The Package Deal Memphis Tour began with Husband Hank and I celebrating our three-year wedding anniversary at The Peabody Hotel, where he proposed in the lobby and where we got married a year later.

To celebrate our anniversary, my in-laws extracted the top layer of our pink wedding cake from their gigantic freezer, where it’s lived for the past three years.

Remarkably, the pink fondant icing acted like a heavy duty sealant, preserving the interior cake. (Egyptians could have used frosting to embalm the dead.) It was absolutely moist and delicious. And yes, those are the original flowers on the top of the cake. We didn’t eat those.

The following day, I did some local TV and radio, followed by a reading and signing at Davis-Kidd. (A very cool indie book store.) The Husband introduced me and fielded questions from a great crowd. Thanks to all who made it out.

The biggest thrill of the week was probably being awarded “honorary” duck master duties by The Peabody Hotel. For those of you who’ve read The Package Deal, you understand how ironic this is. Talk about coming full circle! If you don’t know about the legendary Peabody Ducks, read the history HERE. Unfortunately, the boys were not along on this trip to see it LIVE, but my two nieces, Ruby Kate and Anne Garrett were in the crowd. Naturally, they were impressed.

On Sunday, my mother-in-law, “Margaret, the Methodist Minister” stepped down from the pulpit and said farewell to her congregation at First Church. She’s one dynamic lady, a trailblazer and a community organizer, and I have no doubt she’ll stay very active in retirement.

Next stop: READERS BOOKS in Sonoma. Stay tuned…

We’ll be staying at the famous Peabody Hotel, (best bar snacks ever) where he proposed and, a year later, we got married.

I’ll also be doing some publicity for The Package Deal while I’m in town (see schedule below), and celebrating the work of my mother-in-law, who after thirty years as a Methodist Minister, has decided to step down from the pulpit at First Church.

Should you find yourself in the Memphis area in the next couple of days, here’s where you can find me.

THURSDAY, JUNE 11TH- MEMPHIS

RADIO AND TV

WHBQ FOX 13 News
Good Morning Memphis, 7:30am
WREG-TV News Channel 3
Live At 9, Peabody Place, 9am
FM 89.3 WYPL
Book Talk, 2pm
FM 101.5 WNWS
News Talk- 4:15pm

BOOK PARTY AND SIGNING

DAVIS-KIDD
387 Perkins Road Extended
Memphis, TN 38117
Store Phone: 901-683-9801
6:00 – 7:00pm

FRIDAY, JUNE 12TH- MEMPHIS

DUCK MARCH
Join The Husband and I in the Peabody Hotel lobby at 11am, when we will be the honorary Duck Masters for the morning duck march. Book signing to follow.

Get the back story on the Peabody ducks HERE

For a complete list of summer events and appearances, check out the izzy-rose.com events page HERE

Thanks to Ms. Peggy Nolan over at The Stepmom’s Tool Box for her review of The Package Deal.

She says…

“Izzy Rose has written the every new step mom book! The Package Deal is funny and full of the lessons every new step mom must learn. She talks about the struggles universal to step moms – setting boundaries, finding alone time with your man, and most importantly, Accepting What Is (Rule Number Six).”

Read the full review HERE

Peggy Nolan (also known as Tool Box Girl) is the mother of two daughters and the bonus mother of four children. Peggy is a published author and the founder and creator of two blogs, The Step Moms Tool Box and Serendipity Smiles. She is also the founder of The Mother’s Day Dare Project. As a self-care advocate, certified yoga instructor and breast cancer survivor, Peggy is passionate about helping others help themselves. Her recently published article “Self-Care for Step Moms” can be found in the May issue of The StepMom Magazine. Peggy’s mission is to heal families and save the world…one mom, one step mom at a time.

A second squeeze of gratitude to Samara over at Simplicity in the Suburbs for her review.

She says…

“So many books on being a stepmom or in a stepfamily either send you to yoga singing kumbaya or fill you up with anger, hurt and frustration… not Izzy though.”

Samara definitely gets me. Although our lifestyles are different, we share a similar attitude and she and I have been sister bloggers since I launched Stepmother’s Milk in 2007. Read Samara’s full review HERE

Samara Tilkens Postuma lives in Suburban Minnesota and is a stepmother and mother to four children. She was the Stepmother’s Milk Stepmom in the Spotlight in October of 2007. Read her story here.

