Last weekend my family had a family reunion. I remember being little and going to these things, the annual water fight and the fifty plus people there who were, yes, all related to me. I guess I forgot to mention that my family has these reunions every single year. We don't do these things to remember the long-losts, we do these to be around the people we came from. The people whose faces lit up when they saw your soul for the very first time and who fed you Cheerios on the kitchen floor just to watch you pump your chubby fists in excitement. So here we go, disaway.
This is my aunty winda, or Aunt Linda. One of my favorite stories that I hear of being a baby is when she dropped me behind the changing table and I sat there, stuck between the table and the wall. I'm sure I got there mostly on my own, and it makes me believe that someday when I have children, it's okay if not everything goes perfect. Maybe it's okay if babies cry sometimes.
la
One thing that I love about my family is that they love color. I have a tendency toward grey, but after being around these ladies you can't help but be on a color-high and a crayola craving.
Jack took us out on his boat. Tell me how it gets better than that for two boys with fishing poles? And R2D2 fruit snack bait?
These two are how we got our start, and we love them for many more reasons than that.
and then there was coffee. we drove two hours to coffee and two hours back because if you're going to do something you might as well do it right. You might as well do it with the people who count.
See how beautiful they are? That is what I love about my family. We are not the American Dream. We are real and tangible. Covered in beads and hair product, greeted by Lily the parrot when we come downstairs.
So come on in.
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