If you want to know about how my parents raised me, or what kind of relationship my four siblings and I have today, this is probably all that you need to know:
that on Wednesday, when there was some good news and some bad news, a hint of difficulty on the horizon, I decided to drive to Arkansas for the weekend. The kids and I left the next morning, arriving in Little Rock 10.5 hours (four movies, three times through the Newsies soundtrack, one fast food meal, and one gas station meal) later.
And that as soon as I decided to drive to Arkansas, my sister bought a plane ticket from New York to come too.
And that when she texted our brothers, the two in Oklahoma (and one lovely sister in-law) drove to Little Rock as soon as school was out. The one in Denver (and one lovely sister in-law) took a plane that got in after midnight; they stayed a day, and flew out out at 6 am so that they could be back at their church to lead the music on Sunday.
Family first, as the Bluths would say.
Jack asked me, over the phone, what we were going to do that Saturday, all of us together.
"I don't know," I said. Then I told him in detail about our plans for the three meals.
"Yep, sounds like your family," he laughed.
We shopped a tiny bit, watched football, jumped on the trampoline, swam, cooked, ate, went to church, and laughed at Jimmy's jokes.
We just like to be together. And if that doesn't tell you everything you need to know about how my parents raised us, nothing will.