April’s a true Southern woman: warm, graceful and wise– with a healthy dose of sass. She’s a childless stepmom with a twelve-year-old stepdaughter, who April describes as ” a special little girl, [who is] going to become an outstanding young woman.”

Read the full interview HERE

Enjoy!

She writes…

“There’s a telling moment when its non-fiction narrator, Izzy Rose, finds herself suffering a panic attack at a roadside convenience store in the Southwest.

She has left everything behind — her family and her job in San Francisco television — to follow a Southern suitor and his two sons to Austin, Texas, when reality sinks in like a Manolo Blahnik heel on her heart.

Then her new husband tells her: “You will do great things because that’s just who you are.”

And so she does, as this breezy, wise and surprisingly funny memoir attests. Following Izzy Rose from single gal to instant stepmom in “The Package Deal” is a bit like listening to your best friend kvetch.

You get a refreshing dose of honesty balanced by biting attitude as she opens up her life, and eventually her heart, to her prickly new role. You don’t need to be a stepmother to relate to this book, but it doesn’t hurt.”

Read the full article here

Image courtesy of mediabistro.com

Yes! Ms. Sultry Saucy Lawson is one of us. If she can’t UP the hip factor on this gig, I don’t know who can.

She was on NPR’s Morning Edition this week flirting with Steve Inskeep and sharing several recipes she’s used over the years with her own children to introduce them to the joy of cooking, including Soft White Dinner Rolls (a big time favorite of The Young One’s) and Cheesy Feet (think biscuits that leave footprints).

My all-time favorite recipe of hers is Chocolate Gingerbread Cupcakes because, one: they’re superbly sinful and, two: Nigella describes them as “very rich, very strong” and “not for children, but perfect for the rest of us.”

Bon Appetit!

Image courtesy of Getty Images

She writes, “Izzy, de Stepmother’s Milk. C’est bien écrit, c’est frais, c’est rafraichissant et les illustrations sont mignonnes. Elle donne un caractère vraiment humain à la stepmotherhood (belle-maternité? marâternité?). J’ai hâte de lire le livre…”

Translation: It is well written, it’s fresh, it is refreshing and the illustrations are cute. Elle donne un caractère vraiment humain à la stepmotherhood (belle-maternité? marâternité?). It provides a truly human face to stepmotherhood . J’ai hâte de lire le livre… I look forward to reading the book …

Not only am I elated to have a French Canadian as a new gal pal, but Ms. Montreal reminds me of my attempts last year to rally the troops for LA BELLE MERE (for those of you who are new to this site, I recommend reading la belle mere back story).

In a nut shell, last summer I suggested a modern day shower for stepmothers, an indulgent event where stepladies from east, west, north and south get together to celebrate our second wife status. I suggested afternoon drinking in our wedding gowns, gorging on cheese and exchanging gifts that we can actually use, like new bras and prescription drugs. While I continue to think this sounds like THE MOST FUN EVER, this year we’re going to have to settle on a down-scaled mixer.

Erin of the Erin Experiment and I have teamed up this year for a Midwest version of LBM. We’d love to meet up with any of you attending the BlogHer conference in Chicago this July. We’re in the beginning stages of planning an LBM Girls Night Out, so let us know if you’re in.

Cheers,

Interested in meeting other Austin stepmoms? The Real Stepmoms of Travis County will be gathering to sip and spill at House Wine Thursday, June 4th at 7pm.

Come join us! We’d love to meet you.

House Wine: 408 Josephine St @ South Lamar (512) 322-5210

FAQ

Q: What if I don’t live in Austin, but want to come. Is this an exclusive club?

A: Not at all! Come one, come all.

Q: What do you talk about? Is this some kind of weird sharing circle where we hold hands and cry?

A: Don’t be silly. This is just an informal get-together, an opportunity to mix and mingle with other women living similar lives.*

Q: What if I don’t eat cheese and crackers? I understand that’s all they serve at House Wine.

A: While I think that’s a shame, not a problem. P Terry’s is across the street and House Wine encourages patrons to go score a burger or a chicken sandwich and bring it back.

See you there!

