Elaine Ambrose

Divorce sucks. I’m not proud to join the 50% of US married couples who get divorced, but it happened and I’m sassier because of it. With personal trauma and drama, I turn to humor to keep me from causing great harm to people or objects. Some people use inspirational quotes to sustain them; I use comedy.

“Marriage is probably the chief cause of divorce,” according to Larry Gelbart, the wonderful comedy writer who developed the hit television show called “M*A*S*H.”

Another astute comedienne, Rita Radner, often says, “Whenever I date a guy I think, ‘Is this the man I want my children to spend their weekends with?’”

And, one more comment for the middle-age crowd: These days, parents pray the youngest child will get married and move out before the oldest one gets divorced and moves back in.

Humor helps me from morphing into Sissy Spacek’s character in the movie “Carrie.” What woman wouldn’t love to have telekinetic powers for just one day to seek revenge on all those who had done her wrong? Especially at the prom! But I wouldn’t look good in prison orange, so I reduce the angst by writing, reading funny books, and consuming copious quantities of red wine. That works for me and it’s totally legal.

One major negative of divorce is how quickly a person comes into and goes out of a family. I don’t care to see my ex ever again, but I do miss his sister, Joanne. It’s too bad the in-law package is lawfully attached to the marriage. We’re the same age and I haven’t seen her for six years since I sang at her mother’s funeral mass. I was still married to her brother but we were experiencing our own death of a marriage.

Joanne lives in Alaska, so I don’t get to see her. I do keep in contact with her through Facebook and emails, and I communicate with her wonderful children. During the past week, we experienced similar joys as our sons and their wives had baby girls and both babies were given the middle name of Michelle. It’s difficult to describe the bond we feel as friends and new grandmothers. I don’t like the “ex” label, so I hereby officially declare that we are still sisters.

We learned this morning that Joanne’s new grandbaby has been flown to a major hospital for emergency surgery for heart problems. Her son lives in Alabama, and I can only imagine how Joanne must feel. Just once, if I had telekinetic powers, I would bring them all together, give the doctors super powers, and make the day end with songs of great joy and celebration. Yes, newborn babies trump horror movies any day.

So, from Idaho to Alaska and Alabama, here’s my unfunny and heartfelt message of hope and healing. Fight hard, Baby Girl Capozzi. Your grandmother wants to hold you some day.

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2010 Fidelitas M100 from Columbia Valley. It’s a smooth blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, Malbec, and Petit Verdot. It sells for about $28 a bottle and is a perfect wine to share with a sister.

I moseyed into the mall this week to find character models for my short stories. With detached amusement, I sat on a bench with a hazelnut latté and a notebook to watch a non-fictional feast of hapless and humorous humanity. After scribbling some colorful descriptions, I stopped to silently give thanks for my age. The visit to this crazy concentration of peculiar people provided great clarity for why I love life after 50. Here are the top ten reasons:

10. My children are grown and successful so there is no way in hell I’ll ever drag screaming, sticky kids to the mall and juggle strollers that are SO big they should have license plates and turn signals.

9. I’m maturely secure in my appearance with clean hair, sensible shoes and butt-covering jeans so I’ll never need to slouch down the hallway like a Gruesome Goth Zombie and pretend to be uber-cool because my earlobes have imbedded rings that are large enough to measure servings of spaghetti.

8. Feral packs of chattering, gum-smacking, orange-haired, nose-ringed schoolgirls won’t ask me to join them.

7. I’ve moved beyond the manic woman skittering across the floor wearing pointed, high-heeled shoes with a tailored suit, clutching a bulging briefcase, shoving a pretzel into her mouth, and desperately pleading into a cell phone about the urgent need to find Charles and upload a new presentation because the damn meeting is in one hour and ohmygod this is a crisis!

6. I’ve earned money for several decades and not squandered it on youthful indiscretions so if I want to donate to charity and/or buy a pair of shoes I can and I will.

5. The over-made-up makeup ladies at Dillard’s and Macy’s never pester me for a “quick touch-up” because this face has so many well-earned laugh lines that no miracle powder can ever conceal them in less than an hour.

4. I can laugh at the posters of voluptuous, flat-bellied models in the window at Victoria’s Secret because I know they have only 10 more years before gravity wins.

