The kids were still asleep at noon today  when I left the house to go get my hair done. When I returned two hours later, Paul had put all of them to work  in the yard. In his words he had “organized his work crew.” They were weeding, removing mulch and cleaning out flower beds. Surprisingly, they were fairly good natured about it. When they were finished, the yard looked great. I made them some lunch and all  five kids sat at the kitchen counter eating, talking and laughing. They were working together, cooperating and seeming to have a good time as well. They were taking pride in their home which pleased me immensely.

This put me in a nesting mood so I made some soup. Paul cleaned out the freezer last night and found a ham bone stashed inside and I hunted around in the back of the cupboard for some dried beans I knew were in there. I threw it all  in a pot of water and let it simmer all afternoon and the smells are still wafting through the house. Yum.

Later in the evening, I asked Sophia if she would like to make brownies with me and she replied, “How about we make Mud Puddle cake instead?”  Great suggestion since Mud Puddle cake is much less fattening and super easy to make. I used to make it all the time when my girls were small because you can mix all the ingredients in one pan and the kids can stir ’til their hearts are content. It’s dairy free too. For a recipe of my Muddle Puddle cake click on my Just Imaginate blog. (Scroll down the page, it’s the 5th recipe down.)

I better go check and see if it’s ready.

It was a fun filled, busy and joyful occasion filled with lots of activities during the day with  surfing, sailing and  kayaking, and in the evenings at each other’s homes playing charades, board games and reminiscing over old photos of Pop Pop in the army and on his wedding day. Those were the moments when I looked at my girls blending in with their “step” aunts, uncles and cousins, enjoying themselves and feeling included, even though they don’t share the same heritage, history or genealogy. After Sophia and Eva left for the wedding in New Jersey, where I heard reports that they ripped up the dance floor with their East coast cousins, we had one final big party at our house on the last day of the reunion.

I had planned a menu of grilled chicken kabobs, homemade potato salad and coleslaw. It was  a pot luck and everyone brought their contribution. Paul’s older brother decided he wanted the family to take a trip down memory lane and asked his wife to prepare “bun burgers,” a dish their mother made for them as children. It stirred some fond and not so fond memories. (Apparently not everyone liked the bun burgers.) I didn’t quite get the recipe, but I watched them being prepared. Basically, you prepare ground beef like you are making hamburgers. Throw in some spices and some chopped onions, but instead of adding bread crumbs, pick out the bread from the tops of hamburger buns, which leaves a big O, tear it into pieces and add to the mix. The top of the bun is placed on the bottom half of the bun and then on a cookie sheet. Next, scoop up a  generous dollop of hamburger meat and place inside the opening of the top bun. Bake in the oven at 400 degrees and just before they are done, top with strips, in an X shape, of Kraft processed American cheese. Place back in oven until melted.

I have to say they were pretty darn good and could easily be adapted to something healthy and rather gourmet if using, say, ground turkey, whole wheat buns and  perhaps some goat cheese, instead of the fatty beef and fake cheese. The culinary nostalgia didn’t end there. No. There were fish sticks too! You know, the frozen kind that comes in a box with lots of fillers and mystery ingredients. They were a  once-a-week staple in Paul’s family’s house. Paul’s brother felt that no family reunion was complete without fish sticks and bun burgers. As we were standing around the kitchen, noshing on the retro delicacies, he lamented, “Too bad we don’t have fake milk to go with them.” Anyone who grew up in a large, budget stretching family in the 50’s and 60’s would know what fake milk is. I do. My mom used to take powdered milk, mix it with water and add it to the real milk to make it last a little longer. It was gross, but we accepted it because that’s just the way it was.

As Paul’s family reminisced about their childhood memories, I reflected on my own (I’m one of five kids.) and realized that big families are pretty much the same.  It isn’t just the food, the family vacations, the sibling squabbles and competition for the bathroom that they have in common, but rather the inherent bonds, life lessons and experiences that go with the territory. I’ve always said being part of a big family prepares you for life’s greatest challenges: To be able to get along with anyone, to know how to wait your turn, to accept delayed gratification and to tolerate things that can at times be somewhat unpleasant.

My thoughts wandered to the future as I pictured myself at Sophia’s or Eva’s wedding and imagined all the guests who would attend.  There would be my family, Jared’s family and  Paul’s. It would be  a blended family wedding… and one hell of a party.

I have no guilt about this what- so- ever.

This is a very timely topic for all those 30- ish moms with young kids out there who are still killing themselves to be power moms. I recently had a conversation on this very topic with my newly found cyber mom friend,  Carley Knobloch of Mother Craft Coaching, who specializes in helping moms simplify their lives. She teaches busy moms how to apply her “ADD” formula to prioritize their daily tasks. The “A” stands for act, as in act on things you should do right away, like opening and sorting mail before it piles up. The first “D” represents those things you should delegate, like buying the cookies for the spring fair instead of baking them yourself. The final “D” stands for delete and these are all the things you really don’t need to do, like volunteering for everything. I’m in the delete parenting phase of my life right now.

