Care and Feeding is Slate’s parenting advice column. Have a question for Care and Feeding? Submit it here.
Dear Care and Feeding,
My husband and two daughters all have birthdays within a nine-day stretch in August. So for a week and a half in August I’m making sure that everyone gets their own cake on their own birthday and then on the big family party, they also get their own custom cake along with gifts and experiences and whatever. My birthday is the day after Christmas. If there’s a party at all, it’s usually lumped into a Christmas celebration, and I’m mentally wiped out from making Christmas happen so I don’t even get to enjoy the one day of the year that’s supposed to be about me. I melted down this year for birthday number 40 because, most of the time, I don’t even get a cake on my birthday because there’s still a cake in the fridge from Christmas. How do I stop feeling resentful about my birthday being pretty much skipped every year? Do I just move my birthday to the summer? Is that an option?
—December Birthdays Are Terrible
Dear December,
I love birthdays. I love celebrating my own—I often throw myself a party!—and I love making a big fuss about the birthdays of those I love. My husband, on the other hand, hates birthdays—his own and everybody else’s. He thinks it’s silly to make a big deal out of them. So I offer this advice not as a birthday grinch, but from the perspective of someone who has many, many birthdays behind her and has found a way to celebrate each one in some special way and who has given her husband blanket permission to ignore her birthday (and doesn’t let herself make the fuss she wants to about his). You’re all grown up now. You’ve had 40 years to make peace with your December birthday. It must have gotten folded into Christmas all throughout your childhood. Isn’t it time to stop expecting something different and being disappointed? If it matters very much to you that your birthday be celebrated with as much fanfare as your kids’ and husband’s, well, announce that from now on your birthday is to be celebrated on December 12, say—or on some other date you choose between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And let your husband know how much it matters to you that you be fully celebrated: You want presents and a cake. Hell, you can always do what I do and throw yourself a party, invite all your friends, and dance the night away. I will note, however, that I always say “no gifts”—I want to have fun on my birthday, and for me, that means loud music, good food, and being surrounded by the people I love—that’s gift enough. But you do you—whatever it takes for you to be happy on your (chosen) birthday.
But let me offer another piece of gentle advice: If you’re celebrating your husband’s birthday on the day of, it’s unnecessary—overkill—to celebrate it again at that big family party. Let the kids be the center of attention. Because honestly, all-out celebrations of birthdays, with custom cakes and party hats and a tower of presents, really are for children.
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Dear Care and Feeding,
My late husband “Chris” was long divorced with kids in their early 20s by the time we met. Everyone was warm to me—the girls, Chris’s ex-wife, her husband—but we were never very close. To be honest, I loved Chris very much, but I was widowed when we met and I think my first husband was the love of my life.
Chris got very sick in 2021, and during that last year together, his family was incredible. They helped plan, they helped deal with insurance, they sat with him, they provided respite care, they sent food, they called in favors for a good hospice, and they brought me to the doctor when I needed it. But mostly, they were just there, showing him love. I could not have asked for or imagined the level of support we got. I believe Chris had “a good death” because of family.
His family and I stayed in regular contact after he was gone— I’m friends with his ex-wife, and have a grandmotherly role with the grandkids he never got to meet. I’m always invited to their family reunions and I see someone from his family socially at least once a week. They’re wonderful people. And I feel so, so guilty—it’s like his death opened this up for me, when I wish we could have had it together as a couple. The family doesn’t walk on eggshells around me but I’m not as crushed by the loss of my husband as they think, or as they are. I don’t know what to do with this feeling. His daughter gently suggested dating again to me recently, in tones that suggested that she thought I’d have a breakdown at the idea, and seemed shocked when I said I’d think about it. I don’t think his family is including me out of pity, but I don’t feel totally at ease with their warmth—their complete embrace of me. Chris should be here for all of these celebrations, not me. How do manage feeling like I haven’t earned what they are giving me?
—Lucky and Guilty
Dear Lucky and Guilty,
I don’t know why you and Chris, as a couple, didn’t have a close relationship with his family—why it seems to have taken his death to bring them close to you—but it sounds like what you’re feeling guilty about has more to do with your belief that it was your first husband who was your true love, making Chris second-best. Go easy on yourself. It would seem that you’re grateful and happy that Chris’s ex-wife and kids and the grandchildren he never had a chance to know are a part of your life, so I want to gently urge you not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Chris should be here, yes, but he isn’t. And you don’t have to be broken by grief over losing him to “deserve” a loving relationship with his kids and grandkids. It’s OK if the daughter who suggested you start dating was startled (was she, really? Or did you imagine it—project it on her?) when you agreed to “think about it.” It’s OK if she’s grieving her father much more deeply than you believe you’re grieving your husband: It’s not a contest, and levels of grief don’t have to be “even.” You are not in her—and all the others’—life because you’re pretending you loved Chris. You did love him. Try not to think of love as a contest any more than grief is. We all love people differently at different points in our lives, and we love people for many different reasons and in different ways. And it would seem that Chris’s children have come to love you, want you to be a bonus grandmother to their children, and are glad to include you in their lives. Who knows? Maybe Chris’s death is what drew them closer to you—as their last living link directly to him—or maybe it was Chris who somehow held them at arms’ length. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re here for you now, as you can be for them.
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Dear Care and Feeding,
My fiancé and I moved in together about six months ago, combining our happy homes. I have a daughter (6) from a previous marriage, and my fiancé is a widower with a teenage daughter (15) whom I’ll call Sam. Sam is a wonderful person—smart, funny, a straight-A student, and an incredible athlete (much to the confusion of my fiancé, who is the most casual of runners). She has welcomed my daughter as a sister and she is kind and patient with her. I am, however, worried about some of Sam’s habits since we have been cohabitating. She appears to have some disordered eating and an obsession with food.