3. I don’t need to purchase tampons, baby formula, birth control pills, maternity clothes, or anything that has a Hello Kitty logo.

2. I refuse to wander aimlessly and bump into people and walls while looking down to fiddle with a cell phone.

And, the Number One Reason to Love Life after 50 (cue drum roll): I can leave the madness of the mall and go home to Studley’s loving arms and we don’t need to close the bedroom door.

Rimshot.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2009 Cinder blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot from local Snake River Cellars. It’s quite yummy to share at a festive family dinner, and at $35 dollars a bottle, it’s a great way to celebrate the fabulosity of your vintage years! Find the Cinder Wines web site for more information.

Your family tree.

Your family tree could be in danger of falling over because the branches are laden with sporadic offshoots, new in-laws, old stepparents, and assorted children who share multiple homes. But because of extra care these roots are strong and our tree can hold the chaotic collection of yours, mine, ours, various ex-spouses, and a few confused grandparents.

This holiday season we welcome a delightful baby to the family, and for a splendid moment before someone falls into the Christmas tree or a kid rips off the head of a cousin’s new Barbie, there will be peace in the valley.

Blended families add chaos to the holidays, and planning a stress-free schedule requires maximum organizational skills, saintly tolerance, nimble flexibility, and extra mugs of fortified eggnog.

Plan now for the possible scenarios.

You could be standing in the buffet line next to your ex-spouse, your stepson may demand to bring his mother and her new boyfriend to your home for brunch, or your son’s stepdaughters might want to stay at their father’s place because you don’t have cable television. It’s all fun and games until Grandma throws down her cane and demands to know who all the people are coming and going.

To prepare for the festivities and retain a tiny bit of sanity, start planning the holiday schedule months in advance. The best situations involve divorced parents who can cooperate and negotiate holiday schedules as they decide custody issues involving their children. We all know mean-spirited, immature parents who refuse to budge, and that only hurts their children. These parents should receive nothing but coal in their stockings, and they better start saving money for their kids’ future counseling sessions.

Our blended family resembles a crock pot of beef soup mixed with sugar and spice with a side of jambalaya and a touch of hot sauce spread over four generations.

My husband and I each have two adult children. My daughter married a man who already had a daughter and then they had two more daughters. My son married a woman with two girls and they had another baby in October. My ex-husband lives in the area and is included on family birthdays and other events. Somehow it all works and no one has threatened anyone with a weapon, so far.

There are 14 Christmas stockings hanging over the mantel, and we’ll need to build another one if any more members join the family. I’m uncomfortable with the label “step-grandchild” so I’ll just call all of them my grandkids. They don’t mind and some of those lucky kids have four sets of doting grandparents. Score!

Here are three final suggestions for surviving the holidays with a blended family: First, have a sense of humor because it’s better to laugh at the commotion instead of breaking something. Second, take plenty of photographs to identify everyone because Grandma is still baffled. Third, make time to appreciate the creative collection of characters in your unique family, believing that each one adds a definite spice. In the spirit of the holidays, choose to make it work.

Elaine Ambrose is a contributing blogger for JenningsWire, a blogging community created by Annie Jennings.

This blog was fueled by a 2011 “The Prisoner” red wine from Napa Valley. It’s a bit pricey – $60 a bottle at Crush in Eagle – but it’s $20 a glass at Barbacoa in Boise. Worth the drive to Eagle!

My two-month-old granddaughter cries for three main reasons: she’s hungry, she’s tired, or her diapers are dirty. I don’t need to be changed, but I could really use a sandwich and a nap. Maybe if I cry out loud…

I was raised to be tough, and crying wasn’t allowed in my childhood home on the farm. That’s why as an adult I never shed a tear giving birth to an 11-pound baby or while speaking at my father’s funeral. But lately, I start weeping at the simple vision of a rainbow or the sound of a children’s choir. And, a sappy television commercial can send me over the edge into my own private pity pool.

Blame it on menopausal hormones combined with the emotions of the Christmas season, but I’m not sure how to handle this new fluctuation between Iron Woman and Middle-age Milquetoast. The recent death of a dear friend exacerbates the mental upheaval because I’m still mad that she’s gone while there are so many healthy jerks walking around annoying people. She was the Dragon Slayer but she lost the final battle to breast cancer.

