Turns out, you actually CAN pick your family

 There’s a line in To Kill a Mocking Bird that reads, “You can choose your friends, but you sho’ can’t choose your family.” I've heard this in many forms over the years. It's usually said when something crazy or shameful in the family happens, and the message you get from (or give to) well-meaning people is, "So sorry to hear your sister is in jail, but you know, you can't pick your family." I'm here to tell you that's just not true. I should also be clear that my sister is not now, and never has been, in jail. She's an exceptional "never-been-in-jail" sort of person (please note that I recognize there are many exceptional "have-been-in-jail" folks out there as well, just that my sweet sis is not one of them). 

Follow me for a moment while I digress. Being in the military means, among many other things, that one is typically geographically separated from family. My husband and I lived this life for a number of years without giving it a thought. It was wonderful when we got to visit "home," or when family came to visit us, but the life we led necessarily included separation from our traditional family units and it wasn't an issue. Until we had kids. The thing about having kids and not having family around is that the kids miss out. Sure, grandparents and other family members miss out on being around them (I've come to wonder if a grandparent's level of joy in their grandchildren is somehow directly correlated to the level of spoiling they are allowed to bestow upon them), but littles benefit tremendously from having other people in their lives who love them and have a vested interest in seeing them turn out to be responsible citizens of the world. And so, with the birth of our littles, we began to feel the isolation that can come with our military lifestyle. 

Enter, the Peach State. Our move to Georgia brought us to the fifth place we lived since the kids were born. They were not quite two when we arrived. Let me tell you, folks, a stay-at-home mama of toddler twins has got to meet some people. If you happen to know a mama like this, please show up at her door one day with a cup of coffee and a note she can tape to her fridge that says something along the lines of, "You are AWESOME, just hang in there!" Don't ask to come in. In fact, make it clear that you CAN'T come in (unexpected company in a twin-toddler home can cause a bit of anxiety) but tell her you'd like to come back. With baked goods. And more coffee. Then ask if she likes Bailey's. Just sayin', you could change a life. 

There we were in the Peach State. We'd been there for 6 months but hadn't yet met all our neighbors, so we baked. Christmas baking is a big deal in our house. I'm not talking about black bean brownies (which are delicious, please check out the recipe on this page, they're awesome!) or three-ingredient chocolate chip cookies that look AMAZING in the pictures but always leave you disappointed (not a recipe on this page). We're talking REAL cookies, with buttery goodness, flour, vanilla, walnuts and powdered sugar. Russian Tea Cakes are our Christmas cookie of choice and we bake a lot of them. Dozens and dozens of them. And then we bake more. Baking Christmas cookies is an activity on our Advent calendar, and delivering said cookies to neighbors is another. It's about spreading cheer. And for our first Christmas in Georgia, it was about meeting our neighbors. Strangers. Or as it turned out, friends we hadn't yet met. 

I am a firm believer that it takes a village to raise a child. You just simply can't do it all on your own. OK, you CAN do it all on your own, but it's so much better when you have a village. You won't go crazy if you have a village. When there are mamas and daddies at your house who know to move the un-cut Easter Bunny cake out of the reach of your daughter who will take a piece with her bare hand, you are part of a village. When you have neighbors that give your construction-minded son (or daughter, we're fairly gender neutral in our house) wood so he can build a "house" in the backyard, you are part of a village. When you have somewhere to go and decompress (maybe drink a little wine?), where your children can play and are happy and safe, you have a village. Raise your hands in praise of this, a village is where it's at! 

So there we went, house after house after house. Armed with Christmas cookies and cards, and the joy of little ones who think they are doing about the best thing ever, "Mama, they'll be so happy!" And then we got to the house across the street. It was a couple just a few years younger than my own parents. They invited us in. NOBODY had invited us in. They were friendly and funny. They had a toy closet. WHAT?!? Their home was warm and inviting, as were they, this mystery couple from across the street. IT. WAS. AWESOME. Just like that. 

It didn't happen overnight, but the friendship that formed fed my soul in ways I never could have imagined. It taught my children what it meant to have Grandparents right there, not a thousand miles away. And it's how I learned, you actually CAN choose your family. As we drove away from our home and family a few days ago, to start our new adventure, I cried from the loss of it all. It happens with every move, but this time it was different. This time we left family. But just as before, I know we can always come "home" to visit, and our family can come visit us. This time, we have three sets of parents/grandparents instead of just two. We CAN choose our family. We can. 

And so, Mamas, cross the street. That's it, just cross the street. Open your arms and your hearts, see what the world has for you. You can create, for your kiddos and yourselves, such incredible opportunities for love and belonging. Don't wait for Christmas. Had I known there was "family" just waiting to be discovered across the street from us, I would have baked Labor Day cookies. Look around you, friends, and reach out. You just never know who might reach back.


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