My Family

What Do I Do Now?

Welcome back!

Have any kids, grandkids? I have a large family, ten children living under my roof and two who have their own families complete with their partners who are raising my five grandchildren.

As you can imagine our house is always on the beastly side. Let me back up a bit on that; that may be an exaggeration. There are some days between three and three-thirty in the morning when there can be something resembling a hushed level, although there is one child who only needs about seven point three minutes of sleep every day.

Coincidentally he is also the one who yells at everything, rants, and claims everyone is stupid. Maybe there is a pattern there. By the way, his voice is high-pitched, and when he screams it pierces right through one of my hearing aides, bounces around like a ricocheting bullet that brandishes a bayonet, and exits out the other side.

We love him so much.

We love all of the little carpet devils, named so after the small tornado-like phenomena that rolls across the prairies and deserts, not because of their demeanor. Regardless of how the name sounds they are little angles and I would not trade them for anything. A stiff shot helps a bit though.

Our family is quite the hodgepodge and is about as extended as a family can be. There are adoptees, of which my wife is one as are more than a few children. Of course we have our bio-kids some of whom are louder and more headstrong than others. They tend to surprise me. That started about the time they got started. Genetics can be a bitch. My father-in-law lives in town, my wife’s bio family not a far piece down the road (local talk), and we keep in touch with the surrogate kids too. Those are the children my wife carried and gave birth to in order to help other couples achieve their dream of family.

The aunts and uncles of all the kids stretch out in every direction, especially if you count the half siblings, adopted siblings, and bio siblings of both of us. We have service personnel, teachers, doctors, students, business managers, and truck drivers.

All in all, we have quite the asylum.

Someone told me that in order to write I have to have come from a dysfunctional family. Well, I sprang from a functional, dysfunctional one. Pardon, you say? I know. That sentence alone sounds nonfunctional. One hell of an oxymoron isn’t it. My mind is still boggling.

Imagine living it. I do, and love it, but there may be a clue as to why I don’t have any hair left.

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