Everyone is a package deal.
This is a phrase I use often as a reminder that life doesn’t happen in a vacuum. The person that cut you off in traffic is more than his bad driving habits. The politician you disagree with is more than an opinion or policy issue. The actors you admire are not the roles they play. We all exist in a context. So it’s important to share with you the most important context in my life: my family.
Ha – you thought I was going to say my cats. I’ll definitely get to them. Today is about the people I share my day to day life with. The husband and two adult daughters that I live with are more than related to me. They are my closest friends. They are my confidants. They are my advisors. They look out for me as much as I look out for them. They are the people I laugh and cry with. Yep, they are the people I share the cats with.
Online I never refer to my family by name. It’s a simple privacy issue. What they do online and how they reveal themselves is their choice. What I share is where they intersect with my life. The rest is their own. So this brief introduction to the man, the tiny child and the youngest is a some context for clarity.
The man is my husband. We’ve referred to him as the man for a lot of years. It bypasses the landmine of parent/child relationships that come with a blended family. For almost the entirety of our relationship, he has been the only man living in the house with the fluctuating number of women and girls. We’ve been together for almost 18 years – legally married for the last third or so of that. We note our wedding anniversary in passing every year but the day we celebrate is Memorial Day which was when we knew we wanted to spend our lives together. The man’s outer shell is that of a grumpy old man. Inside he is sweet and gooey. He is 13 years older than me. Fortunately for me but less fortunate for him, I easily look a decade younger. It isn’t unusual for people to think he is my father when we are out and about. He is brilliant and kind.
The tiny child is the child I gave physical birth to and raised from infancy. Often my refernce to her as the tiny child leads people to infer that she is a young child. Nope. She is a full grown adult. She is simply a tiny one. She barely tops 5 feet in height and she struggles to stay over 100 lbs. She is my child. She is tiny. Thus she is my tiny child. In a house of genius intellects, she dwarfs us all. The force of her personality could level a major city. It is only in physicality that she is my tiny child. Look beyond that and you see that she is certainly bigger on the inside.
My youngest is exactly that – my youngest child. My child but also a grown adult. She hit 30 last year and bemoans how old she is getting. She has been part of the family for a decade. I have acted as mom to a lot of young women in the past 20 years but the youngest is the only one that has become as much my child as the tiny child. She is the child of my heart even if she didn’t come from my body. We are all full of snark but she has a level of sass that is a joy to witness. In a house of genuinely funny people, she has earned the title as The Funny One. She still is unable to own her brilliance or her beauty but she is both.
There is so much more I could say about each of them – and eventually I will. These are the people that currently inform my day to day life. I share my laughter and my love with them. I also share my sorrow and tears with them. They are there for me and I am there for them. They are my family.