The Bitch At Home: Family tree...er...forest?

I have a fairly large immediate family.

I have a mom and dad - natch, but I also have a step-mom and step-dad.

I have six siblings. Three sisters, three brothers. Actually, now that I think about it, I have more than that, because
my stepmother has something like five kids. I think I've met two of them once, so don't be shocked that I forgot about them.

When I was two, I got a dog. I didn't know it at the time, but it was an open apology from my parents for the sister they were about to inflict on me. Unfortunately, the dog only lived until I was 12.

The sister is still around.

When I was six, mom and dad pulled us into the living room and told us we were going to have another sibling!

I was old enough this time to be vaguely excited about it. It was during this pregnancy that I drew a picture of my pregnant mom mowing the yard.

This resulted in some trouble for dad.

When I was eight, mom pulled us into the living room and told us ANOTHER one was on the way.

I was old enough this time to be pissed.

When I was thirteen, mom made a big production of telling me what a bastard my dad was and that they would be getting a divorce.

I was old enough to be not surprised.

When I was fifteen, mom pulled me into her room to tell me that getting pregnant with me was the worst thing she'd ever done.

Yeah. Take that on at the terrible, terrible teen period in your life and see how well-adjusted you come out on the other side.

When I was also fifteen, I acquired my first brother. I'm not going to lie. I was totally in love with him for awhile. Then I got to know him. His uncle and my mother were closer than snake nuts for years and they kept trying to set us up. It turned out to be the best worst date ever. We've been inseparable ever since. He's a member of our family and always will be, regardless of bloodlines.

When I was eighteen, mom and I were driving to the store at Thanksgiving to pick up potatoes. She pulled me into the car to tell me she was pregnant.

Again.

When I was nineteen, I got two new brothers. One, nineteen years younger and one three years older. I also got a step-dad and a huge extended family to go with him.

(I also got married and had a baby that year. Go me!)

I love my siblings. All of them. I'd like to kill most of them most days, but there's nothing I wouldn't do for any of them.

Except maybe sister one. She's a level of crazy that most people don't even believe in.

Sister two is my very, very BFF. And about to move to another part of the country, which is killing me, but, hey - excuses to go visiting!

Sister three is the youngest and most useless. I still adore her, don't get me wrong, but she's never going to be someone making great strides or contributions to society.

Brother one is ... well, he's my brother. He has two lovely little girls who I adore. He works hard and is a good person. And considering the shit he we used to get into, it's amazing either of us got this far, let alone were good people.

My step-brother lives eight hours away with his wife and kids.

I don't like any of them. Just going to put that out there. I just don't. I love my step-brother, but his wife and kids can jump in the sea.
And swim away.
Far.
Far.
Away.

Luckily, I don't have to see them but maybe once every two years.

My youngest brother is seventeen now.
He's a manwhore. I keep expecting to hear that I'm going to be an aunt at any minute, but so far, so good. We're clear.

At any rate, all of them were on my mind today, so I thought I'd introduce you.
To none of them, really, but, still...