I’ve been known to walk out of movies that portray women as weak tools or to throw down books, such as the bestseller Eat, Pray, Love, that insult my female warrior. The author describes lying on the floor sobbing in a fetal position. For crying out loud, she was in Italy! Get up, go outside, visit a museum, light a candle in a Cathedral, or find a quaint sidewalk café and have some crusty bread, soft cheese, green olives, and red wine. If you really need a reason to wallow in pity, try growing up on a pig farm in southern Idaho!

Here is an important caveat: I realize that depression, mental illness, and anxiety attacks are serious issues, and I don’t mock those who suffer from those afflictions. I advocate treatment, counseling, and a lifetime focus on healing for those who suffer from depression. For the rest of us, it’s okay to experience the occasional meltdown and unleash the tears. After all, research indicates that emotional tears contain more beta-endorphins that make us feel better and are a natural way to relieve mental and physical pain. So let those tears flow and wash out the toxins and stress. Then blow your nose, run outside, and play with gusto as you slay some dragons.

Margaret Crepeau, Ph.D., professor of nursing at Marquette University, believes that healthy people view tears positively, while people plagued with various illnesses see them as unnecessary and humiliating. She notes that well men and women cry more tears more often than women and men with ulcers and colitis. At Marquette’s School of Nursing, students and professionals are urged to avoid tranquilizers and to allow tears to do their own therapeutic work. My advice to young women is to listen to your body: It’s saying, “Stop biting my lip!” and just enjoy a good cry.

After several decades of eating nails for a snack, I’ve decided to change the menu. I’m tired of being brave all the time so I’m choosing to put down the sword and pick up a glass of wine. I’ll be tough again tomorrow. Maybe, as a true test, I’ll even watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” again tonight. Where are those tissues?

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2008 Vale Cabernet Sauvignon from Snake River Valley. It’s another inexpensive local wine that is just fine to have on hand. Check out their web site at valewineco.com.

Unless your mother-in-law is a convicted felon or a pole dancer at the Kit Kat Klub, you should spend quality one-on-one time with her. After all, she raised the person you married. If she lives far away, keep in contact with letters, phone calls, and photos of the kids. Encourage her to use the Internet to share messages and videos. And, if she continually repeats the same stories over and over, just nod politely. Then you won’t feel so guilty at her funeral.

Most young, married women juggle a three-page to-do list, and visiting with the mother-in-law probably isn’t a top priority. As I recall, that goal wasn’t included in my Top 100 Action Items as I managed a hectic schedule that included active children, a full-time job, a cluttered house, and a husband who preferred to eat dinner before midnight. Now, after all these years, I regret not spending more time with my mothers-in-law. (Yes, I had more than one.)

We never lived in the same state, so I didn’t really know them before they passed away. The most time I spent with one was when I sang “Ave Maria” at her Funeral Mass. (I love singing in Latin because no one knows if I mess up the words. If I forget a phrase, I just substitute “Ave” several times and add a wordless aria.) I sang out of respect because she was a good person. I would rather have shared pie and wine with her while she was still alive.

This past week I had the pleasure of being with my son-in-law for a beer and a few days later with my daughter-in-law for leftover Thanksgiving pecan pie and wine. I highly recommend both activities. My son-in-law loves my daughter, is devoted to their daughters, and works hard at his job. Those facts are like music to the feeble ears of any mother-in-law. My daughter-in-law has the same positive qualities, and she is a lovely young woman. They provide a healthy, nurturing home for their children, and they include me in activities. I never want to deserve the comment, “Oh crap, do we have to invite your mother?”

Some of my friends have estranged relationships with their in-laws, and the annual Thanksgiving feast often turns awkward if the seating arrangements are not compatible with the guests. I’ve solved that problem because the food at my house is served buffet style, first-come-first-served, and then find your own chair if you can. One exception: Great-Grandma gets to go first because she’s in a wheelchair. That’s one advantage of being the oldest.

The decades quickly tumble past, and a young woman soon becomes an older woman who becomes a mother-in-law. Become the type of mother-in-law you admire most. Be someone who gives advice when asked and doesn’t gloat that your turkey stuffing is still your child’s favorite. We mothers just want our darling adult children to be happy, and that means we know they are in loving, supportive marriages. Now, go call your mother-in-law and invite her for beer and/or pie.