I knew it was coming. My boyfriend, Tim, and I have been dating for over a year. Both of us have two kids each – his are ages 6 and 8, and mine are 10 and 13. We began the process of “blending” our families at Christmastime last year and things have gone as well as anyone could hope.

So, I knew it was coming. We talked about getting married from almost the very start. We had talked to the kids about it. We had talked to our pastor about it. I knew it was coming, I just didn’t know when.

I had my hunches. Maybe on Thanksgiving when all of our families were together. Maybe on my birthday, Dec. 13 (This year it falls on 12/13/14. That would be memorable.) Or maybe on our trip to the Grand Canyon. Standing on the rim of one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World seemed like a perfect place to make this almost-as-awe-inspiring wonder official.

So I didn’t suspect a thing when I received a text from a mutual friend inviting our kids to a Christmas craft party on a Saturday afternoon. It sounded like fun. No parents allowed – just the kids. Tim made plans for us to have an early dinner in downtown Huntington Beach and then suggested a walk on the beach. Still, I wasn’t suspicious anything life-changing was about to happen.

As we walked on the beach of my hometown, the autumn light lit the pier. The sand was scattered with sunbathers cheating the calendar by getting in one last day of summer. I looked up and I saw something falling from the pier. They were rose petals and our kids were the ones dropping them down to the sand. Yes, that was my 13-year-old jumping up and down holding a sign with a big heart. Yes, that was Tim’s daughter scattering the last of the petals. (Which, by the way, isn’t allowed. A big voice boomed from the lifeguard tower: “Please stop throwing things from the pier.”)

“What’s going on?” I asked Tim. He was suddenly serious, turning to face me he pulled out a plain white piece of paper that had his proposal typed out so he wouldn’t forget anything.

People on the beach started to clue in to what was happening. Cellphones began to pop out of pockets and beach bags as total strangers took pictures as Tim got on one knee. The pier railing was lining up with people watching our intimate moment (#totalstrangersgettingengaged). When I said yes, our impromptu audience burst into applause and cheers.

Our kids rushed down from the pier to the sand to meet us. The kids were smiling, then the younger two quickly blurted out “We really have to go to the bathroom!”

BAM!

And so begins our journey as a blended family. The most romantic moment of our life followed by a frantic search for a public bathroom at the Huntington Beach Pier. Immeasurable sweetness followed by chaos. A picture-perfect scene followed by reality.

Tim and I laughed as we ran across the sand with the kids. I told him, “This is it! The life is our family life. This is part of it!”

Since then, when I tell someone I’m engaged, they quickly follow a congratulations with, “When’s the date?” After that, if they’re a woman, the next question is, “Are you going to change your name?”

Isn’t that an odd question? In some cases it almost feels like a challenge. When I answer with a fast “Yes,” I have been surprised by the amount of negative comments I have received. Blunt opinions. Straight out of dooms day predictions.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” one man told me. A colleague of mine told me, “As a women and a professional I feel I have to tell you I think you’re making a HUGE mistake.”

The common theme from these anti-name-changers is I have worked hard to create a name for myself in my career as a writer, editor and blogger. That “Suzanne Broughton” is my brand, my identity, and without it people who want to find me will wander around aimlessly on the Internet, Googling it until they throw their computer out the window in frustration. My new name will render me as a search-engine loser and that quite possibly my own mother would walk by me and not even recognize me. In very uncertain terms these people think my name is “me.”

I don’t agree.

In the words of one of my favorite women, Audrey Hepburn, “If I get married, I want to be very married.” To me, my marriage is more important than my brand. My union with my future husband is a bond that is not only biblical, but one that I embrace happily and with a heart full of gratitude.

When thought of in that way, it seems silly to let the admitted pain of changing my Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest handles. Don’t get me wrong, I did search my new name to make sure it’s open as a .com. And it is, but even if I had to go .net, I would still change it.

Besides, that is not giving you (the reader) very much credit. I think you can remember me, right? My married name will be Suzanne Moshenko. Let’s say it together: Mo-shen-ko. It’s kind of fun to say. Mo-shen–ko.

From my column at the Orange County Register.

I remember the roaming, the aimless innocent cavorting with packs of friends, like costumed strays around our neighborhood. Halloween was the one night of the year our parents let us OUT, like really out, on our own. Growing up in the seventies and the eighties Halloween night meant one thing–independence. The candy was good. Just fine, but the big draw was the wandering in little packs of ghosts, cats and nurses.

