Equality is not what you think it is

There are men who treat me as an equal, expect me to be equally capable and willing to start and complete tasks on time. They respect my education and do not try to do things for me that I am able to do myself. This works fine for me - in business relationships.

If there is to be a man in my life, it cannot be an "equal" relationship in the way some men think equality means. If the man in my life

- treats me like a man
- has expectations that he has of a man
- thinks I have the needs of a man, and
- will compete with me as if I were a man

I'm having none of that.

Why do I need someone like that if I already have these types of men at work, in the marketplace, and everywhere else? I have enough competition, and enough proving myself everywhere else. I have had enough of being man and protector at home too. When I'm ready to let down my hair and be Venus, please do not push me into Mars-land. Arrrrgh.

Absolutely respect my intelligence and capability. But please be gentle and chivalrous. Please open doors, offer to pay at restaurants, occasionally hold my umbrella while we walk in the rain and in general treat me like a delicate flower :). I'm old-fashioned that way.

However, I promise you that I will never forget to reciprocate a kindness. I will be caring and tender as only a woman can......and give you my unconditional loyalty.

The universe needs a balance of yin and yang - the masculine and the feminine. Two masculine energies in a household don't result in harmony. Treat me like a cherished partner, with tenderness. And I will treat you as my hero deserving of respect and adoration. Do not treat me as an "equal" - and therefore unspecial - being to compete with.

A woman needs to have at least one place to feel cherished, protected, and safe. I have waited all my life for this.

The Phantom Within

"In sleep he sang to me
In dreams he came
The voice that calls to me and speaks my name
And do I dream again for now I find
The Phantom of the opera is there
Inside my mind"*

I'm a woman possessed. Watched "Phantom of the Opera" sometime back - and what a magical experience it was!

The Phantom, if done right, is a work of art. Three-dimensional art. As it weaves its magic, you lose all sense of yourself and where you are and simply surrender to it.

You should watch it in a theater dedicated to the show - in London, Broadway, or Las Vegas. Do not watch the traveling show - it is not the same. In a dedicated theater the settings are perfect, the cast is practiced, and on your mind's canvas will unfurl the silence, the beauty, and the magic of the night.

*-*-*
The Phantom is a much-misunderstood, lonely character. A musician doomed to a lonely existence due to his disfigured face, he whiles away his time in dark underground places, venturing out only to teach young Christine, a singer who is part of an opera group. He falls in love with Christine and goes to any level (unbeknownst to Christine herself) to promote her career. He uses intimidation, and random acts of terror to make the opera group do his bidding.

For a long time, Christine never sees him - only hears the music. She knows of a Phantom's existence, but does not know that this is her teacher. Afraid of the effect of his appearance, the Phantom never shows himself to her. Until the day she regains touch with a childhood best friend and falls in love with him. The Phantom appears then in her dressing room, his face covered with a mask.

From then spins a tale of intrigue - on the one hand, there is the eager Phantom wanting to teach Christine all he knows, making her the vehicle of his music while slowly, unwittingly coming under her spell. His long unexpressed music, and longing of the heart are crying out for a release and he wants to possess Christine entirely. On the other hand is the lover wanting to marry Christine, and frustrated by the Phantom trying to thwart his plans. Then there Christine herself, torn between her affection, respect and gratitude for her mentor, and love for the man she lost and found again.

Witnessing what he thinks is Christine's "betrayal" of him in accepting her lover's proposal of marriage, the Phantom gets more and more possessive and cruel. He fumes and frets and his demented rage spares no one. Yet beneath that, one can see his vulnerability, and loneliness.

At one point the Phantom kidnaps Christine and threatens to kill her lover. Several tense moments pass until, miraculously, Christine sees him for what he truly is - not the scary ghost that everyone makes out to be, but a lonely, sad and dejected creature. She grabs his disfigured face, tears off the mask, and kisses him passionately and wholeheartedly. The Phantom, stunned and moved by Christine's validation, sets the lovers free.

At the very end, the phantom disappears and all that is left of him is the mask. The truth - and Christine's genuine acceptance - sets the Phantom free.
*-*-*

Long after the play, I kept thinking about it. The music that haunts the soul, and the story that lends itself to so many interpretations.

