Boyfriend’s girls are extremely welcoming when I walk in and we first meet. They are outgoing and objectively beautiful. I play a karaoke video game with them, hoping that they’ll think I’m cool, despite the fact that the last time I played a video game I was a child and the game was Frogger (Google it!), plus I’m completely tone deaf and trying way too hard.
I feel like I’ve just arrived at a cocktail party where I don’t know anyone, and pray that someone will talk to me, except there’s no alcohol. I want Boyfriend’s children to like me. Like, really, really like me.
I don’t spend the night, but Boyfriend and I manage to sneak into his washroom and have sex before I leave. So maybe that’s why I’m glowing. Or maybe it’s because my first meeting with his children went off without a hitch. In fact, it was a success! I am beyond happy and relieved that his children seemed so open to meeting me.
There was no big conversation about how we should get our children to meet (shocker, right?) or how they’d get along, although there may have been conversations about how excited we both are to have our respective children get together. That’s almost like actually talking about it happening, right? We both agree that if we make it a big deal, it will become a big deal, so we keep the evening when we finally pull the trigger light and easy. Just another Thursday night, people. Move along.
Boyfriend, like I’ve said, is blessed with outgoing, friendly, and talkative children who are young enough to integrate. I am blessed with a daughter who is up for anything, including meeting Boyfriend’s children. She, too, is also young enough to easily integrate into a new family makeup. I think it becomes harder on children to assimilate into a blended family when they are older, because they can really speak their minds and overanalyze things. Our children are young enough to, well, not overanalyze anything.
We all pile into the kitchen at Boyfriend’s house to make our own pizzas, because who doesn’t like making their own pizza? It’s an easy activity that we can all enjoy together. The night is, mostly, a success. There are no tantrums. No one storms off. But I have to pull my daughter aside once after she says “Banana.” My mind races to remember what the code word means. It comes to me within seconds. Banana = I’m sad and I don’t know why.
I know why. The girls all seem to get along, except for a few minutes, when Boyfriend’s girls give a sideways WTF glance at the pizza creation my daughter has made, which is a fucking disaster. She’s seven. I’m not totally sure what kind of masterpiece pizza they were expecting, but clearly she’s not quite ready for a Michelin star, as far as they’re concerned.
I can tell she is a little jealous, not because I’m conversing with Boyfriend’s children or she doesn’t have my sole attention, but because Boyfriend’s children’s pizzas are so perfect it makes even me wonder if they work part-time at Domino’s. Rowan’s subpar pizza being compared to his daughters’ isn’t a blended family issue. It’s a sibling jealousy issue, and I sort of treat it like that. I take her aside, into the bathroom.
“Why are you feeling sad?” I ask, even though I know why. I can read my daughter’s mind and her facial expressions like I can read a book.
“I don’t know. I just am,” she tells me.
“Are you sad because you didn’t like your pizza?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says.
“Just tell me the truth. You’re a little pear, aren’t you?” Pear = I feel jealous.
“Yes, Mommy,” my daughter admits, tears welling.
“Oh, who cares,” I say to her. “It’s just a pizza. They taste the same no matter how they look.”
“But did you like my pizza?” she asks.
“Your pizza was perfect!” I say. “Should we go back now and join the others?”
After we eat our pizzas and clean up, all the girls watch a movie together. Boyfriend and I sneak off to have sex in the washroom again. Like a porn star, he can cum on demand, so we are quick. At the end of the first get-together, Rowan is happy. When we leave and I ask her how she liked Boyfriend’s girls, she answers, “I liked them. They were nice.”
When our children meet, it really isn’t a big deal. At least it doesn’t seem that way to Boyfriend and me, or to the children either. We don’t think “this is too soon,” because we want all of our offspring to spend time together so we can spend time together. After, I wonder whether Boyfriend and I would still be together if our kids didn’t get along. This meeting is a much bigger deal than any of us realize. Classic us. What about our relationship isn’t?
One of my friends, who is a single mother and is on many dating apps, refuses to divulge on her profile that she has a child. “I want them to get to know me first,” she says. I don’t judge her, but I can’t help but think, Why wouldn’t you want potential dates to know you have a child? You’re hiding the most important part of your life! Maybe she thinks that if she says she has a child, her odds of meeting a partner will be lower. Truth is, if the man she meets is turned off that she has a child, is that really someone she wants to entertain as a partner? Seems like a big waste of time to me.
Another mother I know is divorced and dating a man who has children. I call her my soccer mom friend because our daughters are on the same team and we sit together on the sidelines, half watching our girls play, but mostly talking to each other. Each week, she gives me updates on how her relationship is progressing. It’s going well, although it seems to be progressing as slowly as a garden snail.
“It’s great. But I still don’t know when I should introduce him to my daughter,” she tells me, one evening, while we’re on the sidelines.
“Hasn’t it been almost a year since you started dating him?” I ask, hoping to not sound judgmental, because judging another mother is just plain wrong and I’m trying to be objective. I’m also trying to understand why!