Cheers,

* For why mixing with other smoms is important, read this excerpt from The Package Deal: My (not-so) Glamorous Transition from Single Gal to Instant Mom…

“Surely, there must be a support group,” I said to Sarah my shrink. “In California,” I tell her, “there’s a support group for everything.” I reason that there must also be a group for stepmoms.

Sarah says no. She’s heard of no such thing.

“Really? No meetings in auditoriums with fluorescent lights and metal chairs?”

“It is a stepmom group you’re looking for, right?”

I think, if there is no local support group, then where are all the stepmoms going to commiserate? Didn’t I hear there are more step and blended families in this country than ones subscribing to the old-fashioned nuclear model? If that’s the case, where are all my step-ladies and why isn’t this a mainstream discussion? Why aren’t we on Oprah?

I think, surely my fellow sisters are not all battling it out with themselves in bathroom confessionals, as I do? I envisioned millions of women muttering to their shower curtains, how did I end up with another woman’s kids?

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

But, that’s how it is.

My husband Hank is off to work. His youngest son is two thousand miles away living with his mother. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my coffee and the paper, two tabby cats nudging me for attention, giving myself just twenty more minutes before I, too, head off to my office in another corner of the house. That’s when my teenage stepson walks into the room, all groggy and as unemotional as the bowl of Cheerios he pours himself, without acknowledging my presence.

On a typical day, I can rise above his casual dismissal of me, reach through the awkward silence and chirp, “Morning,” to which I get a deep, guttural “M-o-r-n-g” in return. It’s a man-like groan, missing some key letters, but a reply, nonetheless.

That’s how I spin it, anyway. Even though he’s been prompted by me, it’s his reciprocated, albeit aloof, reply that lets me know that he does see me, that he probably doesn’t hate me, and that he’s just, well, a sixteen-year- old boy – an introverted one – and completely unaware that his stepmother occasionally needs some recognition.

Most teenagers are mute and moody and act like hormonal aliens

I know from other mothers that it doesn’t matter if they’re your blood or step – most teenagers are mute and moody and act like hormonal aliens – but I’m new at this mother thing and still getting used to our relationship.

It wasn’t until I was thirty-five that I agreed to bring children into my world, and it wasn’t through my uterus, but by marrying a man who already had two of his own. While most mothers go through a long adjustment period – cooing baby, chatty toddler, questioning ten-year-old – during which time they learn their child’s unique communication style, my boys came to me half grown and already speaking their own boy language. While I’m fairly confidant that their daily grunts don’t mean they’d prefer a third cat to a second mother, I’m never quite sure what they’re tying to say. Hank, their father since day one, is much better at interpreting their words, or lack of. When he gets lukewarm reception, which he often does, he can shake it off. But he also has memories of the early years when two little boys greeted him with nothing but delight. He tells me “Babe, you can’t take it personally.”

On most days, when I’m feeling like a big girl, I try it Hank’s way. I go back to reading the paper after our one-word morning exchange without feeling slighted, and knowing I can engage in meaningful conversation later in the day with more reliable sources – my colleagues and girlfriends or my mom in California.

But this was not one of those days. My usually mild temper had had enough. It wanted to rage. After soliciting another disinterested mumbling, it took every bit of self-control to restrain myself from saying: Would it kill you to acknowledge my existence? Really, I don’t need much. Just something simple like, how’s it going? or What’s up? I looked down at my adoring cats, now licking my ankles. I wanted to scream: How about taking a cue from the cats? Instead, I took a deep yoga breath, got up from the table and left the room, and that’s when I was struck with this self-pitying conclusion: After three years of being this kid’s full-time, stand-in mother, I feel like we are no closer today than we were on day one. And it’s all my fault.

We are no closer today than we were on day one.

Okay, I knew this wasn’t entirely true. We’ve had plenty of sweet moments (just the other night we’d watched repeat episodes of The “Real Housewives of New York” together. How many sixteen-year-old males would be caught dead doing that?). But still, tears rose to the surface like someone had punched me in the gut. Sitting together and sharing Bethenny Frankel’s enthusiasm for New York’s high priced charity events wasn’t enough. I wanted more. All the private worry that I was an inadequate, unlikable stepmom came rushing right out, leaving me deflated and wondering why I thought I could do this in the first place. Oh, yeah…because I’m in love with their father.

