Later I came to doubt my decision and wondered if I should have let her go. Sooner or later I am going to have to let her spread her wings and be independent. She’ll be going off to college next year and I will have no idea what she is doing then. So I decided if Sophia asked again if she could go I would give her my permission. Sure enough, earlier this week she came out to visit me in my office and with that sheepish, imploring look on her face (that I have come to know so well) she told me they were making plans and could she pleeeease go.  Without hesitation, this time I said, “Sure. Why not?” She was stunned. I choked back the lump of fear in my throat as I listened to her excitedly tell me all  they wanted to do. Tea at the Japanese Tea Garden, The Impressionist Exhibit at the De Young and dinner in Chinatown. They worked out a budget for how much everything would cost. Here’s the best part, they wanted to take their younger sisters with them too. I think that’s what really sold me. I thought wistfully of my youth with my sisters taking me places and knew that this experience would be something they would remember forever.

They left early this morning, but only after I coached them on how to keep their money in their front pocket, how to spot weirdos and to stick together. I exhaled a sigh of relief when they called to say they had arrived safely. And I will feel much better when they return home.

It was a heart break for both Eva and Jill to not live so close to each other. Eva does not remember a time when they were not friends. They met when they were three. I have photos of them dressed in their Madeline costumes selling lemonade in the front yard.  It is amazing how close these two girls are and probably always will be. Their friendship has survived not only our move, but the test of middle school. Now they are both 14, starting high school in the fall and IN LOVE with Justin Bieber. Susie and I gave the girls the tickets as a gift for their 8th grade graduation. We took them out to dinner first and while they went into the concert to watch the opening acts we waited in line to buy T-shirts. I enjoyed spoiling my daughter this way. I used to worry that she was the neglected middle child … but not anymore. As we were leaving the concert, (after 3 1/2 hours of shrieking and squealing) Eva put her arms around me, squeezed me hard and proclaimed, “This was the greatest night of my life. Thanks, Mom.” I swooned with Mommy glee.

After my swim, while I was toweling off and ready to relax with  my book, I couldn’t help but hear the wailing protestations of a little boy who was upset with his parents because they would not let him have some Skittles. He must have been about 5 or 6 and he was very upset. Throwing himself on the pavement, pounding his fists in anger and frustration and generally behaving like a spoiled, obnoxious brat. Although I agreed with his parents’ firm stance to not give in, I did not appreciate how they handled the situation because they essentially aided and abetted in their son’s outrageous behavior. Children need to know from a very early age that no means no and there is no backing down.

Instead, these parents resorted to what I refer to as “the parenting style of over explanation.” Too much talk and not enough action. For what seemed like an eternity, they coddled and cajoled this kid with hollow platitudes of “If you keep acting like this we are going to have to leave.” Neither I nor the kid believed for a nanosecond that  they would follow through on that threat.  I was jumping out of my skin. It took every ounce of restraint I had to not pull the kid aside and chide, “Dude, it’s downhill from here. Missing out on Skittles is nothing compared to having your driving privileges taken away when you’re 16 because you got a D in Algebra. Lighten up. It’s no big deal. Get over it.”   Instead I kept those thoughts to myself. As I was leaving and Junior was still pitching his fit, I made eye contact with an elderly woman, a grandmother, I’m sure. She looked at me. Looked at the kid and we both tsked tsked. We commiserated for a moment about the bad parenting we just observed. I left feeling sorry for the kid.

In the meantime, the girls have been cooking up a storm. They have made dinner the last two nights and are enjoying thumbing through my cookbooks looking for new recipes to try. Then they go to the store to get the ingredients. They shop, the cook and clean up afterward. Here some photos of their recent masterpieces, lemon cake with marzipan frosting, homemade pizza and potato eggplant curry.

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.