Pita Bread and Family

     A couple of days before Christmas my brother and I decided to make a Lebanese feast from scratch using our great grandmother's cookbook and following all of the notes she and our grandmother added in the margins. There were some hiccups along the way. First we could not find everything we needed for our ambitious plan. My brother, now used to living in New York City was surprised at not being able to find any ingredient imaginable within one block. Nevertheless, we donned our aprons (I wore a bright red apron with giant cat faces and Santa hats while my brother got a handmade one with gingerbread people on it). We followed the directions carefully, except for that I don't eat red meat so ground turkey would have to do in place of lamb, and by dinner time the house smelled like Tita's and everything was ready to eat … except the pita bread. We did not account for all of the many phases of pounding, kneading and wrapping in various bedding that were involved. By the time the bread was finished my kids were in bed and we were slap happy as we pulled out a ridiculous number of round loaves from the oven. Our mom mostly watched from the dining room, but she did help fan the door when the smoke alarm went off.

     Some time later as I was throwing the hardened extra bread that never got eaten outside for the birds I wondered why we went through all the trouble. But I also smiled remembering my brother punching the dough, his twerking demonstrations/tutorial and the barrage of personal questions he was compelled to answer held hostage in my kitchen and it seemed like time well spent.

    My brother has changed a lot over the years as have I and we do not get to see each other often. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed by how little time we had to catch up on so much time. Sometimes I had to remind myself he is that same guy I used to carry on my hip and take for walks in the stroller because he has changed so much. Maybe that is why we wanted to cook from our Tita's cookbook. No matter how much has changed, no matter how far apart we live and how much I dislike talking on the phone- we have a shared story. We lead such different lives and yet we share this same history.

In addition to the time with my brother and mom I also spent a lot of time with my in laws this Christmas and it all got me thinking about family. Family is something that I think about a lot but do not write about or talk about much with strangers as it can be so complicated and it feels like I am telling other people's stories that are theirs for the telling. Of course I am referring not to my own two children, but the family from which I come.

     As I was unpacking the other day and reflecting on the great trip we had visiting family I took notice of my travel make-up bag. I thought about how much I have used it and what a great gift it was so many years ago, but I couldn't share that with the gift giver today. That is as far as I will go with details, but it got me thinking about how complicated families can be. People move away, they surround themselves with new people, have different experiences, learn different things, perspectives change and yet here we are in relationship with these people who knew us before all of that and who may now be very different from us. Over the years hurts can build up, resentments, secrets and assumptions, but also laughter, love, memories, shared trauma and gratitude. Sometimes I wonder if we all just want to know that we are proud of each other.

     Deep relationships are dangerous territory and yet the joy I feel when I see my children developing a brotherly bond with each other is indescribable. I love when my kids roar with laughter as my dad tells them his childhood stories, I love that when we arrived in another state with cousins they hadn't seen in a long time they immediately started playing together and wanted to be together every second. I love that my mother in law watches the Marco Polo videos I send her of the kids over and over and over again. I love that my sister in law and I never had a lull in our conversations. My heart melted when my youngest came into the living room and curled up on his great-grandmother's lap. And I love that my kids think spending time with my mom is better than Chuck E. Cheese.

     Like making pita bread from scratch, maintaining relationships usually takes longer than is convenient. And being family with another person goes through ups and downs … phases. Sometimes it hurts and doesn't seem worth it but then you realize that it was never about the end product, but rather it was about the mutual growth it took to get there.