I sat down on the living room couch and thought; I’m NO good at this.

And it’s not for lack of trying. In my own imperfect way, I’ve made moves to grow closer to my stepsons without pushing it. Because I’m also a stepkid (my parents divorced when I was nine and remarried others when I was ten), I understand the importance of pacing. I never expected instant love from them or me, and I often reassure other shaky stepmoms that they’re not monsters for withholding the L-word.

That’s the one thing I’ve brought to this relationship. I may not know much about mothering, but I understand the code of the stepworld: You don’t walk in the front door and fling yourself on a kid. As it is with any relationship, forced love gets you nowhere, except maybe in jail. If you want to establish a natural connection, one that doesn’t label you as lame, annoying, pathetic, or your basic life suck, you have to let things develop slowly, or organically, as so many say these days.

As an adult stepkid, I get this, so I’ve kept my getting-to-know-you conversations short and my hugs reserved for holidays, and all I really want is some acknowledgment, like an “Atta Girl” for good behavior. But no, most of the time all I get is a strangled “morng.”

Now that I think about it, I seem to have adopted my stepfather’s bonding technique. When Mom’s new husband, Stanton, came along, I already had a dad who was very much in my life, so I didn’t really need another one. Stanton seemed to understand this and took a backseat role to parenting me. Likewise, he didn’t push us into a snuggly relationship.

As a kid, I was pretty broken up by the unexpected twist in my own after-school special: When Divorce Hits Home. I appreciated that Stanton kept a respectful distance. That’s not to say that he wasn’t an active influence in my life. He was and still is. As a stepmom, I’ve similarly given my stepsons space and time to warm up and let me in. But shouldn’t they be warmed up by now?

Later that afternoon, I arrived at my all women’s therapy session still feeling wounded.

“Who wants to begin?” Sarah, the shrink asked.
“I’ll go,” I barked.

Before she could give me the nod to go ahead, I launched right into it. “When it comes to my older stepson, I feel invisible a lot of the time, and it dawned on me today that he really doesn’t need me.” (Actually, it hadn’t dawned on me until I’d just said it and now that I had, I started to feel angry… and sad… and resentful… and weepy.)

“So, you know what,” my voice pitched a little higher, “ I’m done. I’m not trying anymore. I’m tired of giving, giving, giving and not getting anything in return. It’s true what my friends warned me in the beginning - ‘stepparenting is a thankless job,’ so screw it. He’s not my kid. We’re not obligated to love each other, and we’re better off just acting like roommates.”

Whew. Maybe it wasn’t the grown-up thing to say, but damn, it was a relief to speak my ugly thoughts out loud. The group gave me their supportive smiles, their looks of understanding, and then they told me I wasn’t behaving very much like a parent. One woman started to give me the tsk,tsk,tsk face and then said softly, “He does too need you. He might not show it, or know how he needs you, but if you’re raising this kid for any amount of time, he sure does need you to be SOMETHING.”

Her advice felt sobering and significant, but what did she mean by – be something? A roommate was something, no?

That evening, I lay in bed next to Hank, staring into the dark and going over my own teen years. Had I acted cool and withdrawn? Probably. Stanton came with two daughters about my same age, so that made three of us who became teenagers at the same time. Mornings in our house were hardly quiet, but that’s only because my stepsisters and I were fighting over our fair share of hot water and equal time in front of the bathroom mirror. Did I make time on those mornings for kitchen table chitchat with Stanton? HA! Who has time for pleasantries when you’ve got unruly curls to blow dry? Perhaps, I thought now, my expectations of my stepsons were a little too high?

Perhaps.. my expectations of my stepsons were a little too high?

I remembered a summer during college when Mom, Stanton and I found ourselves traveling together through the south of France. We were staying in a charming stone farm house run by a classic Provencal woman we called “Madame.” On one particularly blistering day, Mom retreated to the coolness of the bedroom while Stanton and I retired to the terrace under a tangled grape arbor that filtered the oppressive noontime sun. He and I sat there throughout the afternoon drinking du vin rouge ordinaire, laughing and telling family stories.

I woke up the next morning and called Stanton at work.

