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.

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that Paul, the kids and I were all heading downtown to the Catalyst to see our rock star tenant, Johnny Prynce’s band Dirty Penny. My friend Kathryn’s twin sons’ band, Rapid Fire was the opening act. This is a video from that night. Even through my ear plugs I thought they were great. Become a fan  on Facebook.

Lover's Point in Pacific Grove

Our "rock" table picnic spot

Eight years ago, when I first became a single mom, I was in a wine shop and spotted a picnic backpack filled with all the essentials for a romantic picnic for two: plates, silverware, a cheese board, a wine opener (can’t forget that), wine glasses, cloth napkins and a tablecloth. I bought it and dreamed of a day when I would use it on the beach with a romantic partner. We’d ride our bikes along a path by the ocean, stop at a gourmet deli and pick up some local wine and exotic cheeses, find a cozy, sunny spot on the beach and enjoy the fine food and company. So romantic.

I never used that picnic backpack. I put it on a shelf and forgot about it. Until today. I spent most of the morning working on homework and when I was done I announced to Paul that is was time to HAVE SOME FUN!!! It was his idea to go for a bike ride and have a picnic on the beach. “Hey,” he reminded me, “Don’t you have a picnic backpack thing that we’ve never used?” He retrieved it from the laundry room shelf where it had been gathering dust. I cleaned it off and while Paul loaded the bikes into the car, I ran to the store to get some indulgent, decadent noshing foods like Humboldt Fog goat cheese, tapenades, crusty bread, wine and dark chocolate. Yum. We drove down to Pacific Grove to a park called Lover’s Point and rode our bikes to Monterey. The weather was gorgeous. It was so relaxing and romantic. We found the perfect spot, a “rock” table and while I set out the food, I thought about how far I’ve come since I first bought this backpack and how happy I was that I finally got to use it.

Then it  got kind of cold and windy. Paul spilled his wine all over the table and accidentally sat in it. He had this pee like stain on his butt. A homeless person wandered by and I felt kind of guilty that we were indulging and thought about offering her some food. We forgot the bike lock so I worried the bikes would get stolen. And then my lactose intolerance started to kick in. But it was very romantic. I swear. Not exactly as I pictured it, but then nothing ever is.

The greatest part of all of this is that this whole experience has brought Paul and me even closer together. We talk endlessly all day (we work together, remember) and into the night about  how we can work what I am learning into our current and future business plans. I have to create a marketing plan for my master’s thesis on a company of my choice so I am doing mine on our business. Paul tells me he has never seen me so happy, energized and creative. I agree. Going back to school at 48 , with five children has been an amazing experience. Everyone chips in to help out and whatever doesn’t get done I am learning to ignore. My standards of cleanliness have gone lower than ever before but who cares? I am a vessel of knowledge now and nothing is going to stop me.

I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself since my mom was guilty of  misplacing her children too. When we were kids she used to take us to WaWa after church on Sundays. (WaWa is a Northeastern regional convenience store chain similar to 7Eleven. I wish they had them here because they have the greatest milkshakes.) While Mom was at the deli counter we five kids would run wild through the store. My younger sister Jill and I would dip our hands into the pickle barrels, lick the pickles and throw them back in. (Aahh. Those were the days.) One day, Jill must have been in the bathroom when we left the store and drove home without her. I think we were home about a half hour when my mother  realized her “oversight” and shrieked in horror, “WE LEFT JILL IN WAWA!!!!!!!!!!!” We all clamored into the paneled station wagon (which my father had decorated with embarrassing Flower Power stickers) while my mom sped like a maniac back to the store where we found Jill wandering the aisles aimlessly, oblivious to the fact that we had left her in the store and had gone home without her.  My mother covered well when she told my sister, “Come on, Jill. Time to go.” Just as I did when I told Eva, “Sure, I’ll be right over to get you.” And we wonder why some children have abandonment issues.