Armed with pillowcases we’d hit the neighborhood, sans parents, trying to see through the peep-holes of our sweaty masks, knocking on doors of *gasp* strangers demanding candy. Sometimes I’m pretty sure we didn’t say “thank you” or “please” but no supervising adult was there to remind us. Off we went to the next house, then the next. It was just like the Charlie Brown cartoons. It was the best night of the year.

That Halloween is dead. Forever.

For reasons today’s parents are all too familiar with, we’d never send our 10-year-old out on Halloween night with her friends without proper supervision. Not to be a Halloween grinch, but I kind of dread tonight. The kids have already been to three “Harvest” parties, their costumes stained with chocolate and fruit punch, and now they’re going to fill up on more. We’ll leave a big bowl of candy at our door and join our kids, missing out on one of the really fun parts of the holiday for parents–passing out the candy.

I know I need to let it go. I know I do. But I can’t shake the feeling that our kids are missing out on something great and it makes me sad for them. Though I know the last thing in the world they’ll be tonight is “sad.” I know I need to let it go–embrace the good things about the today’s Halloween; the block parties, the parent costumes, the time together. But Halloween has become some sort of yardstick for me–symbolic–measuring the childhood I had to the one my kids have. I know I need to let it go. I know I do…

On the morning of March 23 the parents of Yorba Linda teenager Logan Wells woke to the news that a car had hit their son. He later died at the hospital at 9:37 a.m. Logan was hit at 4 a.m. by a van as he rode his skateboard in the street.

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

My heart sank when I read the news. I didn’t know Logan or his family, but as a parent, my natural reaction was to feel overwhelming sadness for the young man whose life was cut short, for the family and especially for the mom and dad who received the worst news a parent could ever receive.

Soon after the news, questions and pointed criticism started onsocial media, my Facebook feed was filling up with the story and was lit up with speculation, and in the wilderness that is the comment section of news sites the cries were loud and pierced the thin veil of human decency: “Why was a boy out so late at night?” “Where were his parents?” “We want answers!”

The new age of journalism and the way in which people consume news online has created a mob mentality that has made the once news consumer feel like they are now tasked with being judge and jury to any news event that occurs. They feel they MUST know things that are, well, frankly, private. That’s right there are things that are still private. Not news.

Do we really deserve to know? Do we have a right to know every detail of the events of that night?  No. We don’t.

It’s a natural reaction to want to know more about tragedy. You only had to turn on the TV and find non-stop coverage of the missing Malaysian Airplane to understand that people want to know (even when there was absolutely nothing to report). It’s instinctual to want to pick apart a tragedy like Logan’s to find some factor that would exclude it from ever happening to us, to our kids. I understand that when news is so horrific we want to cushion ourselves from it. In this case, parents judging other parents.

But the wave of criticism didn’t stop there; it turned to judging a 16-year-old boy’s poor choice. People were shocked. SHOCKED. Absolutely amazed that a teenager was, well, acting like a teenager. As if  WE, as teenagers, never made a bad decision. That was the most hurtful and the most bizarre of the feedback I saw online and I hope never passed the path of anyone from his family.

I had two older brothers and could happily provide a list of the stupid stunts they pulled. These stories are now told over family dinners with eye-rolls from my mom as she exclaims, “I didn’t know you did that!” Even me. The little sister who spent most Friday and Saturday nights as a teenager at Calvary Chapel had my share of poor choices. Like the time my friends and I piled in the back of my friend Rick’s ’57 Chevy truck and drove to Mexico. (That’s another country.) We slept in the back of the truck in a parking lot in Tijuana and then drove home the next morning. Brilliant.

The thought of my mom being condemned for my dumb decision if something would have happened to me is a sobering and saddening thought. And so I think of the family of Logan Wells and my heart breaks for them.

My mom taught me that when someone had a loss in their family you simply said you were sorry for them. That you pray for them. It’s no surprise to anyone who reads their news online that the rules of etiquette usually get applied, but as parents I’m asking that we model some good behavior and join together and extend our deepest condolences to the Wells family. Compassion is the only answer we need.

I love to quote movie lines. This was a habit handed down from my dad and now I do it to my kids.  Growing up it wasn’t uncommon for me and my brothers to quote movie line after movie line without ever speaking an original word to each other all day.

Watching movies has always been an important family pastime. So, I thought for this Friday Five I’d actually do Ten. Ten of my favorite parenting scenes from movies.