As I told Carley, your lives get much simpler as you and your kids get older. First your kids start to feed themselves, then they go to the bathroom alone, followed by bathing themselves, putting themselves to bed and finally driving, getting jobs and supporting themselves. Along the way you stop obsessing over every activity. You come to terms with the fact that your child is not going to be an Olympic gymnast or professional soccer player after all,  and you eventually lose that drive to have it all, do it all and be it all. This usually happens around  middle school when your kids don’t want you hanging out at their school anyway. So all you young moms out there, chillax. Take a breather. Savor your babies now because it goes by so fast.

I changed my last name when I got married to my first husband because I wanted to have the same last name as my children. Maybe not the feminist thing to do, but it was my decision. When I got married to my second husband he was sensitive to the fact that I had my first husband’s last name. Go figure. He told me he wouldn’t have minded if I had kept my maiden name, but the first husband’s last name kinda bugged him. I debated a bit because then my children would be offended and they were, but I changed my last name to my Paul’s anyway and my kids eventually understood. I explained to them that their last name would always be their tie to Daddy and that I wanted my last name to be my tie to my husband. So it was settled. But not quite.

Sophia, my oldest daughter, wrote about this very subject in her blog Stepkid Stories. In her post titled The Name Game Sophia revealed that she has often been asked if she has any plans to change her last name. She considers this a bizarre and intrusive question and so do I. Why would she change her last name? Even if her father were dead, I would never change my children’s last name. I could see if her dad were a dead beat and not in the picture, but anyone who knows us well knows that Sophia’s dad is a very active part of her life. Even still… it is NO ONE’S business and is a question that should never be asked.

Cheryl once told me that she cried on our wedding day. When I asked her why she said, “I cried tears of joy that I finally had sisters.” Sophia and Eva were not so cheerful that day because at the time they often considered  Cheryl to be  ”INSANELY ANNOYING!!!” All that has changed. Now, they wear each other’s clothes, trade makeup, ride bikes to the beach, go to the movies, hang out talking in their rooms and do just about everything together. Eva and Cheryl have this ritual every weekend when we are altogether. They pull out Eva’s wipe board and write a weekend “to do” list with tasks such as: (The spelling and parentheses are theirs.)

1. Put lemon juice in our hair and lay out in the sun.

2. Work on our tans.

3. Go to da beach.

4. Partay (not really)

5. Go to D.J.’s and get candy.

6. Create a dance routine.

7. Make a movie of our dance routine.

8. Get a samich at Joe’s

9. Wash Joey

10. Have a picnic on the trampoline.

This is the life of a 12 and 13 year-old. And what a life it is. I always tell them, “Do not ever tell me you didn’t have a wonderful childhood.”

We had a delightful time shopping for dresses and Eva found the perfect one. But ony after a bit of searching. We first went to Macy’s junior department and it was jam packed with beautiful, fancy dresses. Eva tried on several, but none suited her. There was one that I just loved because she looked so lovely in it. It was a bright yellow, flowing floral party dress that suited her olive skin tone beautifully. Eva did not like it. She looked at me and the discarded dresses strewn throughout the dressing room and sighed, “I like the dresses. I just don’t think they’re me.”

I did not protest or try to convince her to settle on one. Instead I remarked cheerily, “Then let’s try another store and we’ll keep searching until you find the dress that is just perfect for you.” And we did. The next stop was Nordstrom’s, who surprisingly had a pretty skimpy selection. We were about to give up when Eva spotted the dress hidden in a  corner on a rack by itself. It was a pinky, mauve satin strapless chemise with a lace overlay. She tried it on. It fit and she loved it. I bought it even though it was a little more than I wanted to spend. And not because I couldn’t resist her pleading look,  but because I know how wonderful it feels to have the perfect dress.

I remember shopping for my 8th grade graduation dress with my mother. We had been searching a while and I sensed my mother’s growing impatience. I finally found the dress of my dreams, but it was too expensive. I knew my mother couldn’t afford it so I didn’t even bother to ask. Instead I picked a cheaper version which my mother purchased and we took it home. I thought I had covered my disappointment pretty well, but apparently not. The next day when I got home from school, there it was lying on my bed …the perfect dress. While I was at school my mother exchanged the dress for the one I really wanted.  I wore that dress proudly as I walked in the graduation procession, wobbling in my first pair of high heels.

After Eva and I purchased the dress we went shopping for shoes. We found the perfect pair: solid mauve suede high heels. Her first.