Enjoying the View From the Back Seat.

I'M AN ANNOYING PARENT. THERE are two boys in my life who couldn't be more perfect, and I often bore friends, parents and non parents alike, with stories of Ben and Nick's adventures, great one-liners and hilarious world views. I have never seen two boys zip through life with more aplomb. Ben is 12. He's thoughtful, kind and diligent in all things except maybe homework and setting the table. His younger brother, Nick, is about to be 10. He's a good-time guy, a ready-made class clown with innate comic timing and the friend-to-all enthusiasm of a Wal-Mart greeter. These fellas have been two of the great blessings of my life. And the amazing thing about this love and adoration is that Ben and Nick aren't even mine. I'm their stepmom.

It's about time someone pointed out what's good about stepparenting, since about one in three Americans will be involved in a stepfamily relationship in their lifetime. Do you know anyone who dreams of becoming a stepmom? Forget everything you know about Cinderella, Snow White and pretty much every other step-character in the movies you've seen and the books you've read.

What's great about this relationship is that these guys aren't my dream catchers. They do not reflect my short temper, self-righteous streak or need to have a bumper sticker that reads: mother of the future United States president onboard. Nobody's got my asthma, and no one is saddled with my failure to make the basketball team in seventh grade. So my expectations are basic. I echo the parental mantra that they try their best, but at what, exactly, is a more fluid concept in my mind.

I know they're never going to pattern themselves after me. They have picked up a few of my habits--a love of full-calorie Coca-Cola (an anomaly with their diet-drink parents) and a love of Easter-egg hunts. But that's where the similarities end. Both boys' identities are completely entwined with those of their parents. Dad writes screenplays--they have seen more movies than most adults and wonder aloud about who's the right actor for their father's latest script. Their mother is Argentine--in a game of Risk they get outraged, verging on tears, if anyone attacks South America. Because of the identity issue, or the nonidentity issue to be more exact, communication between the kids and me can run a little smoother. The boys aren't trying to please or reject me on their path to becoming independent beings.

And because I got on the parenting highway a few exits later than their real parents, I get a glimpse of what it will be like for others to know them as friends, co-workers, roommates. I never knew the helpless, sweet infant; I didn't see anybody's first steps. I know birthparents would tell me that those are among the most precious memories of their lives, and I say: great. I'm not auditioning for a role like Mom's. I'm a whole other thing.

My success is no indication that their mother is failing. Quite the opposite--the boys' ease in their mother's love means I'm not threatening anyone. I'm committed to helping her in any way I can, even if she and I will never share a laugh, a knowing smile or a cup of coffee. I enjoy helping the children at every holiday make cards and gifts that celebrate their mom. That's my job: to be part of the machinery, not redesign it.

Biology doesn't cement stepparents and stepchildren together--we choose each other every day. Because of that, I do not take a compliment for granted. Nick once told me that one good thing came out of his parents' divorce. I was expecting to hear something about two Sony PlayStations. Instead I heard with first-step clarity that a stepmom was the benefit.

Of course the next day, in a fit of inexplicable rage, he scratched Oct. 8, the day I married his father, off his calendar. But look around at the next holiday meal. Don't we all feel those complications in our relationships? Love 'em one day, despise them the next. Success in a stepfamily is accepting that the complications are on the surface. My responsibility as the adult in the situation is to not take the children's emotions too personally and to enjoy the view from the back seat. Some days are better than others, of course.

Four years in and I'm still waiting for the you're-not-my-mother moment. I hope I have my wits about me when it finally comes and I can tell them, that's OK, I think it's great I'm not your mom.

I'm your stepmom.

PHOTO (COLOR): BRAGGING RIGHTS: I often bore friends, parents and nonparents alike, with Ben and Nicks adventures and hilarious world views

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By Melissa Thomas

Thomas lives in New York City.