“What is it kid?” he said in his favorite deadpan style.

“I have some questions.”

“What kind?”

“Questions about stepparenting,” I said. “Specifically about you steppparenting me. Was it terribly… hard?”

“Hmmmm,” he paused. “Well, if you really must know – stepparenting was difficult. Not that you were difficult. You weren’t. But our relationship was a slow simmer.”

“Like you were simmering inside with hostility that you didn’t show on the outside?” I gibed.

“No, you dope. After we moved in together, your mother asked me if I wouldn’t please be more close to you and act more like a father. I told her ‘no.’ You had a father, and I was a stepfather. It was going to take a long time for you and me to get to know, understand, trust, like, and maybe even love each other. I was not going to force anything. I felt that would have been artificial and phony. Instead, I’ve been on this long courtship with you.”

I smiled at this.

“And,” he continued, “I think I made some breakthroughs over the years, and we’ve become close.”

“I think we have, too” I agreed.

I thought again about that summer in France. And how it really wasn’t until that afternoon in the shade of Madame’s piece of paradise, that, after decades of us being on medium-low, I realized how much we liked each other. I sat with this for a minute, feeling grateful for how he kept a knowing distance throughout the years. And yet, it wasn’t the distance itself, that I was grateful for, but the opposite – his enduring presence. For nearly thirty years, Stanton has been a steady constant in my life. He’s shown up every day. And he’s never asked for much in return – except maybe, “Leave me some mint chip ice cream,” and “Be nice to your mother.”

The next morning, I sat in my quiet corner of the kitchen. When my teenage stepson slunk into the room, expressionless and sullen, I said my usual:

“Morning.”

“Morng” he replied.

I’d love to have a meaningful multi-syllable conversation with this kid. But that’s just not where we’re at right now. Today, tomorrow and for who knows how long, he needs his Cheerios to be Cheerios and me to be the other one at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking coffee. Routine and dependable. That, I can do. That’s being something.

I cautioned, “I don’t think those are allowed in school.” I imagined him torching his unfinished homework and using the old it-accidentally-caught-on-fire excuse.

“Obviously,” he scoffed. As if.

If not for defacing school property, then… ” Why do you want one?” I asked.

“For lighting fireworks.” He explained that simple matches slow down the process and minimize the blast.

The kid officially becomes a teenager soon after the July 4th Independence Day weekend, and since fireworks are as prevalent as Pecan trees in Texas, I suspect we’ll have quite an explosive summer.

Also on the list:
1. Shiny, new bicycle
2. Label Maker

Next stop: Los Angeles on Tuesday, May 12th.

On Wednesday, I read at Copperfield’s Books in Santa Rosa. My mother Susan Swartz, author, radio personality and former Press Democrat columnist, conducted the Q and A. I was thrilled to see so many people come out for the event.

IN TEXAS…
KEYE TV in Austin did a great story on Blended Families last night as well. Judy Maggio came and interviewed us at our house. Take a look. Part two of this series airs tonight (May 6).

Ladies (and your men), my shameless self-promotion continues but, come on, you didn’t expect me to stay quiet the day my memoir, The Package Deal: My (not-so) Glamorous Transition from Single Gal to Instant Mom hit book stores NATIONWIDE, did you?

It’s a big day in the Izzy Rose household. The Husband and I got up before daybreak and have been nervously pitter-pattering around like it’s Christmas morning. My first book reading and signing isn’t until 6pm at Book Passage in San Francisco, but it might as well be starting in twenty minutes the way we’re acting. Can’t you just feel the excitement? It’s potent!

This book has demanded the majority of my time and energy for the past year, but it’s been a thrilling experience and an opportunity I’m so grateful for. Special thanks to all of you who have been my constant enthusiasts and supporters. This book is for YOU! So, if I may boldly suggest: pick up a copy today, find somewhere comfy and cool to stretch out, and enjoy with a strong batch of Stepmother’s Milk.

Big kisses,
IR

The famous Trudy’s Mexican Martini
2 fluid ounces tequila
1 fluid ounce Cointreau liqueur
1-2 fluid ounce Sprite
1 fluid ounce orange juice
1/2 lime (juice of)

Shake all ingredients and strain into glass rimmed with salt; add stuffed olives.