1.) Steel Magnolias:

This is one of the saddest, most heartfelt scenes I can think of related to parenting. Sally Fields in “Steel Magnolia” as she comes to grips with losing her daughter. I love how the sorrow is broken up by humor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8EjNa8Ukg_0&feature=related

2.) Say Anything:

This is from my own personal YouTube clips channel. From “Say Anything” John Cusack explaining to his girlfriend’s dad what he wants to do with his life. Classic. One of the most quotable dialogs ever.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEgu7jdc_fs?feature=oembed&w=500&h=375]

3.) It’s a Wonderful Life:

Just a classic. You’ve seen it, you know. When George rushes home to sees his family…*tear*

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0k_Vsmqf6X8?feature=oembed&w=500&h=375]

4.) Kramer vs. Kramer:

Reaching back to the ’70s, if you’ve never seen this movie, it’s a must. This scene in particular is an iconic parenting moment: The Ice Cream Scene.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSrI96jzgDo

5.) Mr. Mom:

Oh, Michael Keaton! One of my favorite comic actors. Mr. Mom is an ’80s classic from start to finish, directed by Ron Howard. A must see. I was so happy someone had this up on YouTube, sorry about the ad that runs before it. Not only one of my favorite parenting scene, one of my all-time favorites movies. Keaton tries to talk his young son into giving up his blanket. “…the next thing you know, you’re strung out on bed spreads” So funny.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t2-NFhEI-DM?feature=oembed&w=500&h=375]

6.) Whip It:

This movie about Roller Derby has so many touching parenting moments in it. There’s a scene at the end, which I couldn’t find, between the mother and daughter that’s so real and moving I cried unabashedly when I saw it. Go watch this movie.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzKK6sf6Od4?feature=oembed&w=500&h=281]

7.) Kicking & Screaming:

Will Ferrell at his very best. Part of the charm of this movie is Ferrell’s character loses it and acts out towards kids–mostly other people’s kids–in ways a lot of us parents can only fantasize about. Kind of a “Parents Gone Wild” movie. This is my favorite scene…

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ry1tNGC6npg?feature=oembed&w=500&h=375]

8.) Parenthood:

This is a littler known movie (that now has it’s own tv show) also directed by Ron Howard. Lots of good stuff in this movie. Real parenting moments. The hard things. This too is from my personal collection of movie clips on YouTube. This scene plays out that moment when you, as a parent, realize your kid is just like you, and not in a good way. It also is powerful as the parents, Mary Steamvirgin and Steve Martin start to realize there is something wrong with their son.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eWeK7MFxiU?feature=oembed&w=500&h=375]

9.) Terms of Endearment:

Okay, Mom saying goodbye to her sons right before she dies. This scene is a must watch.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_1fYTbrBqA?feature=oembed&w=500&h=281]

10.) Life is Beautiful:

Lastly, one of the most powerful, yet soft and subtle, scenes about parenthood, ever. Life is Beautiful is about, among other things, a father’s love for his son. In this scene, Roberto Benigni and his son are in a Nazi death camp. Benigini tries to protect his son from the horrors of their situation by pretending the whole experience is a game–specifically in this scene “translating” for a German soldier the “rules” of the game. *fantastic *brave* funny*heartbreaking*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Y9aKqawdUQ

Please feel free to leave your picks.

One of America's largest retailers, Abercrombie & Fitch, has always lived on the seductive edge. Their titillating photos of tanned bare-chested hunks would cause even the most sexually sober person to stir…down there. And on the the merchandise side, tiny tanks and micro daisy dukes abound in their dark, moody, perfumed-soaked stores.  I'm cool with that.

But this spring A & F  introduced this item in their kid's spring line–hold on to your fleece hoodie–the "Ashley," a padded push-up bikini for girls as young as 8-years-old.  Now, those are three words that should never be associated with little girls: padded–unless we're talking knee pads; pushups–unless we're talking ice cream; and, bikini. Not to mention a push-up for tweens begs the question: "What does an eight-year-old have to 'push up?'"

I readily admit, I land way over on the modest side of the spectrum with my daughter, but a padded push-up bikini top for your fourth grader should bring on an instinctive gag reflex, even for the most liberal of parents. Abercrombie got this wrong and who knows, perhaps out of old-fashioned  thoughtlessness or apathy, they have ignited a firestorm of controversy with parents with the release of  the "Ashley."

This is not uncharted waters for Abercrombie, back in 2002 they found themselves in heap of  trouble with parents–and anyone with a smidgen of sense–when they sold and defended a line of thong panties that read "Wink Wink" and "Eye-Candy," again for little girls as young as 4-years-old.  Abercrombie's official–and baffling–stance on the tween wear was: "Any misrepresentation of that is purely in the eye of the beholder." Whaaaa…? Not exactly contrite.

I couldn't find any official comment on the padded bikini tops from the company, but I think it's interesting that yesterday the tops were listed as "Push-Up" bikini tops and now they're simply called "Stripped Triangle." It's my hunch this is the only "comment" we'll see from the retailer.