A part of us is like the rejected Phantom, with so much buried beauty, and so many unexpressed longings. This part is pining away for what it cannot have, the dashed hopes turning to bitterness and at times, cruelty. If not cruelty, it turns into indifference - which can sometimes be worse.

We pretend to go on with life, thinking it doesn't matter. We tell ourselves "what doesn't need us is not needed anymore". We wear a mask over our true feelings, thinking those to be too raw to expose to the world.

The feelings dwell somewhere in the recesses of our mind, rising like the Phantom to haunt us when we least expect it. Afraid of discovery, the feelings come out as still masked, the anger expressing itself in a cloaked manner in our unthinking actions. We wear the mask even with our own selves. After all, what will become of us when the walls come down, the mask comes down?

What really happens is liberation. We are set free when we truly embrace and acknowledge all parts of us - even the sad, lonely, childlike, and vulnerable parts. We long for such validation from someone else, but in secret. And rage secretly when that isn't given :).

Of course, if someone else gives us that kind of acceptance - it is a blessed existence. Few are blessed with this. Peace comes when we accept ourselves, and try to address unaddressed needs. When the healer heals oneself.....when our inner Christine sets the inner Phantom free.

"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before
Close your eyes, and let your spirit start to soar
And you live as you've never lived before"**
----
* - from the title song of the "Phantom of the Opera". Full lyrics are here
** - from this song in the "Phantom of the Opera"

New Beginnings

My friend S and I finally met yesterday. She was visiting her sister in another part of my state, and at my insistence, flew down for a day to be with us.

I was happy but it didn't register that she was really coming.

"Tell me what you're wearing", I asked - hoping I'll be able to recognize her after all these years.

So off went Kamala and I, in search of a woman wearing blue jeans and a brown top, with sparkling eyes and an infectious smile.

"Where will S aunty sleep?", asks Kamala.
"In grandma's bedroom"

Kamala pondered this.

"Will she like me?"
"Of course she will", I reply absently.
"How do you know?"
"She was my best friend and I know"
"But you haven't seen her since high school, so how can you know?"
"She is a mother of two children"
"But how do you know she likes other kids?"

Ummmmm....."I'm sure she'll like you"
"Why?"
"Because I love you - and know that my friend will like you too."

*-*-*
We spotted her easily enough. I got chided by the airport security for driving the wrong way on a one-way street, but that was minor. S had that same great smile that lit up her eyes. We hugged each other - and marveled at the power of friendship. We were both 17 when we saw each other last, and at least that many years have passed since.

S and Kamala chatted on merrily at home. Kamala showed S all her school pictures, and talked about friends, enemies, and annoying-nerds-in-class. S demanded that Kamala eat her food, and as Kamala's hair was unruly, she better get a comb right after dinner. Kamala looked puzzled at suddenly getting another mother, but complied.

"There!", S said after pulling Kamala's hair into a ponytail. "Now I can actually see your face!".

*-*-*

"So, what's up with you?" S asked, after Kamala went off to bed. "You don't look too happy."

I know. I have seen this in pictures and have wondered about it. Tried to change the look, with mixed results.

"Something has changed fundamentally after my father died. It's like some spark died and I'm not able to get it back. Plus, more responsibilities".

We talked at length. S told me of her struggles as an immigrant woman, the personal and professional challenges. She has faced some steep personal losses, taken care of people and survived the crisis points - many times, she said she didn't know how she would get past some things at the time, but she just kept going, and it was done. I am all the more proud of S to have faced the things she did with such strength.

"The thing is, I have learned that sometimes one has to look at what is, and come to terms with it. This is what it is, for better or for worse. Not what was, what could have been, or what could be. Just look at it as it is, open your eyes clearly, and move on. Try to make the best of it. Think if it as starting a new life!"

"What about negativity from people?"
"Shake them off!"
"What if these are people I need to deal with and maintain a relationship with all my life?"
"This is your life too. You have to be considerate of your feelings too. If others aren't considerate, accept that - don't wonder why - accept that they won't be. Be considerate of yourself, and find your joy where you can"
"What about people who aren't happy with their situation, and I feel responsible for their happiness? I keep doing stuff and finally am exhausted mentally and irritable - and hate myself afterwards for snapping"

S looked at me squarely.
"Do what you can, and if they still complain, IGNORE."
"Ignore?"
"Yeah. You have to think of your own happiness too. Start a fresh life!"

