Preschool for the Kamikaze

 

 

Our third little journey of learning has officially begun.  Yesterday little Rozzie Kamikaze started pre-school for the first time.  She was so excited, like Christmas morning excited, in the days and morning leading up to going.  She was talking about all the stuff she was going to learn, what she was going to do, new friends she was going to make.  But then, as we walked toward the front door, it seemed that something dawned on her for the very first time: she was going in alone.  She's always had this exuberant energy; this need to compete with older sisters that drives her to be louder, faster, more unpredictable.  It's been as much an issue for us parenting as it has been a blessing for seeing a little one with so much life.  But that comes from this place of being the baby, and you're not "the baby" unless their are older siblings on whom you can rely.  Anywhere she goes she can be loud and boisterous because her big sisters have her back.  Any obstacle in her way she can vault over with a triple axle because her sisters will be there to catch her.  Anything she doesn't know she can confidently shout an answer for because her sisters will correct her if she's wrong.  But she doesn't have them here.  For the first time she has to walk a path alone, with out support, with out guidance, with out anyone.  For the first time in her little life I saw shyness creep in.  When the teacher greeted her, she retreated briefly.  Hidden was the confidence.  Reserved was the calamity.  It was unsettling.  Fortunately, it seems not to have lasted long.  Before the first day was over she clearly found her own footing with out her supportive siblings and I doubt it will be long before she loses that fitting, breaks another bone and realizes she can also pick herself up with out assistance.  It's a first step in a long academic journey, but I can see she's going to continue to run instead of walk.  And that makes me happy.

Oh Baby. ....

With my work life at a very different place then it was when the first three were born, I'm sad to say that my involvement with Lorelei in infancy has been limited (by comparison).  In the middle of the nights I've let Gina take the load so I can still get out of bed at 4:30 and function till I get home at 6.  By the time I'm home now, she's already on her way down, and I tend to run point on showers and jammies for the big three while Gina gets to nursing and wrapping her up.  There is a small part of me that misses that.  I feel like somehow our bond won't be as tight because I'm not there as much as I was for the others.  And then last night happened.  I'm good now, I'm good.

Gina was invited out for a girls night with some of the other ladies in the community.  I could tell she really wanted needed to go and since Lorelei recently started taking an occasional bottle I figured "I got this."  By the time I got home, however, World War 3 had already broken out.  Rosaline had fallen asleep on the drive home from where ever they had been that afternoon.  She not only woke up on the wrong side of the car, she woke up on the wrong side of the galaxy.  It got so bad that I actually banished her from the dinner table and sent her to bed.  Of course by that time the baby had started to scream as well, but Gina had just nuresed her before she left so I didn't want to waste my one bottle that soon.  I tried every position of holding her, I paced the house for an hour, I tried the bouncy seat and the playmat; I even strapped her in her car seat and swung her till my arm felt like it was going to fall off.  All of this going on while simultaneously having to march upstairs every five minutes to confront Rosaline for what ever new trouble she was getting into.  OH!! And in the background I got to listen to the dialogue from Disney's new cinimatic treasure "The Descendants". ... for the second time.

Finally I had no options so I pulled out the bottle and she drained it in a horrifying split second.  Then she looked at me with her big blue eyes as if to ask for more and I had nothing.  And so she cried.  And then she screamed.  And then I cried.  And then Rosaline screamed.  And then the twins plugged their ears.  And we all cried.

Movie was done, baby was a little less upset, so I sent the twins up to brush their teeth (don't forget, Rosaline was banished to bed like 2 1/2 hours ago) when I hear Genevieve yell "Daddy, come look at my sink!".  I trudge upstairs to find toothpaste smeared all over the counter.  That little f........ 

Before I even got to the door I can hear her apologizing from with in.

By the time Gina got home the baby was fast asleep in my arms, big girls fast asleep upstairs, and I was well on my way.  And she wanted to know why I didn't respond to any of her texts.

Indoor Summer Campout

 

Three summers ago we experienced our first August residing more then 10 miles from the beach and it's coastal breezes.  Growing up in Long Beach we never had an air condition in our house; why would you?!  Any hint of heat you just open up the windows and let the salt laden air flow through.  In Corona?  Not so easy.  No matter how hot it gets, you keep those windows closed and those blinds drawn or the wrath and fury of hell will overpower all things holy within those four walls.  After that you crank on the AC and pray to the gods of Southern California Edison that there are no rolling blackouts in your area. 

