Bloodlines

I come from a big family. My grandparents on my mom’s side had 5 daughters who gave them forty grandchildren (I can name them all, in case you’re wondering. Impressive, I know.) Those grandchildren have produced six bajillion great and great-great-grandchildren (I can only name the ones who live in Utah, Idaho, Wisconsin, Missouri, D.C. or were born prior to 1992.) Nine of the forty grandchildren were born to my mom and dad. Four brothers and four sisters are what I got. To date, my sibs have given me fourteen nieces and twelve nephews, who have given me three nephews-in-law, a niece-in-law and four gorgeous great-nephews (are you keeping up with this?) Let’s do the math…that’s roughly six bajillion seventy-eight people who I’m related to at least as closely as a first cousin twice removed…I think. And I only counted the cousins on my mom’s side! Oh, and I forgot to count my dad…and my uncles…and my brothers and sisters-in-law…Okay, the point is, I come from a big family. I like it a lot.

I used to be of the mindset that a big family was great because there were all these people who were obligated to love me no matter what. They were compelled to love me even if I was a jerk. That was kind of comforting because who doesn’t like to be loved? As I’ve matured, my thinking has changed somewhat. I’ve begun viewing familial love not so much as an obligation, but rather as a privilege. Here’s why: Those six bajillion seventy-eight plus people are really cool people! I haven’t met one of them that I thought was a total waste of space. Of course, I haven’t actually met ALL of them. I have a one week old great nephew that I have yet to lay eyes on, but I’m pretty certain that I’ll be quite impressed with him.

ALL my relations are wonderful. We have really good genes. Our grandparents were something else! I mean that in a good way. And our parents… wow! Mine were the best, but my aunts and uncles weren’t far behind! We’ve been brought up well. Not perfectly, but lovingly, as far as I know. So, since these people are so very cool, I feel privileged to have the opportunity to know them. If we didn’t share common grandparents, there’s really no way that I would know my Riddle and Beachley and McBride and Myers cousins. They would just be some random people living far away. What a tragic loss that would be!

These cousins are AMAZING! Each of them is different and unique and impressive in their fabulousness. If I could be in the same room with all of them at the same time, my head would explode with the sheer force of their awesomeness. I love my cousins. Some of them I know better than others. Some of them are my age, and I treasure the memories of summer visits with them as we grew up living states away, but still close in spirit. Others are older…much, much, much…just kidding…a little bit older. I’ve grown to love and respect them as contemporaries as I’ve grown up. Some are younger, but they’ve all caught up to me in the grown up boat and have proven themselves equal to their elders.

The feelings of love and respect and appreciation I feel for my cousins is dwarfed in comparison to the feelings of love and respect and admiration I feel for my siblings. My sisters and brothers hold a special place in my heart. I sometimes feel like our souls are linked a little bit, across the miles that separate us. Is that weird? I don’t think so.

Like my cousins, my siblings are diverse in many ways. We share parents (or in my cousins’ case, grandparents), but we are very different. Some of us are the same gender. Some of us have the same eye color. Some of us share religious beliefs. Some of us live within a day’s drive of Mom. Some of us voted for Obama. Some of us like tomatoes. Some of us are outgoing. Some of us are financially independent. Some of us have musical talent. Some of us have hidden struggles. And to each of these statements, some of us aren’t, don’t and didn’t. But it doesn’t matter at all. Not one little bit. No matter what the statement is or which side of the aren’ts, don’ts and didn’ts we’re on, my siblings and cousins (and parents, husband, children, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, inlaws…) will always have my unconditional love. Not because I have to love them, but because I choose to love them. I know, TODAY, that I am incredibly blessed to have the family I have. It was no accident. I’ll never take it for granted. I’ll never let our differences compel me to lose sight of what’s the same about us. We are in the same family. Family is important to me. My very, VERY big family.


Please share your thoughts about your family in the comments. And if you like what you've read at "The Brainy Broad" please become a follower and share this blog with your friends.

Hugs,
BB

My New Stylist

I love long hair. I recognize the fact that my hair grows rather slowly, so having long hair is a rare treat for me. I have been bald, not by choice, and learned to even more greatly appreciate my hair when it grew back. Seven years after completing chemo, my hair was the longest it's ever been. I love long hair. I love being able to toss it in a ponytail, or straiten it, or curl it up tight, or wear it in loose waves, or braid it or...you get the point. Well, I started getting vain about my hair. It was my best feature, I decided. I would probably never wear it short again, I thought. That's when I met my new stylist. I actually knew the guy previous to my haircut appointment, only I didn't know he cut hair. I only knew him as that energetic three-year-old whose diapers I had changed...earlier that day. You see, I didn't even know I had an appointment to get my hair cut. And I learned, too late, that even if you think your sewing shears are safely under your watchful eye, you are vulnerable to the wily whims of a creative young child, if you let your attention wander for even a moment. In less time then it would take to say "where did I set those scissors?" half my ponytail had been shortened by roughly six inches. Yes, six inches. My son had snuck up behind me and gently cut my hair. This was a tragedy!! I saw red and I actually cried. I give myself credit for not killing my child. I took out the ponytail and assessed the damage. There was no way to salvage the length. I found a (real, licensed) stylist to attempt a fix of my scary crop, certain that I would hate whatever the result was. And, wouldn't you know it, she worked wonders! Not only did she skillfully rework my do, she piled on compliments about how thick and healthy and wonderful my hair was going to look. She encouraged me, and insisted that it was the best thing that could have happened. I actually started to believe her. She was right. My hair is now short (to me, above the shoulder=SHORT). But, I have never received more compliments! And, I'm actually finding that I really like the new look. I feel chic and trendy, for the first time in a long time. My natural curl is at last being utilized. It takes 5-10 minutes to accomplish a stylish do, as opposed to the hour it used to take. I would never have taken the plunge and chopped my hair if I hadn't been compelled to. I've learned a valuable lesson from this experience that I think I need to really make a part of my normal thinking. It is this: things in life are ever-changing, even if I think they are things I can control. Good things that we have will disappear. We will lose, sometimes. And that's okay. I can't stop things from happening to me, and why would I even want to? When things happen that are unexpected and sometimes painful, I'm going to take a moment to reflect before I freak out. I'm going to try (emphasis on TRY) to reserve judgement until I can see clearly enough to judge wisely. TODAY, I know that tragedies, both big and small, often aren't tragedies at all. I trust that if I have the love and support of good people in my life, the right attitude and some faith, all things can work together for my good. And it doesn't hurt to have a good back-up stylist!