D., the husband. We met in physics -- the only class we've ever shared -- during our senior year of high school. Somewhere between his hand getting mashed by a projectile launcher and my setting some other lab equipment on fire, we started dating. The rest is history (and a lot of airline tickets). Among many things, he's an intrepid adventurer, an innovative chef, and a consummate goofball. I love him.
J., a.k.a. Dr. Sis, physician and researcher. She knows how to shoot a handgun and drink scotch neat. Little kids have adored her since long before she could drive a car. She loves music but never remembers the words, and she has a heart the size of Machu Picchu. She taught me my first lessons on how to be a big sister.
B., a.k.a. Marketing Sis, analyst and DIY home decor guru. Dubbed "The Woman" by a realtor who met her when she was just two, she's lived up to her reputation. She can turn out pies or handmade pillow shams worthy of a spread in
Martha Stewart Living AND handle complicated client calls without breaking a sweat.
O., the newest addition to the family. In his first year, he's made it clear that he's every bit as adventurous as his dad and promises to keep us on our toes. As much as he's introduced new wrinkles in my efforts to cultivate this practice of writing, he has made me a mother-writer, which I'd never have believed was possible until he was born.
