The Fun in Dysfunction

Nothing like a little family dysfunction to celebrate a major life marker.

My Mom was the one being celebrated and since it was a big birthday, it required everyone who ever mattered to her.

People like the best friend she went all through Catholic school with. The couples she and my Dad used to play bridge with when we were kids.  Her conservative sister and dimpled brother.

And, most importantly, her six daughters, of which I am the oldest, a fact often pointed out by the other five.

Getting to the party was the difficult part, a two and 3/4 hour drive up Route 301, but at least it allowed plenty of time for good road trip music.

Stuff like Pete Yorn's "Musicforthemorningafter," Local Natives' "Hummingbird" and the Arcade Fire's "Funeral."

Good thing I got my music fix in because once at the party, there were so many people that if music was being played, I never heard it.

Because I live in Richmond and the rest of my sisters live in Maryland, I don't see them all that often.

That's part of why I live in Richmond, but it also means I usually enjoy when I do see them.

We're really close in age, with all six of us having been born in an eight-year period.

And while that was problematic when we were all kids living at home, it only got more challenging now that we're all grown women.

Imagine the likelihood of any six women so close in age all being compatible with each other.

I'm no mathematician, but it seems to me that the odds are very small that they're all going to get along.

Years ago, back in the pre-Internet days, I found an article saying that large families of same-sex children tend to be fractious because of being treated like a unit instead of individuals, and sent it to my Mom.

I thought it explained a lot, but my Mom didn't see it that way.

Your siblings are your closest relatives, she used to tell us.

Closer than your father and I are to you. Closer than anybody. You should want to get along.

That wasn't what I wanted to hear when I discovered a sister had worn my new shirt without asking and returned it reeking of her obnoxious perfume.

Or when one of them took my new album and left it on the floor with scratches.

And especially anytime we were together in public and someone referred to us as "Pat and Carl's girls."

So over the years, we've each carved out very separate identities as a way of compensating for those days as one cog in a larger family wheel.

And frequently we've butted heads, unwilling to appreciate each other for how like and unlike we are.

About a year and a half ago, during a weekend away together (we call these annual jaunts "sistertrips"), unkind things were said, feelings were hurt, a sister left unexpectedly and another ended up in tears.

It was a big, old familial mess.

E-mails were exchanged afterwards, but two separate factions formed and there were clearly hard feelings on both sides.

As recently as last Fall, my mother had stated for the record that she wasn't going to have a big birthday party (despite the momentous birthday) unless we were all getting along.

Ignoring her, my youngest sister began planning a festive event, asking everyone to contribute different things and hoping for the best.

Coming from the furthest away, I was the last to arrive to a house filled with dozens of people I knew, many of whom I hadn't seen in years.

I jumped right in, greeting the family friend I used to babysit for, my sister's godmother I hadn't seen in decades, my tipsy cousin, the nurse.

I teased my Mom about how old she must be to have a daughter my age and agreed with my Dad that he was the luckiest man on earth.

And throughout the afternoon and evening, as we ate endless food, watched family videos, admired a scrapbook made for my Mom for the occasion, I wound up in long, funny, intimate and happy conversations with every one of my sisters, one on one and in small groups.

After maybe five or so hours, a photographer started to round up the sisters for a picture with my Mom.

One sister resisted ("We're not a photogenic family," she insisted), but got pulled in physically by another sister.

All of a sudden, it wasn't just the official photographer, but a phalanx of cameras facing the group of us.

We were told to smile and flashes started going off non-stop.

Once again, Pat and Carl's girls were a unit. And not just looking, but feeling very happy about it.

Happy birthday, Mom.