Normal is Overrated | Finding Joy in the Beautiful Mess

I've discovered something over the years.

Apparently...

Not every family does things the way mine does.

This was shocking news to me.

Because when you grow up inside your own version of normal, you don't really question it.

You just assume everyone else's sister closes her eyes every time you're driving through heavy traffic or crossing a bridge.

My sister, Tia, has never been a fan of either.

To this day, if we're heading over a bridge or traffic starts getting a little too exciting, someone inevitably says,

"Okay, Tia... close your eyes."

It's become such a normal part of our lives that I honestly forget most people don't have a designated bridge eye-closer in the family.

Turns out...

That's just us.

Then there are my Fourth of July beer socks.

Every year, without fail, I proudly wear my beer-drinking socks.

Here's the funny part.

I don't even drink beer.

Never have.

They're just festive.

Don't question it.

I've accepted that some traditions don't need an explanation.

Speaking of traditions...

Every Christmas, all the presents magically appear overnight.

The Tooth Fairy leaves little notes.

Our sleepy little ones end up making pallets on the floor because apparently sleeping next to your cousins is much more exciting than sleeping in your own bed.

Halloween means walking the cottages together.

Thanksgiving means trying to remember which of the forty million family gatherings we're supposed to be at next.

To us...

That's just life.

Apparently that's not everyone's normal either.

Then there's the language we speak.

It's mostly English...

With a healthy amount of...

"That tracks."

"Roll the dice."

"Move your meat, lose your seat."

"Oh no... this is spicy."

"I love you more."

"To the moon and back."

"I love you a bushel and a peck."

And one of my personal favorites...

Using sign language across the room because if the kids see your lips move, they'll somehow hear the conversation from three counties away.

Parents know.

Another thing I assumed every family did?

Ordering food and selecting the little box that says,

**"Please don't knock."**

Not because the baby is sleeping.

Not because the dogs will bark.

No...

Because we're hiding our snacks from everyone else in the house.

Listen...

When you live with this many people, survival requires strategy.

Then there are the D&D dice.

I stopped asking where they go years ago.

They're like socks in the dryer.

One day you own hundreds.

The next day you're searching the house because somehow every single six-sided die has vanished.

We've found them in shoes.

Backpacks.

Dog mouths.

Sink drains.

Under furniture.

If there's a mysterious place in our house, chances are a die has visited it.

Our meals probably look a little different too.

Dinner isn't really a quiet family gathering.

It's more like navigating the lunch line in a school cafeteria.

Someone doesn't like vegetables.

Someone suddenly remembers they actually hate ketchup.

Someone desperately needs ranch for reasons no one fully understands.

Someone announces dramatically,

"Eww... it's meat!"

And somehow...

Everyone survives.

Most days.

Speaking of survival...

Our kitchen has seen some things.

Most notably, the time my sister, Tia, managed to start an oven fire while making a seafood boil.

Twice.

Yes.

The same meal.

Twice.

To be fair, we all learned something that day.

Mostly that seafood boils probably belong exactly where the name suggests...

Boiling.

Not in the oven.

We still laugh about it, and somehow the story gets a little funnier every time it's told.

Living in a house this full also means silence should never be trusted.

Ever.

If everything suddenly gets quiet...

Go investigate immediately.

Best-case scenario, they're building a blanket fort.

Worst-case scenario...

Actually, I've learned not to ask.

Some things are better discovered with coffee already in hand.

People sometimes ask me how we make it all work.

The truth?

Some days I honestly have no idea.

Our house is loud.

There are toys where there shouldn't be.

The TV remote has developed legs.

Chargers disappear into another dimension.

There's always someone looking for a shoe.

Or a backpack.

Or a dog.

Or a child.

Some days it feels like we're all just running from one thing to the next.

But then...

There are the moments that remind me this wonderfully strange life is exactly the one I want.

Watching all the cousins piled together for movie night under more blankets than should legally exist.

Hearing everyone laugh so hard that nobody can finish telling the joke.

Watching the kids sprint across an open field as if they own the world.

Seeing them look after one another when they don't think any adults are watching.

Those moments aren't normal.

They're extraordinary.

Maybe that's why I've stopped worrying so much about whether our family looks like everyone else's.

Because normal was never really the goal.

Joy was.

Connection was.

Belonging was.

Our version of normal may involve too many people, too many dice, too many inside jokes, and entirely too much coffee.

But it's ours.

And honestly...

I wouldn't trade our wonderfully weird normal for anything.

Until next time, there's always another chair by the fire waiting for you.

— Cara