looking through me

Something happened when I moved away from home, from family.

I stepped into a role. I became the one who brings dessert. It sounds silly. But it’s an important role.

Growing up Mom or Grandma had dessert under control. I never had to think about it because it was a given. Family gathering. Awesome dessert. Done deal.

But when they weren’t there, a vacuum was created.

I baked at home. Cookies. Brownies. Cupcakes. But away from home I had to step up my game. Because birthdays require real dessert.

I called Grandma and transcribed her mother’s Fudge Cake recipe with the seven-minute icing—which takes no less than fifteen minutes even with an electric mixer. I requested and received emails of cakes, bar cookies and candies from my mom. My repertoire increased exponentially.

Friends, colleagues, everyone deserved dessert, and even while struggling to feel successful in my job, I could provide baked goods. That I could do. My family taught me well. I used the recipe book my sister-in-law compiled for me before I moved, and I added to it. I took on the role of resident baker with relish.

And when I moved back, I was happy to share the role, but I haven’t relinquished it. I’ll make sides or main dishes for family gatherings, but I’d rather bring dessert.

This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.

Growing up, the term “in-law” intrigued me. It sounded so rigid, so strange.

In a family where bloodlines swirled with steps and adoptions and halves, where names on birth certificates were changed, where relational labels were liberally applied and where no one could be bothered to figure out the number of times removed—in a family like that, what was a hyphenated appendage like “in-law” worth?

Then in my twenties my brothers got married. First the middle, then the eldest. I had my very own sisters-in-law.

And I didn’t like it. I liked my brothers’ wives. I loved them (and still do)! But I didn’t like the terminology. It sounded as if I was trying to put distance between us: “this is my . . . sister-in-law.” I’d waited my whole life for sisters and now I had to introduce them at arms’ length? It felt wrong.

Maybe that’s why I smile when I hear my grandma refer to my dad as her “son-in-love.”

Law isn’t strong enough to hold family together, but love is.

This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.