*-*-*

Saw off S at the airport today. We hugged and promised to stay connected.

Okay....so I will start a fresh life. Its strange to think of it like that :). In my new life, I will:

a) Accept what is.
b) Not think of what was, what could have been or what could be.
c) Shake off negativity.
d) Take responsibility for my own happiness.
e) Do my best, but after a point, ignore people who are well-meaning but are chronic worriers/complainers.

So help me God.

Mother's Day is Coming

We don't celebrate Mother's Day in India - at least we didn't while I was growing up. We had lots of sayings exalting the mother and motherhood in general.

Maatru devo bhava...

goes one shloka. Mother is God. We have a similar saying in Tamil,

Thaayir siRandha koyilum illai

No temple is as sacred as the mother. Another one:

Maata Pita Guru deivam

Godliness in manifest in the Mother, the Father, the Teacher and the Almighty - in that order. The Mother is always mentioned first.

In the US we have Mother's Day celebrations. Shops wear a festive look with Mother's Day merchandise. Telephone companies have a classic problem called Mother's Day Problem - the volume of phone calls on this day test the line and wireless capacity. Movie theaters advertise "Buy one ticket, get one free" deals for mothers who bring children for a movie on Mother's Day.

In the same spirit, there is a tag going around about motherhood and what one likes about it. Nice to have something positive going around in these days when one only hears of the Swine Flu going around! Shankari tagged me to write about the top five things I like about being a mother.

I thought about this, and the things that came to mind are pretty basic, actually.

Scent is #1: the scent of a baby's skin is something indescribably endearing - try smelling a newborn, and you'll see what I mean (no diaper jokes please). Every person has a scent, and the scent of one you love can be incredibly comforting. In India children would sometimes sleep very well when a mother's saree is used as a blanket. Makeshift baby hammocks called thuLi in Tamil, are usually made from an old saree of the baby's mother. The baby is gently rocked in this hammock, and the mother's scent soothes the baby enough to ensure sound sleep.

Touch is #2: the hugs, the kisses, the high fives, the sleepy cuddles....sometimes you can guage a child's mood merely by the child's touch. Sleepy cuddles are the best when child and parent are the most mellow.

Sound is #3: any parent can instantly recognize their child's voice on the phone. And feel a rush of emotions - parents of teens may nod sarcastically here :). The cry of a baby, the babble of a toddler....a whole range of sounds, in all decibels and frequencies. ThirukkuRaL, the Tamil classic says,

kuzhal inidhu yAzh inidhu enbar
tham makkaL mazhalai sol kELAdhavar

Sweet are the sounds of the flute and the lute, say those who have not heard the sweet speech of their toddlers. Basically according to the ThirukkuRal, nothing is sweeter than toddlerspeak. To this I will add a corollary: sometimes nothing is more frustrating, when they are throwing a tantrum and cannot say clearly why they are upset :).

Under sound also comes reading to my child. This started when she was a baby and continues (touch wood). My favorite part of the day is bedtime, when we read and go to sleep. Soon she will grow up, and we may not get this time. Let me cherish it when I can.

Random humor/fresh perspective is #4: You are rushing to drop off your preschooler who is late for school. Preschooler dawdles in parking lot, staring at something. You realize she is staring at a bird coming in and out of the designs on a wrought iron fence, and marveling at the beauty of this movement. You stop to watch despite growing impatience - but gain an appreciation of things you haven't bothered to notice.

Random humor in our house is very Dr.Seuss. "Amma, quit trying to be funny!", Kamala will wail when she wants me to be serious about something. To this my reply would be something like "Quit trying to be a bunny!". Makes no sense, but we laugh anyway.

Trust is #5: A child's trust is absolute. They believe we have all the answers and that's a pretty powerful - if scary - affirmation. When Kamala was younger she followed me around, and tried to do everything I did. She thought I was the coolest person on Earth. Now that is changing, but she still thinks I'm cool in some ways. I better hang on to that while it lasts :)

Sometimes the trust is a parent's undoing: we don't have all the answers, and children have trouble understanding that. Parent and child struggle through and reach a resolution....hopefully a working one. Whatever else happens, I hope the trust and the bond remain, and the sharing due to the inherent trust remains. That is all one can wish and hope for.

Now I will tag Scarlett, whose mother-daughter posts I have enjoyed reading. The other mothers I want to tag have already been tagged. The original tag started here.

