Ladies, it is my great pleasure and an absolute thrill to announce it here first– My memoir, The Package Deal, My (not-so) Glamorous Transition from Single Gal to Instant Mother will be available in bookstores in May 2009. Just in time for (step)mother’s day. (although you can pre-order it today by following this LINK to fantsy-pants Random House)

I realize this is several (like six) months away, but I thought it only fair to let you know why I have been so unapologetically absent from this blog for so long. I’ve been writing, writing, writing and now the bulk of the work is done and I can return to the platform that inspired the book in the first place– Stepmother’s Milk. Many of the discussions that we have had here are included in The Package Deal, including the L-Word, What’s in a name, The Stepkid Shuffle and Marrying the Ex.

My hope is that by baring my imperfect soul to the world, The Package Deal will inspire an even larger, mainstream discussion about what it means to be a stepmom and part of a stepfamily. I’m still holding tight to my fantasy where stepmoms from all over the land proudly flood their villages, cities and cul-de-sacs with their manicured fists held high, declaring… MY NAME IS (put yours here) AND I AM A STEPMOM AND YES, I COUNT!

Let’s see what happens,

Here’s an excerpt……….

I’m stuck. I can’t move my arms. I think I’m having a claustrophobic fit. What’s that smell?

Let me be frank: Traveling with children is a bit of a chore. Welcome to the party, honey. Is that what you’re thinking?

I’m well aware that I’m not the first person to come to this conclusion. I’ve been on plenty of planes, sitting across from rattled parents with wailing babies and there is nothing about that ordeal that’s ever looked rewarding, or fun.

I’m not a witch who bakes kids on high. I can do this. I can be the kid-loving type.

Juggling a ‘tween and a teen has a different set of challenges. They don’t shed as many tears as babies do, but they still lose their share of liquids—from the armpit region. Two hours in and the trip to Memphis was getting a little, how should I say, funky. If smoking were still allowed on commercial flights, I would have torn the ripe T-shirt off The Tall One and torched it in the plane’s bathroom.

Instead, I threw off my seat belt and squirmed my way safely over him and out into the aisle.

“Ouch! What are you doing?” he said.

“I have to use the restroom. Unless you want me to stay put and pee on you?”

“You’re weird.” He went back to his journal-writing and I headed to the back of the plane.

In my moments of anxiety about adding half-grown kids to the romantic mix, I often seek out a bathroom mirror where I can give myself a good talking-to. In the plane’s lavatory, I told my sallow reflection that tolerance is a favorable quality– it’ll erase years from your green face– and moreover, I’d heard that a self-centered lifestyle is ultimately unfulfilling. If I love this man, I have to accept that his kids are along for the ride. I searched my own eyes for conviction. If I wasn’t ready to accept the vacation package deal, I ought to let this man go and get back to traveling alone.

I don’t want to let this man go.

I think what’s always scared me about having kids is that they’ll bring out the worst in me. They’ll just be doing what kids do (tracking in dirt, licking the floor or screaming until their lungs bleed) and I’ll get agitated and become that mean lady who stuffs them in the oven.

I’m not a witch who bakes kids on high. I can do this. I can be the kid-loving type.

I forced a cheerful smile, unlocked the door to my confessional, and headed back to my seat with renewed strength.

The boys were knocked out, so I wedged myself in between their bony frames. Once I had enough room to exhale, their warm (albeit stinky) bodies felt quite cozy, and when The Young One– clutching his favorite stuffed animal, The Lobster– nestled up against my shoulder, I thought, okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.

Excerpted from The Package Deal, to be published by Three Rivers Press,
an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc.

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