Well, here you have it: my very own Rank and File. Mi Familia. My Homies. Mostly they love me. They also indulge my narcissistic need to be perceived as Alpha. They deal with my daily neurotic-isms as varied as daily vacuuming, compulsively straightening dish towels to my nightly, methodical wiping down of my iphone with anti-bac hand wipes…do you know how many sick people ride the subway in NYC??!!! They listen to me sing, though they can’t stand my voice. They amiably tolerate my flash health food fads (“GLUTEN =depressive mood regulator MEATLESS MONDAYS! SUGAR IS the ANTICHRIST!” and the inevitable bad humor that most certainly follows the failing fad…and to top that, they never ever judge or heckle me when they find me sitting on the floor, in a dark kitchen with a tablespoon in the Nutella. Daddy is drowning in a sea of estrogen but manages to always keep his head above water and a smile on his face. My sister is convinced he has Stockholm Syndrome. O-wee, my 4-year old is sweetness personified…though she loves all things ghoulish and spooky. Never did a better big sister walk the earth. She is freakishly patient, inclusive and affectionate with her 17 month-old baby sister…which amazes me all the more because at the very same age, my own older sister tried to snuff me out on the daily…no really, there’s old instagram inspired polaroids to prove it. And then there is Naisy…sass and equal sensitivity, brains and beauty and as my husband calls her: your Swedish love child. Made all the stranger because around the time she was conceived, I was completely obsessed with Erik Skarskard…but anything that happened was strictly in my mind. Lastly, there is Milka, an ornery Siamese cat who loathes everyone but…you guessed it…me. She’s like an old faithful Lieutenant General who helps facilitate the overall vibe that discourages dissension and protest…yes, a foul tempered cat is essentially my right-hand man, um, I mean feline.