This is why

Kamala stood with a closed expression outside her father's place where I had gone to pick her up. She waved a stiff goodbye to her father (who was leaving for his town of work that evening) and climbed quietly into the car. I noticed that she had on a new jacket - perhaps father and daughter did some shopping during his visit.

I make a U-turn, keeping the windows wide open, so she could get one last glimpse of her father and wave to him again. She peers out, waves with both hands and then becomes still. I drive on for a bit, allowing her that moment of quiet - and then tell her that we will pick up some pineapples for making jam that evening. Wouldn't she like to help me make jam? She nods stiffly.

We reach the grocery store, and make our way to the produce aisle. I put an arm around her and hug her close as we walk along. Right around the oranges and just before the area where the pineapples are, comes the predictable let down of emotions. Tears well up, and flow right along. She tries to control herself and I can feel her body trembling. Finally, sobs rack her body and I pull her into my arms. We exchange nothing verbal as the pineapples are purchased, and paid for.

When we reach the car again, I tell her it's ok; it's ok to be sad. She weeps openly - "I don't want daddy to leave, Amma...."
"I know, child. I don't want him to leave either."
"Why does he have to leave?"
"Its the economy, child....Lots of people have to find jobs elsewhere because the economy is bad"
"But I hate when he leaves.....I wish he would come back here itself you know..."
"I know....For your sake I wish he'd come back too!"

And I mean it. She starts to feel better. I tell her about my father who had to travel a lot on the job - more than twenty days a month. We longed for the day when he returned home, and even then he had to work late on some days. Sometimes parents have to be away for work, and there isn't much one can do....Of course, we have the phone and Kamala can talk to her father whenever she felt like it.

She points to her jacket - "Its a ____ jacket", she says, mentioning a brand name. Of late, kids in Kamala's school are obsessed with brands, and she has often asked me why I steer clear of brand name clothes. I don't believe in paying a lot more for something just because it is branded. But I see her happiness in getting her father to buy it for her.

She points to her new charm bracelet and keychain: "Daddy got me these from ___ city..." (he was there on an earlier assignment). At this point her lips start to twitch and the tears start again. She controls herself, tugs at the bracelet and touches her jacket, as if trying to console herself with them.

My heart aches for her then. Things can never be substitutes.
*-*-*

I remember as a child, some of my cousins and friends having fathers working in the Persian Gulf. The fathers would return once a year with gifts, and the family's standard of living would be significantly higher than the rest of us. But I never longed to be them. I never once wished my father worked abroad (unless of course we were allowed to go there with him).

Sometimes, when I mention that my child is spending a weekend with her father I get asked: "Oh...is she's ok about being with her father?". (umm...why wouldn't she be?)

A friend's child came looking for Kamala and I mentioned that Kamala had gone to a movie with her father. The child smiles at me and asks "Why does she go out with her father?"

I smile back at her. "Don't you go out with your father?"

She understands now, and doesn't ask me that again.

Then there was the single mom who asked me why I allowed Kamala to see her father. "Won't it be simpler if just one parent raises a child? It will avoid confusion, right?"

I replied that I didn't think so. If the child is told that she can always have access to the other parent, it makes her more comfortable - not confused. The lady persisted "But...don't you feel a little jealous when she loves her father?"

I don't. My relationship with my father is precious, and so is hers....And I would be the last person to take it away from her.

*-*-*
Of course, there are challenges. The ex can be immature. He can ask for favors and then turn around and be arrogant. He can be in ex-mode more than father-mode sometimes by being rude to me in front of Kamala and trying to provoke me into retorting. The best response is to stay calm and draw the line firmly. This is not always easy in the face of harsh words. Often, I stay superficially calm and fume afterwards. I'm guilty of letting a few unprintable words cross the mind at such times :)

But if I can rest easy knowing that in an emergency, there is someone who cares for Kamala almost as much as I do, that price is worth it. If it brings a smile to Kamala's face, and makes her more secure that her parents are still her parents even though they are no longer married - the price is worth it.

Some dreams do come true

Earlier this week, out of the blue I got a voicemail at work. Thought it must be my daughter who was at home (allergies) or my mother. But the voice belonged to someone from another time in my life.....a voice I had longed to hear for over 20 years. It was my best friend from high school!

