September 8th 2018

Today was our seemingly biennial family dinner. It’s not very often that we’re all in the same place for long enough to sit down for an evening to eat a lasagne, but tonight was one of those times.

It’s not always lasagne, by the way, it just happened to be lasagne today. And good lasagne, at that.

My eldest sister and her fiancé(e?) are back for the weekend, for one reason or another, the other lives around the corner, and I’m about a week away from moving back in with Mum and Dad, so the universe conspired to put us all in the same place, at the same time once more.

As these nights become more and more infrequent, my Mum feels more and more pressure to try and make them perfect. And in my opinion that’s an unrealistic expectation. Because no family is perfect. Certainly not ours. But that’s fine. Because being imperfect makes it real.

We’re allowed to disagree on things. We’re allowed to have different opinions. We’re allowed to have completely different interpretations of a given situation.

Mum gets upset by it, but we’ll bicker and nitpick and point-score because we’re siblings. And inherently competitive ones at that. And that’s also okay, because it makes it real.

That’s what siblings do. And that’s what family is. But no matter what, at the end of the day, we’ll still all sit down for a lasagne*, because we’re a family.

Until tomorrow, *it doesn’t always have to be a lasagne


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