Last week, I sent the following email to my children:
Subject: Mandatory Family Meeting
Message: Plan to be home Monday night. We’re putting up the goddamn Christmas tree. Together. As a family. I mean it.
We are three.
I sometimes feel we lack the critical mass to be a family.
But mostly it suits us.
We share a love of wit, sarcasm and verbal banter.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, there was a moment when my husband was seriously worried that we would somehow, inexplicably, end up with a humorless child.
What if we have children and they’re not funny?
I hesitated for just a second before responding.
How could that be possible?
It wasn’t and they are.
I’m reminded of that conversation tonight, admiring our marginally decorated and slightly off-center tree.
We drove to the tree lot, walked up to the first tree, looked at each other, and said:
I’m good with this one.
Yep. She’s a beaut.
Are we good? Good. Grab it and let’s get out of here.
We laughed over our particular brand of humor and later told stories that we knew each other would get.
We are three. And it suits us.
Make Yourself Uncomfortable, Part I
Asking For What You Want
