I am traditionally left changed and strangely affected by my solitary moments with Mom and Dad, so forfeiting this strange yearly metamorphosis of my soul for the greater good of the entire family was admittedly a difficult thing for me to waive. I mean, where was all the good material for my blog going to originate if not left alone with the two nutcases to whom I was born?

Today, I smile when I think of that horrible incident, or when I see the faint scar on my gorgeous grown niece's forehead, because it reminds me of my connection with four of the most amazing women in my life, their connection with each other as mother/s/ and daughters, and how that connection transcends time or space or physical constraint.

Remember when I rejoiced at being able to retire my broken monocled ventriloquist doll Willy into our attic? I mentioned that the only more celebratory moment at that time in my life was when my parentally mandated pro-life bracelet took a quasi-accidental voyage down the toilet pipes into the sewer. This is that story.

Other than the 3-hour choir practice two nights ago, the last time I was in St. Anthony’s Cathedral was 2 months ago at my grandmother’s funeral.

Christmas 2014 was already destined to be slightly off-kilter given the absence of our family's matriarch who decided only two months ago that 95 years on the planet was sufficient lest she wear out her welcome, but Christmas is shaping up to be a doozy all its own for so many other reasons.

I was asked by friends to watch their caged and domesticated African Gray while they ventured to Disneyland for the week. Holy hell. What did I get myself into?

Alas, one of our Chicago tribe sisters stayed home this year because her youngest is still breastfeeding. We have only two rules for Tribe: that no significant others may attend, ever (regardless of their gender), and that children can only be present if they are still sucking the teat, and only if they are not yet walking.

Nothing will reset one's life experience (and possibly the course of one's entire future) like a dozing highway driver hitting you from behind at 50 mph. The only car wrecks I've experienced prior to this one were in the days before airbags when we wouldn't even suffer seatbelt injuries because chances are we weren't even wearing one. Despite the fact that my face (and body) feel they've been used in sparring practice by a prize fighter, I'm grateful an airbag intrusively entered my world yesterday.

Oh, my favorite phrase of childhood. It didn’t matter if I was spewing aortic blood, all difficulties were meet with a resounding, “Offer it up, Née Née.” Offer it up? Why don’t you offer it up?

My dad allegedly punctured his own eardrum by sticking a hairpin in his ear as a young boy (according to my late Grandma Arthur). Regardless, the expression "Huh?" is a common response anytime I (or anyone) address(es) my father from the left side of his body.

"Dad, what in the hell are you doing?" I ask, slightly annoyed. "I'm trying to find a blanket." "Just take the comforter off my bed" I reply. "No, Née, I'll just use a towel" he innocently responds. I'm too exhausted to even care…

I had hoped the tone of the day had already been set by that fun, flirty moment in the airport. I couldn’t be more wrong.

Despite it being summer, the Griswold Christmas Vacation references just keep a comin’. I mean—consider what I’ve got to work with here.

As if you need more evidence that I am likely adopted!

This entire blog began when I documented, by way of “help me” Facebook posts, my summer vacations with my parents. The only single person in our family, I was graced with the privilege of accompanying my parents to exciting vacation destinations.