THIS

One

I hauled my duffel bag onto my bed with the ugliest grunt known to mankind. My brother was asleep in a twin bed on the other side of the room. I didn't blame him. It was half-past one, and I was meant to be in a peaceful slumber as well.

Unfortunately, it was one of those sleepless nights. I could tell. I didn't think that it would be too bad in the morning, because I had a plane ride that I could sleep on. I would just have to get my brother to wake me up. It wouldn't kill him. He was already getting a good night's rest.

I, however, wouldn't have more than six hours of sleep, and that was if I was lucky and my mother was the one to wake me, instead of one of my cousins. That had happened that morning. At not even ten-thirty, I got poked and prodded and tickled and jumped on until I wanted to scream. Did I? Oh, no. As the second-oldest cousin (the first-oldest being my afore-mentioned brother, who was not exactly patient with anybody more than a year younger than him, nor trusted by the adults to be responsible with a herd of two to nine-year-olds), I had no right to complain or be anything shy of saint-like. My only viable option was to take care of a child while two more clung to my legs, because I didn't want to disappoint any of my relatives. Especially not the cousins.

There were Ben's kids— Abe and Jack. Ages four and nearly-three, with another on the way. Jack made sure that all of the great-aunts and uncles were highly aware of the nearness of the much-anticipated third birthday. Abe made sure that all of the regular aunts and uncles were caught up with every single detail of his life, his brother's life, and the life of his next-door-neighbor and their dog. It took a lot of energy to keep up with Abe.

Then there were Maggie's kids. Samuel, Gabriel, Sarah and Ezra. Nine, seven, five and three, with a pregnant mother and a quiet father. Even if three were resting quietly, the last would always be bouncing off the walls of their country home. Sarah was endearing, but she stuck to everybody like she was glued to their hip. Samuel should probably have helped out with childcare at family events, but he had three younger siblings, so it was understandable that he would want to not be in charge of herding a bunch of younger children into a minivan. As my mother would say, it would be like herding cats. Gabriel was the troublemaker, and Ezra was the quiet one that got very loud once he was tired. They were all manageable, mainly because the older two thought my brother was incredible (for some reason) and stayed out of my way and generally out of trouble.

Emily had a son, but I didn't really know him. Chuck. He was still preschool-aged, about three or four. They lived out on the coast, so the family only got to see them occasionally. Sometimes not even for Christmas.

Then we had my second-cousins, Caleb and Carissa. Caleb was my age and Carissa was two years younger than me and as spoiled as could be. And I don't think that she even recognized it. She could be really whiny, too. I felt like all that I could do was wait until she was in high school and I was in college and pray that she didn't call me up for a shopping trip. To be fair, she probably wouldn't even bother to think of me with her brand-new it's-not-that-cool-anyway iPhone that she could call her eight bazillion fake friends with. No, no, that was an incorrect statement. I misjudged her character. She would text them, not call.

These were the kids that I had to keep my cool for. I loved them to pieces, but one girl could only take so much. In addition to nine cousins, I had aunts, uncles, grandparents, obscure sixth-cousins twice-removed, ladies who probably weren't even part of our family and were just there to tell me how much I looked like my mother. . . The list could continue for an eternity.

And don't even get me started on the small talk. As a girl whose resting, relaxed expression looks like that of a murderer's, I had to force myself to open my eyes wider than usual, glance around at everybody to make sure that I was being "polite" and "inclusive", and force my mouth into a robotic half-smile so that the adults didn't think that my momma didn't raise me right.

If you asked any one of my few close friends and they would tell you that I hated, despised, loathed, rejected, and anxiously avoided situations like this at all costs. Yet, at a family reunion, if you didn't do it, you were considered a bad person for the rest of your life.