 

This weekend with Gina and the baby enjoying the coastal breezes of Santa Barabra and a festival, the girls and I opened our Bibles straight to a page in Revelations when the upstairs (where the bedrooms are located) AC conked out.  We have a warranty that will fix it, no issue - but they couldn't get a tech to us for 3 days.  So the first night, I tried fans on the stairs to bring up the downstairs cool, I pushed the roaters on the ceiling fans to the brink, I put everyone in the least amount of sleep appropriate clothing I could - but by 3am it was still 88 degrees and everyone was miserable.  I know. ... 88 degrees. ... anyone reading this in Mumbai is punching out their screen.  But we're sissy's, ok?!  So night two I went a different route.  If you can't sleep upstairs, blast the AC downstairs and have an indoor camp out!  We watched movies, we ate ice cream, we even put on long pants at one point. ... it was glorious!  Except for me who slept on the couch in case anyone had issues in the middle of the night.  Life Lesson #482: when buying a new sofa, take a nap on it just in case one day you need to know if it'll do the trick.



 

Why Mommy Doesn't Blog

Let me begin by stating this is not my story.  This is the story of my wife who does not blog and, if anything, is meant to show you that I'm not the only one who survives some of these parenting fiasco's.  I just blog about them to make myself feel better. ... she prefers Pinot Grigio.

Last Friday my beautiful wife of 9 years, mother of my 4 children, decided it was necessary that Costco be conquered that day.  She loaded the troops and headed off with a brilliant plan of attack.  She would feed them, stuff them with ice cream and then rush the aisles quickly before the food coma wore off.  This is why I don't make plans.

She got in line with the baby for the hot dogs outside of Costco.  She sat the three big girls at a table and told them to stay right there where she could see them while she ordered.  She repeated to Rosaline - STAY.

Not thirty seconds go by when she feels a clammy hand wrap around her thigh.  She looks down to see Rosaline beaming up at her.  "I told you to stay with your sisters," she says.  "I just wanted to tell you I love you," came the reply.  Gina points and she trudges back.

Perhaps another minute passes before she catches a mop of curly blond hair out of the corner of her eye. "I love you Mama!' Rosaline screams as she high tails it back to the table.

A beat of a butterflies wing later she's back again, only this time she's not even sure why.  So Gina lost her patience, as all great mothers do. No ice cream for you.  Mount Vesuvius erupts.  Now she's trying to order hot dogs, twins at the table perplexed, Rosaline full tantrum mode on the ground, the world watching.

Somehow they survive the dogs and, as promised, the twins get ice cream to follow and Rosaline does not.  By this point she's reduced to a stuttering whimper but the baby is now hungry as well.  She rounds them up, back to the car to eat their ice cream and feed this baby.

Twins are in the way back enjoying their dessert, baby is latched in the front with Mama and Rosaline is in the middle seats, plotting her revenge.  She notices Arianna is buckled but the car is not moving; she's found her chance.  Rosaline jumps up and leaps into the back to force Arianna to unbuckle her seat belt.  In the melee that proceeds, the buckle is indeed disengaged, it coils back, hits Arianna's ice cream and Jackson Pollacks the car in frozen confection.

Now Arianna is screaming, this of course causes Gina to turn and baby to become detached mid stream.  So now breast milk is spouting like a ruptured sprinkler head all over the car, Arianna is hysterical, Gina screaming behind her grabbing at childless air, Rosaline cowering, and Genevieve peacefully enjoying her ice cream pretending she's adopted.

Somehow they still made it through Costco and got everything from the list.  Even a magnum of Kirkland Pinot Grigio.

Wedding of the Year

"Four girls!" they exclaim; as if I wasn't aware.  And 99% of the time they follow this up with "that means four weddings!!!"  So far no one has calculated in a funeral, but there's still time.  Yes.  Yes, it has dawned on me that there's a good chance each of these girls will be married at some point, and yes I realize the traditional rules say that Gina and I are due to pay host these events.  I'm serious that my hope is they will all meet and fall in love in the same 3 month window and we can talk them into a doing it all in one shot.  Of course that's unlikely.  The other hope is my father-in-law still owns his wedding facility - La Mariposa - and we can convince the girls to hold festivities in Arizona. 