I was wonderstruck....Couldn't believe my luck. Felt like I was blessed by a higher power suddenly and unexpectedly. It was like walking home on a muggy day and the heavens opening up, sending welcome showers and a gentle breeze my way.

*-*-*

We lost touch right after our college years. I have tried to find S in so many ways. Over the years, I used to get recurrent dreams: meeting her on the street, meeting her at a park, running into her here and there....The dreams were so vivid; and in each dream, I would narrate to her all my other dreams of finding her. I'd hold her hands and tell her "Please tell me this is not a dream. I keep having these dreams and think I've found you. Then I wake up. I am SO GLAD to finally see you".

Guess what? I would wake up and realize this was one more dream. Even last month I dreamt I was on a bus in India, enroute to her place. I was wondering if her place was different now, if the streets had changed....whether I'd even recognize her house.

After each dream, I would email some random stranger on Hotmail, Yahoo, MSN, etc., and ask if they were by any chance my long-lost friend. Would go about Googling every possible woman with her name. Trouble with women friends is, last name changes after marriage - and having lost touch with her long before the years of marriage, I had no chance of knowing that part of her name. So the dreams and the subsequent efforts to find her would end in frustration.

*-*-*

S meant a lot to me. We vibed very well, and got along like air and fire. She was very easygoing, had a great sense of humor and an innate sense of style. We just felt happy to see each other in school everyday. There was never any competitiveness: she was cool as a cucumber, very bindaas, and fashionable. I didn't care two hoots for fashion, rebelliously wore jasmine flowers in my hair to school (when the nuns in the convent banned flowers and adornments of any kind), and was keen on getting the best grades.

But we laughed a lot; we shared tiffin boxes, and rushed to buy the awesome Channa Chat before it got sold out in the school canteen. One stormy day when school let out early due to the impending storm I decided to hang out at her house that was 5 miles from mine - it sounded good at the time, but was a stupid idea of two teenagers - when parents were getting worried about the big storm coming. And another day, when there was a HUGE political rally and we couldn't get home, we both walked to my father's office and the three of us - Appa, me and my friend - with stalled traffic everywhere, we walked to a movie theater. The film was incredibly bad, despite having the most popular stars in it - but I still remember the plot.

I remembered the names of all her sisters, and recited to her word by word over the phone. Even recited her last known address - her college hostel. S couldn't believe it - teased me saying "If I ever forget my address I'll give you a call!".

*-*-*
Those days, all we had after leaving high school, were letters. She was lazy about answering my letters and we lost touch. The intervening years were busy with realizing other dreams - of love, marriage, higher education and motherhood.

We don't realize how valuable some relationships are in the busy teens and twenties. Like first love, S was my first real friend....with a special place in my heart.

Many years ago, when I mentioned any friend of mine, my (now-ex)husband would ask "What has he/she achieved? Are they good at something? How come you call them your friend?". I was stumped for an answer. I did not see it that way, but was too young to stand my ground. The ex would call them "time-wasters" and our meetings "useless chitchat". Never mind that he had his own chat sessions with friends, and all of his friends adored me - treated me like a younger sister.

Now, after all these years, I can answer the ex's question. What has S achieved? She is an accomplished entrepreneur who has owned her own company for the last decade. I am proud of her. People look up to S; her style hasn't diminished one bit, and she is still gorgeous.

But none of that matters to me: just seeing S makes me happy....it has always been that way, from the day I ever set eyes on her. I could never explain why - but she brightened my day just by being in it. That is more than enough qualification for friendship, and achievement enough for me.

Step-ism: A prejudice hiding in plain sight

"That's Sharmila*", whispered an acquaintance. "The woman Srinivas** married after his wife died".

Srinivas, an engineer in my town, lost his wife the day their twins - a boy and a girl - were born. His wife died at childbirth, before she could even set eyes on her children. Srinivas, pressured into another marriage, married a young widow 6 months later.

"Oh, so she is now the twins' mother!" I said. After all, six month old babies don't know the difference. The woman raising them for the last three years IS their mother.

The acquaintance made a face.

"As if!" she said. "She's a stepmother, you see....! The other day when they were at the temple, she shouted at the boy. What does he know, a boy only 3 years old, who only did what all 3 year olds do - run around. And she shouts at him! Ugghhh."