“Yep! But my daughter is overly sensitive these days, and she already is slamming doors in my face, so I don’t want to rock the boat even more,” she sighs.
While many would think that Boyfriend and I are moving way too fast, introducing our children to each other within a handful of months, I would have a few questions for Soccer Mom Friend, if I had the balls, no pun intended. Like, won’t your daughter be super pissed that you hid the fact you’ve been seeing someone for more than a year? Also, it’s probably the advent of puberty that is causing her to be so sensitive, so why not just let her in on it?
I don’t ask her, because I like her, and if it doesn’t feel right to her, who am I to judge? No one’s windows are clean. Mine certainly aren’t.
Still, it sheds light on the fact that there really is no right or wrong way to introduce children to each other, be it two months into a relationship or two years. Who knows what the outcome will be? All of us dating who have children or are dating someone with children are confused and winging it. Maybe there is a right way and a wrong way, but there’s no one to direct us. If you want to know the right time to introduce you children, you may just as well look at your watch, because there isn’t a universal right time. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.
We ignore all so-called experts and well-meaning friends, who say you should wait at least six months to a year before introducing your respective children to your new partner or to each other. What makes them the experts, anyways? Am I an expert because I am embarking on a blended life? So-called experts can fuck right off with their advice, because waiting six months to a year doesn’t feel right for us. And it’s not like I’m dating someone in rehab who’s been told not to date anyone for a year so they can focus on their recovery. I’m simply a woman with a child moving forward in life with a man who has children of his own.
Another friend who blended families also introduced her children to her now husband’s children after only a couple of months, believing that she and her boyfriend needed to see how their children would get along before their relationship could advance, something I hadn’t even considered when I first met Boyfriend’s children.
/> “We introduced our children after only a couple months of dating. Our children were very young. Mine were two, five, and seven, and his were three and six,” she says.
At first, she tells me, they would hang out socially with other divorced friends and their kids. “We all had a barbecue together with a bunch of other couples and divorced families. I think in the beginning, due to their young age, it was easy to integrate the kids as ‘Mommy’s friend,’ as I had a few divorced friends at the time and we ended up doing things together. This was about two months after we first met.”
As things got more serious between them, they started spending more “deliberate” time with all their children together — going for ice cream and dinners, and eventually spending entire weekends together. They are now married. But she, too, had wondered what would have happened if their kids hadn’t gotten along and if they would have chosen not to move forward if that was the case.
“I remember it being slightly tricky because I wanted to have a chance to experience what it would be like, not only if we were together with all of our children, but also how it would impact the kids if we ended up breaking up, after a few months,” she says.
This is also not something I’d ever thought about. What would I have done if Boyfriend’s and my children hated one another or constantly fought? Would I have broken up with Boyfriend? Would Boyfriend have broken up with me? Personally, I didn’t even think about how the children would react if we broke up after a handful of months.
“I definitely wanted to see early on how well we blended. I used to tell my husband that if we had no kids there would never be a reason to get married,” she laughs. “He used to say if we had no kids we would be married already.”
Another friend of mine, who is divorced, tells me that when he introduced his three children to his girlfriend, who he had been dating for less than two months, at a restaurant for dinner, it pretty much ruined his relationship with his kids.
She came on way too strong, way too fast, with his children, which made them feel uncomfortable. “She practically demanded that I had to introduce her to my children after just knowing each other for two weeks,” he tells me. “I should have seen that as the first red flag. They didn’t like her at all. They detested her and I knew that wasn’t going to change, especially since she tried to act like their mother from the minute I had introduced her, as if she were in some sort of competition with my ex. Even I was sort of horrified when she handed my daughter an expensive piece of jewellery on the day they met, after I had casually mentioned that her graduation was coming up and she had asked for this one thing. My daughter was fifteen at that point and saw it for what it was. No, it wasn’t a nice gesture. It was clearly bribery, and my kid was way too old for such outrageous bribery. Also, they didn’t like that I was talking with them about the women I was dating, like they were my friends and not my children. My children didn’t want me to be their friend. They wanted me to be their parent.”
My friend was more than dismayed — he was gutted — when his daughters sent him a long, heartfelt email the day after meeting his girlfriend, pretty much saying they didn’t want to hear about anyone he was dating until it was serious, and, in fact, they no longer wanted anything to do with him if he was with her. They wrote him, “We are not your friends.” They didn’t give him an ultimatum, exactly, but they refused to talk to him for months, all because they hated the woman he was choosing to spend his time with, a woman who was trying to force his children to like her, a woman so thirsty to blend, it was like she was dehydrated.
“I did break up with her because of my children, after they sent me that very hurtful email, which broke me to my very core. But we were not getting along anyway. We were fighting every day because she wanted to rush our relationship. I knew I had to break up with her, not just for my own sanity, but to work to earn my children’s trust back. They refused to talk to me for six months. It was the worst six months of my life. It was torture.” So, at least in this area of blending, Boyfriend and I are lucky. Our children are still young enough to be open to dating and don’t really even know there’s an option to speak up. When your children are young, they still think you’re the boss. Ah, the all-too-fleeting glory days.
