M is my husband, and he is amazing. He's a structural engineer, a spectacular father, the best friend and lover in possibly the universe, and terrible at folding laundry. He's 7.5 years past his initial diagnosis of a stage four glioblastoma.
At five years old, SI is obsessed with birds and superheroes. She loves reading, snuggling, and tickle fights. She tells the worst and yet most hilarious knock knock jokes I've ever heard. She's been voted "Most Likely To Grow Up To Be A Supervillain."
Our other five year old, DD is more enthusiastic than anyone on earth about everything on earth. She will swoon over a pot of plain white rice, tell me I'm the best cook in the world for pouring her Cheerios and milk, and tell me I'm the worst mom in the world for making her wear a hat.
RH is spectacularly two and a half years old. She's incredibly sweet, funny, affectionate, and curious. Or, she's a tyrannical, demanding, hysterical despot. Either way, she's adorable.
Grandmommy and Poppa are my parents, and they are wonderful humans.
My sisters are Aunt Something Funny, because something funny always seems to happen to her, and Aunt Genocide, because after getting her Master's degree in genocide studies, she's moved on to working on her Ph.D. in the same.
M's parents are Grandma and Grandpa. They are also wonderful humans.
M's sister and brother-in-law are Aunt and Uncle Engineer. Because there must be something about the water supply around M's childhood home that produces so freakin' many engineers.