Over the years of chatting about home projects, people occasionally ask about my family — how many siblings I have, what my childhood was like, and so on. I always tell them it was an unconventional childhood, in the best possible way. My parents split up when I was very young—shortly after my younger brother Daniel was born—so we lived in two houses and happily bounced between them.
I remember one time at school a kid teased me about my parents being divorced. I shrugged it off and said, “I have two houses and you only have one — I get double the holiday presents.” It worked like a charm and put an end to the teasing. Looking back, that little spin was pure gold.
I also grew up with my half brother Adam, who arrived after my dad married my stepmom Nina a few years later; he’s eleven years younger than me. If you’ve been around here a while, you might remember his cameo in the most embarrassing moment ever caught on film when I was 17.
When people ask how many siblings I have, I usually say I’m the oldest of five and the only girl. That raises questions—where do the other two fit in? The answer is that my Aunt Kay Kay, my mom’s sister, moved in with us when my brother and I were small. She came with her two boys, David and Darius, who were around two and four years old at the time. My mom is one of seven children, and although several aunts and uncles lived nearby, Aunt Kay Kay had been living farther away in Maryland. Having her and her boys move in felt like a miracle for all of us.
My aunt had been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, and sharing a home made sense for both families. My mom, an attorney working toward partner at her firm, often worked late, so Aunt Kay Kay helped with dinners, homework, and the everyday chaos of raising kids. In return, my mom supported my aunt physically and emotionally. That arrangement turned our house into a lively, loving home with four kids born within five years of each other. Growing up in that environment — loud, messy, joyful — shaped who I am.
Aunt Kay Kay was always laughing. She was “the nice one,” which meant we leaned on her for permission more often than we asked our stricter, working mom. We had our roles: I proudly wore the “bossy” badge as the oldest, my brother Daniel was “the smart one,” Darius was the jokester, David was the wild card, and my mom was understandably “the strict one.” Those roles made life predictable in a comforting way and gave us a deep sense of belonging.
The house was a merry madhouse. We built forts in the woods, staged epic sock fights (seriously — don’t ask), and competed in karate tournaments in New York City. I still picture that karate day vividly: Darius on the left, me next to him, Daniel second from the right, and David on the right. We were a team and we did some impressive boot-kicking that day.
Over the years, my aunt fought Multiple Sclerosis with courage and humor. She adapted as the disease progressed — from cane to walker to wheelchair — and for the last decade she was bedridden. None of that dimmed her smile. Little things always made her laugh, like when we piled Burger or Clara into her bed to cheer her up. She was, without question, the strongest, bravest, and kindest person I’ve known.
Yesterday she passed away. It was a deeply sad day for all of us. I’m sharing these memories not to dwell on the loss but to celebrate how fortunate I was to grow up with her in my life. I want my daughter Clara to know about her Great Aunt Kay Kay someday — to understand the warmth and light she brought to our home. Thinking of her fills me with gratitude and a bittersweet smile as I remember mornings gathered around the breakfast table and those countless small moments that made our family what it was.
We’ll be back this afternoon with the usual DIY content, but for now I encourage you to reach out to the people you love. Call, text, visit, or simply tell them they matter. Family is a profound blessing, and I’m so thankful for the one I was given.