My friend introduced his children to the woman he was dating really early on, and it bit him in the ass. From then on, he refused to rush into any relationship, and he stopped talking to his children as if they were girlfriends at a sleepover party. “I continued to date, but wouldn’t tell them about it. It didn’t matter anyway. I haven’t found anyone yet that I would want my children to meet.”
But Boyfriend and I are two grown adults and want our new lives to start stat. We want to be together all the time. We want our children to become and eventually act like true siblings. I want to marry Boyfriend and he wants to marry me, because we know that, together, there are more pros than cons. Call it making a compromise. Call it placing a bet. Call it crossing our fingers. Call it wishful thinking. We don’t care what you call it. Whatever we’re doing seems to be working. That is, until I invite Boyfriend and his children over to my house for the first time so that we can take them to a nearby museum, a place I’ve taken my daughter every month since she was three years old.
Boyfriend’s children are immediately bored. As soon as we buy our tickets and start walking through the museum, I can tell they don’t care about any of the displays. Their pained expressions make them look as if they are being punished. I realize, even at their young ages then, nine and eleven, that going on cultural excursions, like to the museum or an art gallery, is just not their thing. Neither, for that matter, is seeing people who happen to be homeless.
My daughter grew up passing homeless people every day, since she was three. The small private school she attended downtown was a ten-minute walk from the condo we used to live in, before we moved into our house, and we would pass the same homeless man every day for the four entire school years. She knew his name. He knew her name. She knew that he liked to fish on weekends. He always had a lollipop to give her, and I always kept change on me so my daughter could drop it in the bowl by his feet. She liked petting his dog, too.
Meanwhile, when Boyfriend’s children come to our hood, it’s like they have never seen someone who lives on the streets, with a handmade sign asking for money, because, well, they haven’t. They have always lived in a quiet suburb and haven’t actually seen anyone beg for money. They are scared, acting like they’ve seen a huge spider, and they point out the homeless people as we pass them.
I’m astonished at their reaction to people less fortunate than them, but I don’t say anything because, well, I don’t know what to say and I’m still in shock that it’s their first time at a museum. Boyfriend doesn’t tell them, “Don’t stare.” I have practically just met his kids, so I keep my trap shut. I’m not about to lecture them on the importance of gratitude or the reality of mental health issues or why people end up on the street, as I’ve done with my daughter. Boyfriend’s girls were already bored enough at the museum. The last thing they need is a lecture on how blessed they are.
It hits me, suddenly, that Boyfriend’s daughters and my daughter have had very different upbringings. Boyfriend’s girls would rather hang out at a mall. My daughter likes learning about history and wants to (and has) invited homeless people to come live with us.
Not surprisingly, we don’t last long at the museum and head pretty quickly to a nearby restaurant. It is a first for all of us, dining out in a restaurant, and I laugh with the girls when they make fun of the waitress for having a strange name and acting a little strange. They just don’t seem to know … better? Even as an adult, I felt peer-pressured into also mocking this waitress. It was my first time eating out with them, and, while far from my proudest moment, we do bond over this experience.
On the way back to Boyfriend’s car, I run into an old friend in the parking lot and give him a hug. I’m at a loss when it comes to explaining who all these people are
with me. So I just introduce them by their first names. I feel uncomfortable introducing Boyfriend as “Boyfriend” in front of all our children. What if they don’t think that we’re “Boyfriend” and “Girlfriend” yet? What if they don’t know how serious we’ve become? It’s the first time I also recognize that there will be many future occasions, being in a blended family, when I don’t know how to explain what exactly we are. When tourists ask me for directions in my own city, I probably more often than not send them the wrong way. Anything navigational is not my strong suit. Including navigating my blended family.
· EIGHT ·
It wouldn’t be a mother-daughter vacation if everybody else came along, now, would it? Rowan’s world changed a lot after we blended, and not just because Boyfriend has taken her spot in our bed and she can’t barge into our bedroom without him huffing. So I make sure that at least one of our mother-daughter rituals, the most important one, stays the same, no matter the backlash I get. Boyfriend knows that nothing is going to get in the way of our annual mother-daughter trip, when, every year on her birthday weekend, we head to Miami. I also live for these trips, when it’s just the two of us, like the old days — just me and Rowan, before I had to take other people into consideration. Boyfriend knows it’s futile to try and get in the way of our mother-daughter vacations, which essentially exclude not just him, but his children as well.
Recently, a friend relayed to me a story of how one of her girlfriends, who has one biological daughter, married a man with three children of his own. She booked a trip, overseas, with just her daughter. So I’m not alone. But, apparently, her bonus children were so upset that their dad had to plan an extravagant weekend of fun for them to make up for the hurt they suffered because they weren’t invited to come along, and this just shortly after they married.
Blissfully Blended Bullshit Page 10