I feel like I hit the lottery.

This past September, evidence of a birthday party littered our home.  My husband, the birthday boy fell asleep in the recliner. One of our nephews lay fast asleep on the couch and on the kitchen table remnants of a heated board game were scattered.  

Earlier in the evening as things started to wind down, I invited the kids to spend the night taking complete advantage of a ripe opportunity to rope them into an early showing of one of my favorite holiday movies, Elf.  Admission to the sleepover was simple. Provide the correct answer to the following question:

In the movie, Elf, how many Etch A Sketches did Buddy make?

Barraged with all but one right answer, I decided to grade on a curve.   

After waving goodbye to their parents, we rushed up the steps to change into our jammies. Settling in for the hilarious holiday classic the floor of our sitting room became barely visible as the four of my nieces fought over floor space and pillows.  

And me...

I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

My heart did it's best to contain my bliss but given the enormity of the job, its seams began to burst.  I smiled, whispering an inaudible, "Thank You!” to their parents, who graciously shared their children with us that night and to God, who so richly blessed me with their love and laughter.

I imagine most aunties adore their nieces and nephews. But these guys occupy a special place in my heart especially because I don’t have children of my own.  

My husband and I anticipated when we were ready to start a family our foray into parenthood would be a breeze.  Our pedigrees are prolific.  We are both identical twins and come from large Italian/Irish Catholic families; my husband is the youngest of ten and I am the youngest of five, my mother having had two sets of twins.  With that kind of a stock people used to joke that my husband could probably just do a drive by and I’d find myself expecting.     

Our pursuit to be a mother and father though can only be described as more tornado like.  We didn’t see infertility coming and the emotional carnage it left in its wake was catastrophic.   With our systems continually winning "Most Likely to Succeed," we should have been running out of names.  

But after our emotions had all but sent us certified, restricted notices begging for mercy from the psychological fallout of repeated failed attempts, I had to reconcile that no one would ever call me, “Mommy.”  As I began to heal, slowly I pieced together an identity independent of motherhood and at the center of that healing were my nieces and nephews.  
        
We didn't get blessed with children the way we had originally wanted but we did get blessed with children-a combined thirty-eight of them to be exact, when you count our collective nieces and nephews.

Parents, the joy your children bring this auntie in particular is immeasurable.  Your readiness to share them with me and my time spent with them adds a dimension of pure, unadulterated delight to my life.  

My hope is you think of me and other aunties as your supporting cast, always at the ready to wipe tears or share laughter.      

That September night, as Elf got going I stole the opportunity to wash my face and brush my teeth. Over the sound of the water running, I heard my nieces humming in unison to the opening music from the movie.

Laughing, I spit out my toothpaste as happy tears rolled down my wet face.

Parents, two small words with a ginormous (now a real word thanks to Elf!) message-thank you. 

Thank you for enriching my life with the most hilarious, smart, loving nieces and nephews.  I count among my sacred moments, the times when the kids shout, “Aunt Steph! Aunt Steph!” and while it’s not quite “Mommy” it sure makes my heart melt.

This time of year, is the perfect time to say thank you and remind you that I am as always, one grateful little auntie!

Happy Thanksgiving!

xo
Aunt Steph