My favorite thing about One Hundred Years of Solitude is that nifty family tree on the first page. I’m sure there are other things to love about the book, but alas, I never got past page one. (A fact that somehow failed to deter me from listing it as my favorite novel on my Friendster profile page circa 2003. Who exactly was I trying to impress? Myself, probably.)

Anyway, the point is, I dig the family tree. The cast list. The dramatis personæ.

So here’s mine:

Me.

Husband. Male, mid-30s. A better man than I deserve.

Lil’ Mil. Arrived on the scene on January 17, 2010.  A spitting image of her daddy.  Mommy’s little side-kick.

Sister. Female, late-30s. Also plays the role of Best Friend. Will be single-handedly responsible if I get brain cancer from my cell phone.

Mom. Female, late 50s. A woman who somehow managed to raise two (relatively) well-adjusted, socially competent daughters without either of them hating her. In fact, we like her. A lot. Despite the exceedingly irritating fact that she is the Perfect Mother and we will never be.

Dad. Male, a few months shy of 60. The man responsible for my belief that people should do what they love, and, consequently, the man I hold ultimately responsible for my current credit card balance, despite the fact that he unequivocally told me not to quit my job. Do as I say not as I do doesn’t actually work, daddy-o.