This is FAMILY.

What is family, mami? Are WE a family?

Well, Isabel, family is different for every person, for every circumstance, even for every stage of life. To me this is FAMILY…

The house is quiet. It is around seven am on a cold Saturday morning. Little hurried footsteps down the hall result in little arms and legs wrapping tightly around me, seeking my warmth and love under the covers. I feel myself being flipped onto my back and a tiny version of a person hoists herself on top of me and claims her rightful spot, belly to belly, head on my chest. Eyes still closed, breathing the scent of her hair. All is well.

Smaller yet faster footsteps running down the hallway result in a cannon ball to the middle of the bed.  An even tinier version of a person wrestles his way into the mix of covers and body parts. I feel him snuggle between Matt and I, his back to Daddy, his front, hands, belly, and face directed at me. I reach out to touch his soft cheek. Eyes still closed, feeling the softness of his skin. All is well.

Sleepy murmurs of I love you, You are MY Daddy, You are MY Mami, You are MY baby are whispered over clasped hands and fluffy pillows.

And I’m the lucky one. I have my hair stroked, my cheeks patted, my nose kissed. I have to referee, in my sleep, between two children who both want to hold my hands, be encircled by my arms, share my space. And as we compromise and find our perfect fit, the four of us we become like puzzle pieces that create a beautiful picture of a perfect moment: a family at rest. All is well.

This is FAMILY.

Later in the day, while everyone is in the kitchen, I steal away to spend some time conversing with my old friend of the black and white keys. Together we make Christmas music until a little voice joins me singing love songs to Jesus on his birthday. All is joy.  

Soon ten tiny fingers join mine on the other side of the keyboard, pounding the keys in dis-harmony, while the little voice continues to sing and the three of us play and sing and celebrate His birth. All is joy.

And then a man who loves jazz and who would love to be a jazz pianist begins to pick at a key here and there while I stroke the keys, and ten little fingers pound, and a little voice sings made-up words, and the four of us make noise that sounds like a masterpiece to my ears. All is joy.

This is FAMILY.

As the day winds down I find my way to the kitchen once again and I begin the process of creating a meal out of ingredients while the other three join me one by one. First comes the little chef who insists on helping me. And I have to create a job, a side-dish, a child-like recipe she can follow. And we laugh and cook together. All is sharing.

Then comes the tiny mimicker who drags his toy kitchen in to make his own creations and serves us while we stir and chop and season. All is sharing.

At last comes my companion, who sits and talks to me while I invite him to participate, to eat at the tiny kitchen of the little mimicker, to taste the creations of the tiny chef. All is sharing.

This is FAMILY.  

And as we separate at the end of the night, the kids to their bedroom and us to ours, after baths and prayers and last minute hugs, we will not be physically together again until morning, but we will rest in the tender knowledge that we belong to each other and we will sleep the sleep of the content, the protected, and the cherished.

This is FAMILY.

And we are blessed beyond measure…