While The Cat Is Away...

This is a picture of my Rosie girl. My beautiful, amazing, strong, bold and daring Rosalicious. She is incredible. She was basically fresh from dance class, recently changed from her tights and leotard into her PJs - and she was so excited about her class that she took a flying leap off of the ottoman - and was promptly chastised by her father for standing on the furniture.

...

I totally rolled my eyes as soon as he said it.

I often feel like a kid trapped in an adult body. Yes, we need to get things done - but I genuinely am unfazed by children climbing on countertops or jumping on furniture. It's just stuff, right? So as long as they are being safe, I am usually pretty comfortable letting the kids be kids (and sometimes being the adult kid) and having lots of laughs in the process.

Rich, however, does not share my views. He is perfectly content shirking all responsibility whenever the opportunity presents itself, but he is usually looking to play countless hours of video games and pass out on the couch while ignoring the sink full of dishes. He is constantly telling the kids to be careful with our already broken and ripped 12-year old couch...and not jump on or off of the furniture...and not to climb.

Here is my secret...

In addition to rolling my eyes when he silences the crazy, I totally encourage the behavior as soon as his back is turned!

I know! It is totally shitty of me - but I do! I really believe that kids should be kids and stuff is just...stuff...and I would rather have the laughter and giggles and the uncontrolled, unbridled chaos than order and calm.

So last night, when he left the room, Rosie asked me if she could jump again and if I would take a picture of her mid-flight. My response? "Did Daddy leave yet? No? Wait until he goes..."

Once the door was closed and the car was down the driveway, my leaping ballerina was back up on that ottoman, showing off her jumping skills...and there I was, capturing each and every one on my phone, encouraging her every step of the way. We have video. We have live photos. We have still photos. We have memories because we had fun.

I'm sure Rich would be less than thrilled if he knew that the kids and I are co-conspirators in our occasional rule-defiance...but what he doesn't know, isn't going to hurt us!

Baby Got Back

See that little face? The cute little blondie poking his head out from behind my right shoulder? Yeah - that's the adorable monkey on my back!

Nick and I are close - and in many ways, inseparable. He is the first of my children that I have actually actively worn around. My little buddy goes everywhere with me - and he usually does so happily.

We spent some time at Funland at Rehoboth Beach with Rosie, Angelina and the Wetzelberger girls. The first chunk of time was basically dedicated to his sisters and friends. They picked the rides and activities (including a bathroom run and cheap carnival games). Finally - while we waited for some of the girls, he got to hop out of his Tula and into a boat...

I was a little nervous - he is a bit of an escape artist and that loosely fitted strap would be absolutely no match for him! He was a little anxious until the ride started, but once those boats were moving in that circle of water, he was a happy little clam! 

Of course, once he had a taste of rides, his patience for waiting on everyone else was thin! So we picked a ride that everyone could do - the helicopters. He was in heaven both because of the ride and because he had both Rosie's and Elise's undivided attention the whole time! 

Finally - while we waited for the big kids to finish up their "must ride" list, my Nicky went on the firetrucks. Again...and again... and would have been happy to stay there all night long!

So - after a few hours of fun, I strapped my guy onto my back and went strolling down the boardwalk in search of Thrasher's fries and Fisher's Popcorn. As I accepted the bag with two tubs of popcorn from the dude serving it up at Fisher's, he apologized and said "sorry - it doesn't fit well. It is kind of awkward." 

"Dude - nothing is as awkward as this 35 pound monkey on my back!"

To a degree - it's true. Carrying your child around on your person can be completely exhausting and more than just a little inconvenient. But it also only happens for a painfully brief period of time. I might blink too much, and he will suddenly be grown and not need his mama for everything. I might turn my head, and he will suddenly be too big to be carried. It is just a matter of moments before I pack the stroller away and hand my toddler Tula on to someone who will need it. 

But I'm not at that moment. I'm not at that time. I still get to enjoy my littles while they are little - and for that I will be forever grateful. 

My Little Firework

 My girl. My sweet Angelina.

Angelina is a work of art - a ginormous personality wrapped in sass and cloaked in a smile - armed with a heart full of passion and a head full of righteousness.

Being her parent is sometimes difficult, sometimes frustrating and always rewarding.

July 4th happens to be Angelina's half birthday - and our nation celebrates its independence with fireworks and parties, so my girl has it in her head that these parties are really just for her - to celebrate her half birthday. (Because who wouldn't want fireworks and BBQ on their half birthday?) This year, we had just gotten back from vacation a few days prior and had some major house changes happening, so a party was just not in the cards. From a few minutes after waking, Angelina had declared her half birthday to be "a disaster."

My girl wanted to do ALL of the things that our day just wouldn't allow. She wanted to play card games while her toddler brother was milling about. She wanted to invite people over - who would literally need to sit on our piles of laundry. She wanted to party - when all I could realistically do was survive a summer headache and try to make our mess more manageable.

But, despite feeling lousy, I promised my girl fireworks and fireworks she got!

Her mood was iffy at best until the fireworks started - then her sense of wonder took over and she didn't blink. She begged for a phone to video the display so that she could watch it over and over again.

I want to bottle her energy and enthusiasm. She has a way of seeing the light in every dark tunnel - and every dark heart. She loves completely and fully, and I worry about her tender heart and the fools that will come along and break it.

She is my baby girl and my mini me. Always & forever.

Papou's Pancakes

When I was little, my Mom did 99.8% of the cooking in our household. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, my Mom was in charge of it. In fairness, my Dad was out of the house long before we woke up each morning and was often walking in the door after we had gone to bed. As a result of his schedule (and ours) Dad was usually in charge of grilling on the weekends during the summer - but he was also in charge of pancakes.

