We Are Family

I came home on Sunday night after a long day at work and found Steve standing in our bedroom neatly folding clothes and putting them away. That’s right, while I was at work Steve took our mountain of laundry (these things pile up when there isn’t a laundry matt near by) to the laundry matt, sorted and washed by color and clothing type (if you leave it up to boys they short everything as whites and not-whites), then neatly folded most of the laundry before returning home. It was probably the best thing he could have done.

That night as I fell asleep on my freshly washed sheets I thanked him for taking care of me. “Don’t worry about it,” he sleepy said “you take care of me too.” And he’s right. Over the last few months I really do feel that Steve, Moose and I have become a family. We take care of each other, laugh, cry, and live together. For the first time since I moved out of my parent’s house I feel like I have a family that I come home to every night.

So every once and awhile, when I’m reminded that we aren’t a really a family, it’s like a cold splash of water to the face.