Yesterday at work, I was talking with a couple people about my upcoming weekend (starting today!!), Gentle Man overheard me and asked, "Wait. WHAT are you doing?"
"I'm spending the weekend with my seven aunts and the oldest of the girl cousins."
"You have SEVEN aunts?"
I thought I'd told him the litany before, but apparently not, "Yeah. My Mom was the oldest of ten kids. There was her, then one boy, then eight girls. I have 26 first cousins."
He looked shocked, "My family is so small, I can't even imagine something like that. Your poor uncle!"
My turn to be shocked. I really hadn't told him the litany since that was a phrase I'd never heard nor imagined. I tilted my head and mused, "Hmm... not a phrase I'd use. He was a sociopath who abused everyone in the family. My Mom worked hard to protect me from him, so he's more of a theory to me than an actual person, but I don't think he is the one who needs the sympathy."
As a result of that intense family life, my aunts are some of the strongest, most vibrant people I know. We've rented a beach house north of San Francisco where we'll hang out, cook, talk, laugh, play games and tease each other for the next five days. My sister and five of our fabulous cousins are coming as well.
Their all en route as I write. I'm off to rent (and learn to drive) a 12-passenger van. Picture us all stuffed in there and attempting to survive Route 1 (think of all those car commercials with the cliffs and the ocean and the hair-pin curves).
See ya on the other side!