Baby Jack born Jan. 4th, 9 lbs 8 oz

We have a new baby in the family, my great nephew born on Jan. 4th to my niece Joy and her husband Dale. (Not their real names.) Joy is my sister Nina’s daughter and she and everyone else in our family is ecstatic about the birth of the first baby born in our family in 13 years –my Eva being the youngest grandchild on my side of the family.

Since I live on the opposite coast as most of my family, I have to rely on stories and photos, text messaging and Facebook to hear what is going on. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall the night Joy and Dale brought their new son home from the hospital. I heard he cried in the middle of the night and they looked at each other frantically and exclaimed, “Oh my god, he’s crying. What do we do?”

Been there. I have a very vivid memory of bringing my first born, Sophia, home from the hospital. She was warm and cuddly nestled in her baby snuggy when I put her down in her new crib. And then a few hours later she woke up wailing and would… not…stop. It was at that moment when I couldn’t pawn the kid off onto someone else as in, “Here, your kid’s crying. Take it.” that I realized I was a parent and there was no turning back. I tried to nurse Sophia, but that did not go over well. I rocked her in my brand new glider rocker and that didn’t help either. I was fretful, resentful, and overwhelmingly exhausted. I just wanted this baby to stop crying and go back to sleep so I could too. And then I just gave in. I made peace with the possibility that I would be up all night and I relaxed and miraculously, she did too and fell back to sleep. I learned a very important parenting lesson very early on and that is to stop resisting the demands of my child and to just surrender to her needs, because a need that is fulfilled goes away.

Over the years I adapted to my new time management style of working in fits and starts as I took many breaks to tie a shoe, prepare a snack or wipe away a tear for my children. Some days seemed to drag on forever (like when Sophia had chicken pox and I had to entertain her by dropping a bouncy ball from our second floor balcony down to the first floor landing to distract her from scratching) yet the years still managed to fly by.  I can remember walking Sophia in a her stroller and middle aged strangers stopping to admire her and wistfully telling me, “I remember when my baby was that small. ” I now know how they feel.

So it is with this thought in mind that I would like to impart some advice to my niece Joy and her husband Dale and to all new parents everywhere: Take the time to enjoy your children. You can dust later. If your son wants you to read to him or help him solve a puzzle, leave the dishes in the sink. You’ll get to them eventually.  Savor the little things like a hand picked bouquet of weeds or his “abstract” art that hopefully wasn’t scribbled on the wall.  Don’t resist. Surrender. And always remember this: If you think he’s wearing you out now, wait ’til he’s a teenager. I know.

There isn’t much I haven’t done or could do. For instance, now that it’s football season and we’re watching a lot of it, whenever I see the coach on the sidelines blocking out the plays I can’t help but think, “I could do that. How hard could that be?” The job is pretty simple as far as I can tell. First off , you have to know all the rules. Then you need to know the talents and skills of your team. And finally, you have to be able to anticipate what the other side is going to do and be prepared. Not much different from life if you ask me. Having survived junior high and water cooler gossip at the office, I’ve overcome some obstacles and tough plays in my day. And I’ve had my share of losses and come from behind victories too. And when life has thrown me a curve, I’ve learned to smack it  out of the park. (I know, I’m mixing sports metaphors here, but bear with me.)

I realize that  sometimes it’s hard to keep up with everything.  Like Windows 7 already? I just figured out where the spell check key was on Vista. I’m not a technophile that’s for sure and that lack of skill set may have cost me a job along the way, but it has never gotten in my way of understanding human nature. Let’s just say I’ve had lots of that kind of experience on my resume. Whenever the kids come home from school with a gripe about a bully, a mean girl, a strict teacher or a failure on a test I know exactly how they feel. Been there. Done that. Maybe I can’t type 55 wpm, but I can be their shoulder to cry on. Some talents make up for others. And any shortcomings I may have as a parent, I make up for with compassion, empathy and chocolate chip cookies. It’s the people skills that matter the most in life. That, and the ability to overcome adversity. And if you have a lousy year, there’s always next season.