Some of my favorite things about going back to that overpopulated, psychotic, loud family:
The door to the laundry room, and subsequently the downstairs bathroom, should be a pocket door. They’ve said so many times. It’s a squeeze to get between the door and the dryer and it is strictly a one way street.
There’s always someone moving about, even in the dark of night. Dad’s getting ready for work at three. Someone fell asleep on the couch and is up at six to trade places with the early riser with the toddler. We’ve all heard the infant going about his business throughout the night. In the same respect during the day there’s always someone napping (the moms) or still sleeping (the brothers).
The Christmas houses are always on the tops of the cupboard, no matter the time of the year, and they have their own switch of the roughly three dozen in the kitchen alone.
Ugly afghans everywhere. I made one of them, not even the coolest one.
Holidays. The chocolate pie. thanksgiving and christmas. there is always a battle in the kitchen on HOW to make it. often, it doesn't turn out. Every year. twice a year. for seven years now and probably before i showed up, i'm sure.