I suppress a smile. Which mother has not, at some time or another, shouted at her child? And, after running around with two energetic three year olds day after day, one cannot always be patient. Perhaps the woman had a very genuine reason for the shouting - maybe she was afraid the child will stray too far, and get lost.

But such is the lot of stepmothers. You're damned if you do, and damned if you don't. If you discipline the child, you are evil. If you don't discipline them, you are letting them run wild. "After all, it's not her child, so why should she care? She's just the stepmother".

*-*-*
Welcome to the world of Step-ism - a world where stepmothers are presumed evil. This is a prejudice that lurks everywhere, actively encouraged by fairy tales, films, television, and day to day phrases like "stepmotherly treatment" that are flung about so casually when referring to unfairness. A prejudice that is planted in young minds right from elementary school days.

I mean, look at the caricatures: beautiful Cinderella forced to dress in rags, and ill-treated by her stepmother who is not just bad, but downright UGLY to look at.....Even Cinderella's stepsisters are ugly - courtesy Evil Stepmother DNA :)

Snow-white's stepmother is beautiful, but that redeeming quality is soon lost - she turns out to be a crazed woman who doesn't think twice about murder, and poisons Snow-white. Moral of the stories: ugly stepmothers are bad; beautiful stepmothers are even worse.....

Tell this to a real-life stepmother and you'll be lucky to get out of there in one piece :D. Ask her gently, and she will weep in your arms and pour out her tale of woe. She is depressed, she is sad, she never thought it would be so tough. Oh GOD, what has she gotten herself into?

*-*-*

Parenting is hands down one of the toughest things in life, and one often feels lost. A stepmother has this difficulty in spades: she is raising someone else's child(ren), whom she hasn't known from birth and who have no bond with her. The children are no placid Cinderellas and Snow-Whites. They are insecure - fearful of losing their father's love, and upset at seeing their father with a woman who is not their mother. As a result, they are often trying their best to break up the marriage. The children show their rejection of the stepmother in several subtle and not-so subtle ways: from putting her down at every turn "You are not my mother!", to complaining about everything she does, refusing to eat what she made, making up stories that show her in poor light to their father, setting her up for failure...Disrespecting her when their father is not around, and acting like model citizens when he is.

(Studies show that it takes YEARS for a stepfamily to bond; for the children to settle down. Children not settling down is the reason that second marriages have a higher chance of failure than first ones).

The woman is dumbfounded by the children's reaction and angry. But she swallows her frustration, and tries to prove to all and sundry, especially the children and their father - that she is "good" - not that evil fairytale stereotype. She takes abuse after abuse, and seethes in silence. She understands the children's insecurity, but cannot talk about her difficulties with anyone. She has tried talking to her husband, and seen the fallout: the father in him goes into protective mode and starts to resent her.

Sky-high expectations all around don't help her either. Her husband expects her to be his idea of "ideal" motherhood (never mind that one cannot live up to one's own idea of ideal motherhood) and constantly criticizes her approach. If she has children from a previous marriage, she will be subjected to "comparisons": people will watch for signs that she is treating her children better than his. Her easy bonding with her children (after all, they don't reject her) will be mistaken for favoritism, and she may feel pressured to curb her own maternal love.

She cares for her step-children as well as she can, but gets no thanks for what she does; only comments that a "real" mother would have done it so much better. Nobody stops to think of her efforts to make life easier for her spouse, and his children. Not even said spouse and children....!

In all this, there is little time for the marriage with her new husband, and hardly a soul volunteering to help her out or give her a break. Oh, there are several people who are only too quick to judge her. Who fling about phrases about stepmothers being Evil, while having absolutely no idea what is like to be one.

*-*-*

If you truly want to know what it looks like from the other side, watch Tamil films like "Mundhanai Mudichu", or that 90's bang-on true but highly underrated classic: "Keladi Kanmani".

Read Joanna Trollope's novel "Other People's Children". And talk to a few women - regular, good-hearted women - who have dared to love a man with children. Who are braving a life they were totally unprepared for, or, like Radhika's character in "Keladi Kanmani", had become scarred by their attempts to do it.

After this, you will recognize Step-ism anywhere, and see its unfairness. You might even point it out to the Step-ist, and ask him/her to stop. I have done this, and continue to do it. I should know - I almost became a stepmother.
----
*, ** - Names changed.