My Dad makes the best pancakes. While I'm sure it is part him and part Aunt Jemima, his pancakes are always light and fluffy - and I could eat them every morning, topped with cream cheese and sometimes mini chocolate chips.(Never butter and syrup!)

The secret to the World's Best Pancakes isn't the mix - or the topping. It is the man behind the spatula. You see, my Dad makes our pancakes into shapes. 

For a pretty stoic guy who doesn't often show a silly side, he takes the time to shape that pancake batter into everything from Mickey Mouse ears to hearts to flowers and dinosaurs. It is one of my favorite childhood memories with my Dad - and it is one of my favorite things about him as a grandparent. 

His pancakes are now famous - at least with the 7-11-year-olds that hang out with my kids! In fact - I think two of those friends were a little disappointed yesterday when they didn't get pancakes for breakfast.  

He made up for it this morning, though - pancakes all around - and when Claire requested a cat AND a flower - she got just that!

A "C" for Claire and a Cat

"E" for Elise and two flowers

Little Skater Boy

Woodloch Pines has an ice rink.

Well - it isn't real ice. It is some sort of plant-based plastic, which is why we were able to skate on it at the end of June during 90 heat. 

Since he could walk, Nick has shown a love for any and all sports - but hockey is most particularly his favorite. My little buddy gets so excited when "HA" comes on the TV. He has his very own stick, and we often catch him stick handling in the family room, setting up "goals" with two toy cars and shooting one of his rubber balls through. He even celebrates and yells "goal" when he shoots one through successfully.

It just so happened that our hockey-loving baby and an ice rink were in the same place at the same time, so we did what any hockey parents would do - we put our Bubs on skates! 

I wish I had been able to capture his excitement when he saw me walk towards him with a pair of skates. "Kate! Kate!" My little guy, who struggles with so many of his words, found the words to express his excitement. 

We took all four of them skating at young age. Rosie went for the first time on her second birthday. RJ and Angelina for their third. All three of them struggled with even walking on skates. Not Nicky Blue Eyes. He got those skates on his feet and confidently strode in the direction of the door. He was ready! 

Unlike his siblings before him, Nick took to the ice like a natural. He had no problem staying upright and moving around with confidence. In fact, he was so capable in the skates themselves, we handed him his stick:

He was in heaven!

Nick needed hardly any coaching - and was even able stop a puck with his stick and shoot it at Uncle Billy.

I'm so grateful to have shared this moment with my parents, brother and sister-in-law! 

Unbiological Sisters

On Saturday night, we took the stage and closed our 2017-2018 Dance season. It was a whirlwind of recitals over a span of 26 hours - but as always, it was loads of fun.

Our little family had a special moment to close the Saturday night performance. Back in February, we were asked to be part of a mother-daughter dance. My first thought was "but I have more than one daughter - how will this work?" Once that question was answered, my next thought was "it feels weird to be doing this without Emma."

Yes - she is someone else's daughter. She isn't mine. I didn't birth her - but I love her with all of my heart and soul. Her DNA and biological makeup means nothing - because she is a piece of my heart. Of course, she was away at school, so participation wasn't possible.

We met with three other families several times over the next few months - and Karen Daniels put together a piece that tugged at the heart strings and pretty much made me cry at every rehearsal. We selected dresses in a variety of colors and each family had our own color. We performed on Friday and Saturday during the matinee - and the whole time, there was just something missing for me.

I asked Karen if Emma could join us for just the end of the piece - she was already dressed in a color-coordinating outfit and we knew how to bring her in. Karen said she would discuss it with the staff - who know Emma, her father, our story and me all so very well - so they voted to have her join us.

The result was a moment I will never forget.

She joined us just for the last few seconds of the song - Rosie's outstretched hand reached for her, and Emma took it and joined us, smiling all the way. For a moment, the audience was lost in the lights and I swear I saw her father's smile.

Unbiological sister.

It is a term Rosie coined regarding Emma during our rehearsal process. She and Angelina both questioned Emma's exclusion from rehearsals. School got in the way, but once she was home, not having her in our routine felt just as weird for her too.

Biology is only part of a bond between sisters. Love, devotion, friendship and trust cover far more ground than DNA - and we are blessed in this house to have a combination of both biology and "unbiology" to form our happy family.

Unbiological. Family by choice.

It explains us so well.

Oh, Ange...

Since the time she was a baby, Angelina has been my "spirited" child. She marches to the beat of her own drummer. She looks for a different way to do the most common of things. About two years ago, when I pointed out to her that the lines on the coloring page were meant to be colored in, not over, she looked at me and said "oh, Mommy - everyone colors in the lines. I'm going to do it different." And she does different so well.

We went to brunch on Sunday to celebrate my birthday with my parents. It's our little post-recital tradition. This year, we went to Lib's Grill - which is rapidly becoming a favorite stop for Sunday brunch. I ordered pancakes and eggs for the baby first thing and asked for a take out container to serve him from, since we were seated at a hightop table and the highchairs wouldn't reach. Our server brought us two - but they weren't the standard foam takeout containers. They were fancy brown, coated cardstock containers - Chinese takeout style (without the handle). I used one for Nick - and the other sat, ignored, at the end of the table.

Ignored, until Angelina was done eating. Within minutes of her finishing her meal, Ange had discovered the second container, waiting for her at the end of the table. Seconds later, Angelina had a new hat.

Now - back in our college/post-college days, Rich and I would have made a similar hat out of a discarded box from a consumed case of beer, and we would have called it the "asshole hat." Watching my beautiful, spirited, amazing daughter dancing around Lib's Grill with a takeout box on her head, all I could think of was our "asshole hat."

I was suddenly petrified of what she will be like as a college student.