Fortunately, it seems at least one of my expenses has been covered.  I came home the other day to find  out a ceremony was in progress and Rosaline was marrying her long time bff Rafe from down the street (finally!  these kids have been together like 2 1/2 years already; it's about time).  It was a wedding destined to happen so who really cares if it happened 14 years before it's legal in this state.  Mazel Tov you two; my blessings upon you.  Now Rafe cut your hair and get a god damn job.


Something to point out as well: Rosaline and Rafe are the real life Taylor and and Ed from this music video. ... it's eerie because they look so much like then but even eerier that they act so much like them.

Big Enough to be Big Sisters

The family experience is much like a river flowing; no similar activity is exactly the same because the water drifting by is never the same is at once was.  The big sister job is much different this time around because the ages of the girls are so much different.  The twins were barely two when Rosaline came along.  They wore "big sister" shirts proudly and posed for the cameras with the newborn sis in their laps; but they were still as much babies themselves.  With Lorelei it's vastly different.  The twins are coming up on six and Zozz is nearing four  - they really are big girls and are embodying a much more active role as big sisters.  This morning, while breakfast was being made and coffee still brewing, I changed a diaper and passed the baby off t he Genevieve's open and eager arms.  And there they sat, comfy on the sofa for the next thirty minutes or so.  Any time she cries or coo's, three sets of feet come running to check; to plug a binky in her mouth or report on a spit up that needs cleaning.  So far no one is willing to change the blowout diapers. . .. but there's hope yet.

Sweet Baby Lorelei

I have a new goal; to blog consistently once more.  Perhaps I'll need to find time in the evening to do so, now that my day light hours are so booked - but I'm on it.  And for good reason.  The Kopp Girls are now a quartet.  On June 19th, only 2 weeks before she was due, our little Lorelei made her appearance.  There's not much to say about her yet - she eats and sleeps and poops. ... and poops - but I'm sure she'll come with plenty of new stories to share with you all as the weeks progress.

I've already noticed the dynamic change of 3 to 4. ... it's like moving from the realm of non-fiction into science fiction.  To put that better, there's the book you read about a real experience and you can compute exactly how everything in the plot came about.  Then there's the book about an interplanetary battle between humanoid rabbits and a subspecies of foot fungus that's gained self awareness.  The words all make sense in your brain but the concept still leaves you going "how could this ever be a real thing?!"  Every time we make a simple journey to the store or someone's house, I feel like I lose track of the headcount because the numbers so high and there are so many moving parts.  It's like counting fish; everyone stop moving and looking so damn much alike. And they do!  They all look exactly the same some times.  And Lorelei, though her hair seems a little darker thus far, is nearly a carbon copy of the rest, right down to her bright blue eyes.  I feel we're not so much procreating as we are simply cloning at this point.

And the questions are a little different when you're dragging around 4.  People used to ask "are you going to try for that boy?"  And they always had this smarmy way of saying it like they weren't serious.  Now people feel like they're egging us on. ... as if we'd already passed some point of sanity so the next stop is Duggar station.  People don't even mention the "boy" card any more, simply when is number five coming?  And there's that little part of you that wonders "why not?"  As the weeks go on I'll be reminded exactly why not. 

Gina sent me an article recently that talked about how hard it is once you've "decided" this is your last baby.  I think many people with one, two or three never officially close that door, it's just kind of how things round out.  But for those that decide, this is the last one, you then start to realize all of these "last firsts" that you'll go through.  Last first smile, last first steps, last first word.  And it really makes you teary to dwell on it.  Of course it'll also be the last first tantrum.  The last first "some how I got shit in my mouth and I'm not even near the baby".  The last first puke on my new suit jacket.  The last first who put my watch in the toilet.  The last first we  haven't slept all night and I have a presentation in zzzzzzzzz.  So yes, it will be emotional, and amongst those emotions will be a little hint of joy and maybe a slightly heavier pour of longing.  We'll see.  And you will too.  Assuming I'm able to keep up  my half of this new bargin.

Here we go!