A few months ago, I was visiting family in Florida when my uncle dug up an old home video: Christmas 1989. I was just barely a year old, my sister was four, and my parents were hosting about 15 people at our house for the holidays. Chaotic, to say the least.
We all watched the video together and laughed ourselves to tears at all the tiny things that would be so utterly boring to anyone outside the family—the way my cousin (now a very grown-up and successful adult) kept mugging for the camera and pulling goofy faces. The ridiculous high-waisted, tribal-printed pants that my aunt received as a gift. The hairstyles.
But mostly, I was watching my mom.