A Different Kind of Ant

Just like the song, High Hopes, talked about ants, I want to do it too. Only in this case, it's my aunts. My father had two sisters who adored him. One has passed away but the other is very influential in my life. I'll get to her in a minute.

My mother is the oldest of three girls. Her sisters have seen me through thick and thin. They probably get very sick of me calling or emailing them. (One is high tech; one is no tech.)

I was taught that you're not supposed to express envy or covet things but if you'll give me a little wiggle room, I'll try not to be blasphemous.

I can be jealous of my aunts. They are these incredibly talented, funny, interesting people. Then, I realize I'm grateful -- in a weird and honorable way, I get to say, "Mine!" It's possessive. I'm possessive. These are my aunts.

One of my aunts lived with us periodically during my childhood. She taught me this lesson: When someone else pulls your hair, grab theirs and yank hard. By the way, she's the most talented artist I've had the pleasure to know. She has more talent in the tip of her pinkie than I have in my entire body.

One of my aunts used to take my infant self on dates with her (now) husband. She is far and away the funniest woman I know. I refer to her as a combination of Lucille Ball and Wild Bill. Who taught me to roll my eyes? Plus, she cooks all the time. She shares cookbooks and recipes. Do you think she's trying to tell me to kick it up a notch?

One of my aunts is a writer, speaker, community activist and has dedicated her life to family and social reform. Her influence is unending and she planted the seed for my writing passion. She's also been in the position of dealing with illness and in-home care. I can turn to her for advice or a pick-me-up talk when I'm freaking about the oldies. Plus, she's the strongest woman in the world.

My other aunt is deceased. I did not know her well. That makes me sad.

I have two great aunts on my mother's side. One showers me with soaps, lotions, candles and potions. She has dealt with her own health issues and frankly, I am stunned that she makes such an effort. (Maybe she remembers that I was the good eater.)

My other great Aunt has the most contagious laugh you've ever heard. If I'm lucky, I see her a few times a year. I always leave her presence with my heart full and my stomach hurting from too many belly laughs.

Aunts get the short end of the stick. They're not your parents and usually, their children are your generational equals so you tend to spend more time with the cousins. If you're lucky, you know and love your cousins. But it's the aunts who remember your birthday or helped pick out your baptism outfit or babysat so your parents could get a moment to themselves.

The husband had a million aunts. His mother came from a family of a jillion. (I stop counting after five.) He loved them and is in contact with some of his cousins but it's not like the relationships I have with my aunts.

As adults, we forget. So, I raise my coffee mug in a toast to aunts.

I have three aunts and two great-aunts. I am honored to also call them my friends.

The Fourth Child

My cousin Sarah is getting close to birthing her fourth child. (Fourth!) As I write this, there may be another little girl who has emerged into this world. I'm just waiting for the call.

I love those studies about birth order and personalities. I am an only child so the only studies that pertain to me always say the same thing: selfish, determined and stubborn. (Guilty!)

The husband grew up in a family of four children. His mother had some serious health issues with the last two. That's when siblings learn to pitch in.

Sarah and her husband are well qualified to welcome a fourth child. They have the financial resources and the tight-knit community of a loving family and great friends. Plus, they love being parents and they're good at it. (Did I mention that her husband runs a Microsoft company and she is an attorney?) They're accomplished in ways that don't even make my radar screen.

Lots of people were a little surprised when they decided to have a fourth child. Not me. She grew up in a family of four children. (She was the third.)

Her younger brother, the fourth child, must've had to prove his worth. I suspect the fourth child has to work a little harder to get noticed for various accomplishments. Somebody in the family has probably already been there, done that.

"I learned to skip today."
"I got an A on my spelling test."
"I made the team."
"I've been accepted into the college of my choice."
"I'm getting married."
"I just got a great job."
"My wife and I are having a baby."

John is the fourth child. As his mother describes him, he has no trouble being "out there." My Gosh, he had to be. He holds his own as a parent, a husband, a son and a businessman. His civic contributions are astounding. Plus, every time I Google him I get everything from company business to the Wall Street Journal.

I often ask him for advice. For such a busy man, he always calls me or emails me immediately. Sometimes he asks for my help and that makes me feel loved and needed.

Oh, he keeps his share of secrets but I guess we all do that.

Sarah is getting ready to welcome her fourth child. At some point, John will give this child a lot of great advice.

The Little House

I know very few people who have more than five children. Maybe it's the availability of birth control or more channels on television, but two to four children seems to be the norm. The oldies had four children. She came from a family of 12, 14, whatever. He is an only child.

Big families used to be the norm. My grandmothers were sisters. One was the birth mother and one was the earth mother who raised my mother and her sisters. It sounds bizarre but you would not believe how many people I have met in my life who have been raised by a grandmother, an aunt, or a sister.

I think there were 13 or so children in that family. I have a photo of all of them sitting on a porch and my grandmother wrote at the bottom, "A happy family and a happy home" It didn't look that great to me. In fact, my loony grandmother looked rather annoyed at the whole situation. In the photo, all of the family is together, yet, she's sitting off by herself.

My great grandfather (who I actually remember) made everyone welcome in his home. At one point, they took the detached garage and converted it into a "little house." Majorly small! But, it was functional and a lot of relatives lived there over the years. Some families name their homes/estates. We had a name too. Where's so and so? Oh, probably back in the "little house." When I spent time with my grandmother, (the sane one,) there would often be many of her brothers hanging out in the back yard, yucking it up, drinking and doing their version of a jam session on guitars. My mother would pluck me out of my little sandbox and remove me from that scene.

Once again she was right. A couple of them eventually did some time in the "big house."