Here's where as parents you and I might differ.  I don't blame A & F, they are just a cog in the relentless wheel that pushes sexualization on our little girls at every turn.  Is the "Ashely" push-up bikini despicable?  Yes. Should we give the WTF-look to any parent who has a young daughter sporting a padded bikini?  Absolutely.  But in the end it's best to let it serve as a reminder to moms and dads we have to be vigilant to keep our girls young, innocent and wearing their Target one-pieces with hearts and rainbows as long as possible.

When we take on the responsibility ourselves, we take our daughters back.

Then they could sell stripper poles at Toys-R-Us, condoms at Justice and margaritas from the ice cream truck and it just won't matter, because our daughters will know that's not part of their world, not who they want to be.  Here's the deal, shaking our fist at Abercrombie really just gives them some added press and, I suspect, a good giggle about those prudish parents when they're in their boardroom.  Sure, boycott them.  Write a blog post about how wrong the "Ashley" is, but in the end, it's up to parents to keep our little girls…little girls.

Other thoughts on little girls

Surviving a Slumber Party.

Toto, I don't think we're in the toy aisle anymore.

OMGwad! I Tried. I Really Tried

The morning after Halloween is in some ways just as fun as the actual night. It’s the time honored tradition of tallying up the goods and assimilating them in some sort of calculated way into our lives. The process looks something like this:

THE DUMPING: This is the most exhilarating part of the process.

.

THE SURVEY: Now is the time to get a good look at the treats to see what they have to work with.

THE SORTING: Snickers with the Snickers. Starburst with the Starburst.  Getting things in order an important step in the process.  No mingling chocolate with the chewy candy or lollypops–everything has its place.  George, our dog, supervises the process.

THE DADDY TAX: This is levied in order to keep Dads from having to stoop to begging or worse–stealing candy.

THE NEGOTIATIONS: This is a very, very tricky business that’s ramifications could last a lifetime.  I still get fired-up  thinking about the raw deal I got from my brother involving a dubious trade I was talked into of my Reeses (A Halloween “E” Ticket) for two of his Abba Zabbas.

(Note: daughter is still wearing her costume, which she wore to bed. *nominate me for mom of year*) 

THE TRADE: I didn’t want to get involved, but a Twizler for King Size Butterfinger?  Another case of the older sibling getting the better deal. **Sigh**

And so it goes…

Emily loves the “Little House on the Prairie,” books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. They are the intermediate reader versions, which are abbreviated with big colorful illustrations and simple text.

Every time I come across this page in the first book called “Going West,” I laugh to myself.  This is where Pa TELLS Ma they are movin’ out West.  The reason?  Not as many people, no trees and the grass grows thick and high…just what every young mother wants. Yep, Pa’s a closer alright.

I kind of wish there were dialogue from Ma on the second page. The sarcastic remark potential is endless, but I think her face tells you the whole story.  Pa would have been wise to ask her to put away the knitting needles before he told her his plan.  Strange, I thought pioneers were supposed to have heightened survival skills.

This was a big summer for Emily, my nine-year old daughter.  There were a lot of firsts, but the biggest first by far is letting her go with her brother outside to play by themselves.

This is the kind of thing that if you were to go back in a time machine to the ’70s and tell my mom “Hey, I let my 9-year old play outside by herself! Big day!”  She’s be like, “Um, I’ve been letting my kids do that since they were 6.”  No big deal and then she’d go back to watching Lawance Welk or making our Sloppy Joes.  But in the 2000’s it’s a right of passage.  It’s a calculated parenting decision.  It’s a big flippin’ deal.

When Emily struck out with her brother to explore the wilds of the park across the street in our gated community the first thing I noticed was the sound of the cars.  Every car I heard from my office window sounded like it was going 100 MPH. Cars were now my enemies—out to get my kids. I was hyper-tuned in to the approaching rush of the car and after each passed I felt relieved…until the next one came down our street.

Emily passed the first “test” just fine, meeting all of our requirements; coming back when she said she would, with her brother, neither bleeding or crying. So they were allowed to go out on their Razor scooters the next time, then down to the park that’s further down the path.  With each trip out by themselves they proved they were ready for the challenge and I felt a little more relaxed.

The next leap was learning to ride her bike; Emily never learned to do it without her training wheels.  She was more focused on her roller skates and scooter.  But, now two girls her age moved in next door (yay!) and since they are constantly on their bikes, there was a sudden urgency to get on her bike.

