functionally dis-functional

8 grandparents. 8 aunts. 11 uncles. 24 first cousins. 9 baby friends. (two I've never met) I come from a very normal American family. Read as: functionally dis-functional.

They all live in one teeny-tiny county in Central Indiana. Thanks to the witness relocation program, I don't. Neither do my parents or siblings. My siblings are just now able to drive. {remember: functionally dis-functional.} I was the accident on the top-side.

This is going somewhere - I promise.

Next week is Easter. Which means, I'm loading up the ninja (my stealthy black gas guzzler), probably a sibling or two and heading to the land of soybeans, corn, paved country roads and grandma's mashed potatoes.

I plan to stay up late and catch up on all the gossip, spin toddlers until they spit up everywhere, take a 1.2 million pictures of grain bins, go out late - but make it to church, and eat approximately 4.2 gallons of Kroger's French Onion Dip.

These people {my family} may be a gazillion miles away, but they made me who I am. They get me.

I've never been more excited.