper gift-receiving window.) In fact, I think all of us in the S-mom club should campaign for a new tradition where we celebrate our friendship, endurance and the bravery and buffoonery required to raise children (not biologically are own) who are part of a family that existed long before we came along!

Can I get a CHEERS for the STEPMOM SHOWER!

Here’s how I see the day playing out: The Instant Mom being showered shows up to the location of her choosing (shooting range, ice arena, winery, poolside cabana) in her wedding dress. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been looking for an excuse to put that silky gown on again. All of her favorite ladies join her for an afternoon of potent libations and indulgent savories. Fat free dip is strictly forbidden. Cheese is encouraged. There are cupcakes aplenty. With extra frosting on the side.

One of the more musically hip girlfriends plays DJ, dancing becomes inappropriate and laughter permeates.

Finally, instead of sitting around in a cramped circle watching one sweetheart open gifts, all attending ladies receive something from the “stepmom shower registry.” Here are a few of my favorites:

Case of wine
5 pounds of Gouda and Pecorino (crackers included)
A day spa retreat
Lipstick for a year
Scones for a month
New bras
An overnight hotel stay with The Husband

Of course, I could go on, but I’m curious how you’d do it. If someone where to throw you a stepmom shower, what would you add to the list? Should I start planning your party right now?

I am no longer a single woman who can decide at nine o’clock at night that cheese and crackers is a more than sufficient dinner. I can no longer sit for hours on end, enjoying the sound of my own silence, pondering what life has in store for me. Not anymore, chickie.

These days, I’ve become responsible, at least 50 percent of the time, for the well-being of my two, new step-kids. And these aren’t little kids, mind you, but medium-sized boys who have big ideas of their own regarding what it means to be well.

Fortunately, I’ve got two things going for me: A) they don’t hate me yet and B) I was a surly, step-kid myself. I speak the language.

I have the street cred.

It is my own upbringing of schlepping from Mom’s house to Dad’s, splitting holidays and carrying around two house keys that makes this new life of mine less scary. In fact, it feels oddly familiar.

I’m no expert, but I do know a thing or two about being a step-kid and so, I feel like I have the street cred to make this bold statement: the step-family unit gets a bad rap.

If it hadn’t been for my own step-kid upbringing, I wouldn’t have gained two brilliant sisters who I adore, learned how to fry bologna and boil top ramen (as an unaccompanied minor) or heard time and time again why The African Queen is “such a great goddamn movie.”

Becoming part of a stepfamily is a huge life changer for a kid, and truly, it can feel like being blown out of a hot cannon into a freakish, other world. That said, tables now turned, being the step-matriarch of one such frantic circus can be a less-than-glamorous gig.

And very far removed from my recent, and very Izzycentric lifestyle.

What I try to keep in mind these days is that we (the man-children and I) are not all that different. Our childhood stories have a similar plot line, anyway.

So, to The Tall One and The Young One, I encourage you to hang in there.

Life under the big tent can be chaotic, overwhelming and a tad crowded. But, I promise you; it can be magical, too. I’m not going to stock the house with cotton candy and caramel apples, but can I offer you smoked gouda and water crackers instead?