Talkin’ with Tiff

Once a month, every month my cousins and I get together at my grandma’s. We all pile our sleeping bags, favorite blankets, snuggies, pillows and pajamas in the corner of her living room and gather around.

My grandma smiles as she ushers us into the warm, comforting, familiar house. Everyone talks excitedly, laughing about one thing, shouting about another. The atmosphere is so loud, so overwhelming, so welcoming.

It reminds me of the past. It reminds me of all of the Christmases, the Thanksgivings, the birthday parties, the family get-togethers we shared in this very house. Back then this house seemed so small. So overcrowded. But then again there were at least 30 of us scattered around the medium-sized three bedroom, two-bath house.

That seems so long ago though. Now there are only eight of us. Everyone else has grown up, moved off, and started his or her own life. And soon I will approach that bridge and cross over it. But I don’t want to leave this all behind.

These are the people who grew up with me. These are the people I dressed up in graduation gowns and pranced over a dehumidifier with. These are the people I stay up late with stuffing our faces with popcorn, chocolate pudding, funfetti cupcakes and chicken nuggets. These are the people I dance ridiculously with. These are the people I can act a complete fool in front of and they are there right beside me doing the exact same.  These are the people I’ve learned so much from. These are the people I’ve taught so much to. These people are simply my family.

Don’t get me wrong. They’re crazy, irritating and whatever other adjective good or bad. But I’m thankful for the family I have. I’m lucky to have the family I have. No matter how crazy, how loud, how wild, how annoying, how loving, or how caring they are. They’re my best friends.