While I have established family dinner time since we moved in, Sam often declines to join us, saying she’s too busy with homework. Later at night, she weighs out food portions and eats in her room, or sometimes only makes herself a shake for dinner. When she does join us, she will decline carbs and ask for a rundown of all ingredients in the meal, then log them all in some app on her phone. She will make casual references to her body being “gigantic” and says that she’s “surprised she can fit through the front door.” I’m very aware of how pervasive messages about body image and diet are, and of the effect they can have on young people. Still, I’m not sure where Sam’s attitudes about her own body are coming from. My fiancé never utters a word about diets or weight loss. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard him say the word “carb.” When I voice my concerns to him, he points out that Sam is outgoing, social, and appears to be a very healthy and athletic teen and that some people just “eat differently.” He manages the family’s snacks and lunches and says she always brings back an empty lunch box. Sam and I don’t yet have a close enough relationship for me to butt in about this, but I worry that, because she otherwise presents as the “perfect” child, she’s falling through the cracks. Also, somewhat selfishly, I am worried about how my own daughter will process these messages as she gets older (she worships everything about Sam), and I otherwise see her as a good role model. I certainly don’t want to keep my daughter from Sam, and I want Sam to be as healthy and happy as possible. What can I do? Should I intervene?
—Too Sensitive Stepmom
Dear Stepmom,
If you don’t feel you’re close enough to Sam to broach the subject with her, you must talk to her father again. This time come armed with research on eating disorders and anorexia in particular and the consequences and cost of ignoring them. If he brushes you off again, you might gently point out that an empty lunch box just means it’s been emptied, not what it’s been emptied into, and that talking about how she’s too gigantic to fit through the door is not healthy (even if finds ways to rationalize all of her other behaviors and language around food). Tell him that it’s crucial that she be evaluated by a therapist or doctor who has specialized training in eating disorders. This isn’t butting in. This is good stepparenting. If your fiancé absolutely refuses to accept the possibility that Sam may be ill (either because he’s afraid that considering it will make it real or because he dreads a conversation that will upset his daughter—or because of ignorance about the signs of an eating disorder, which you will have rectified), you are going to have to step up—big time and early on—as Sam’s stepmother. Let her father know you’re concerned enough that you plan to talk to her yourself. Then do it.
And whether you or her dad ends up being the one to talk to Sam, this is not a conversation that should be entered into without planning. There are resources to help with this, including this one. Godspeed.
Dear Care and Feeding,
My best friend and I have known each other for over 40 years, since our freshman year of college. We’re both in our early 60s. He remarried late, to someone younger, and now has a 5-year-old, “Dylan”; it’s his only child. Me (M, master’s in education) and my spouse (F, medical provider) have had some concerns about the child for some time. The child speaks little and doesn’t use complete sentences (or fragments, for that matter), thus may have speech and educational delays. Our friends asked what we thought once, and we gave our opinions and suggestions, but I don’t think they’ve sought help from a professional. Our friend’s wife says she’s “homeschooling,” but we don’t see any evidence of it (and she has no background in education, and actually used to do her older son’s homework for him). My friend has a doctorate but doesn’t have any experience with children’s education. Should we mention our concerns, or keep our mouths shut? Is it ever appropriate to bring such concerns up to a friend?
—Trying Not to Butt In
Dear Trying,
Sure, sometimes it’s appropriate. And if your friend and his wife have already asked you once, they’ve opened the door to a further conversation. But a few things give me pause. One is that you are pretty hard on the child’s mother. Homeschooling a 5-year-old means homeschooling them through kindergarten or even preschool—what exactly are you looking for by way of “evidence” (and where and when are you looking)? Besides, plenty of people homeschool who are not trained educators, and some do a terrific job (I’ve taught their children when they’ve begun college or grad school, and some of them were among the best-educated students I’ve ever taught). Also: Who told you she used to do her older son’s homework? And how did that even come up as a subject of conversation? I’m just getting the feeling that you don’t trust the mother of your old friend’s son, period.
And for all I know, you’re right not to. But your hostility toward her is not going to help this child, if indeed the child needs help. Another thing that made me stop and wonder as I read your letter was your admission that you don’t know if these folks have consulted a professional or not. Granted, if a year or more has passed since that conversation about their child’s delayed speech, it’s going to be awkward to follow up (“Hey, remember that convo we had when your kid was 3? Did you ever go see someone about that?”), but you can start over. You can say to your best friend, “I know this might be a painful subject, and I hope you can forgive me for butting in, but it’s an occupational hazard, I guess—I can’t help being a little worried about what seems, by now, like a possibly significant language delay for Dylan.” If your original conversation with him was fairly recent, swap out everything from “I can’t help being” for, “I’m wondering if you’ve ever had Dylan evaluated for the delay in language acquisition.” If the response to the latter framing is a curt “Yes,” then back off—he doesn’t want your input. If the response to the former is a curt, “Yes, you and I have already talked about this,” ditto. But if your friend has just been hoping this will resolve itself somehow—and the pediatrician the child sees for regular checkups has not asked about language use or noticed that this is a patient who doesn’t speak in full sentences at age 5—then you really do have to sound the alarm. But do it cautiously, and with love, not judgment.
—Michelle
More Advice From Slate
My husband and I are in our early 30s, and we have been married for almost five years. We have one child, a daughter, who is 14 months old. We had no trouble conceiving, but I had a challenging pregnancy and a traumatic labor resulting in an emergency Cesarean and an awful recovery. Our daughter has also had some health issues that she thankfully has grown out of or will grow out of over the next few years, but this first year has been incredibly difficult. I am only just now feeling like I’m getting back to myself. I am not really thrilled about the idea of getting back in that saddle, to be honest.