I took her out to practice on her new bike she got back at Christmas, which is now almost too small for her.  I held on to the back and she would give it a go–standard learning to ride your bike stuff.  But, darn it if I had trouble letting go of that seat.  I just kept running next to her thinking if I let go she was going to burn in on the grass.

Finally it got almost comical and as I was sprinting next, working up a pretty good sweat and tying not to get my toes run over she turned her helmeted head toward me and said calmly, almost sympathetically, “Mom, you can let go now. I got it.”

But it’s so hard!

Babies are resilient.  Babies are tough. Babies have a wicked sense of humor. Babies can spend the first year of their life licking dirt, spending time unsupervised, and cuddling with cows and still enter into the toddler stage healthy and happy. 

These are all things I learned after watching the brilliant documentary “Babies.”  

Every parent should take the time to go see this movie. It follows the first year of life of four babies living in Africa, Mongolia, Tokyo and San Francisco.  It wasn’t only the dramatic differences in the way the babies were being raised that was fascinating–the African baby has his ‘hair cut’ with a machete, the Mongolian baby taken home from the hospital on the back of a motorcycle–it was also the underlaying truth that babies are babies, no matter where they hang their…well, I would say diaper, but only two of the four ever wears one.

Take a look at this video about the movie with an interview with its French makers– Thomas Balmes, Director and Alain Chabat, Producer. (Unrelated: Is there anything cuter than a French man saying the word “babies?”) 

Click here.

 I think they hit on it in their interview, as long as there is love, the babies were happy and healthy.  So, put down the Purell and go give your baby a rock to play with, really, it’s fine.  

Here’s my post featured in this month’s issue of OC Family Magazine:

There are a few sure signs that you have entered the land of grown-ups– paying taxes; treating your parents’ to an expensive, swanky dinner; or even listening to Neil Diamond without shame. But, you know what really makes you feel like you’re firmly an adult? Speaking to your kid’s class about what you do for a living. So when my daughter’s third grade teacher asked me to talk to her class about being a professional writer and blogger, let’s just say I felt my age–in a good way.

It was 10:00 am on a Wednesday morning. I stood in front of about 50 eight- and nine-year olds in a darkened room with my blog “Alive in Wonderland” projected behind me. I kicked off the talk with one word: perspective.

 “Who knows what the word ‘perspective’ means?” I asked, and a smattering of hands went up. (Point to the first kid.) “Um….,” no answer. (All other kids put their hands down.) “Perspective is the way you see something,” I tell them. “No one else in the world has your same perspective. It’s like your own creative fingerprint, and that is what you should focus on in your blog.”

 I could tell by their bewildered faces they needed an example. “Let’s say, Sam and Matthew—you both play a game of baseball and Sam, you lose, and Matthew, you win.” At this, Sam immediately gives me the never-gonna-happen look. “Sam, your perspective when you write about the game would be different than Matthew’s, right?” He nods his head yes and his Yankee’s cap goes up and down. “That’s your perspective. It’s how you saw things go down in the game.”

 Think of perspective as your secret super power, I tell them. “Showing your perspective is a powerful tool in photography, videos, writing, and even in your daily life.” I drive the point home by showing them my other blog, “Orange County Daily Photo,” which harnesses the talents of seven photographers all sharing their perspective of our great county. 

I pull up a photo of a roller coaster at Knott’s Berry Farm. “Here is this photographer’s perspective of a roller coaster–bet you’ve never seen it like this before,” they all laugh, nod their heads and I’m pretty sure I hear a couple of them say “awesome!” 

It’s starting to sink in. Perspective is a powerful tool in parenting as well. Sometimes I get wrapped up in the day-to-day fracas of being a mom–all the little battles lost or won. The endless details and logistics of running my kids’ lives haze the goal and I can lose perspective of my main job as a parent: to raise responsible adults who contribute to society in a positive way.

 But, it’s hard to remember that when I’m locked in a heated argument with my son about the importance of wearing socks or frantically searching Michael’s for a bag of green marbles or scraping dried macaroni and cheese off the kitchen chairs. All of my efforts, big and small, are all going toward the larger goal, and keeping it all in perspective is a daily endeavor.

 After I wrapped up my talk and each kid assured me they wanted to start their own blog (which I strongly urge every kid over the age of seven to do), and as I was saying goodbye one of the boys said to my daughter, “Emily, you have the coolest mom EVER!” My daughter rolled her eyes and turned a nice shade of pink. “Carter,” I said to him, “I like your perspective.”

Photo by Gregg Gallagher

**** 

Some of my past columns, just in case you got some time to kill:

Lessons in parenting: lying to your kids

A curious pear

Girls in glasses