We’re Emmie, Atlas and Napoleon, and the tiny one with the attitude is the dog, though honestly it applies to all three of us. I’m Emmie on the internet: a forty-something, perimenopausal, anxiety-medicated, super-girly survivor who has lived through more plot twists than a Netflix limited series. Atlas is my finance-guy husband who once broke me in every way a person can be broken and then did the hard, unsexy work to become the safest place I’ve ever known. Napoleon is our small dog with main-character energy, terrible manners and an unreal amount of emotional support responsibilities. Together we are proof that you can screw it up, burn it down, cry in the shower, take your meds and still build something that looks suspiciously like a happy life.​​

Lexi is my 16-year-old, high-gloss hurricane in lip gloss and leggings. She is equal parts eye roll and eye shadow, a girly girl who can crash a car on a Tuesday and still ask for Starbucks money on Wednesday with zero awareness of what anything costs. She plays me like a secondhand fiddle and drives me absolutely batshit crazy, but she is also my firstborn, my soft spot, and my ride-or-die. It has been her and me against the world since the day she arrived, and no matter how loud our arguments get or how many times I say I’m done, I’d still go to war for that kid without thinking twice.

Maverick is my oldest stepson, a 16-year-old with a quick wit, a big heart and a complicated relationship with rules. He absolutely has his moments of pushing limits and pretending consequences are a problem for Future Him, but with me he is unfailingly respectful and always ready with a hug. He has done his fair share of classic teenage, what in the hell were you thinking moves, yet he shows up to football day after day with this quiet, stubborn belief that he’ll play in college, even when the odds don’t exactly scream “D1 recruit.” That mix of humor, grit and gentle soft spot is why the name Maverick fits him, and why I’m so crazy fond of him.

Romy is our three-sport wild card, short in stature and absolutely not short on opinions. He’s scrappy as hell, somehow manages to slide around the rules like a ninja and has a deep appreciation for inappropriate jokes, gestures and language that would make a sailor blush. Under all that chaos, though, he’s a total softie: a hopeless romantic with a girlfriend, who falls hard, laughs easy and is always good for a hug when you least expect it. He’s almost 15 now, busy driving coaches a little crazy, cracking up his teammates and charming pretty much everyone else.

Moose is my only biological son and our resident gentle giant. He is a sweet-natured mama’s boy who would rather be fishing or hanging out in the kitchen with me than doing anything remotely sporty. He is a little socially awkward, totally hooked on his screens and sometimes out of sync with his stepbrothers, but when it matters, he shows up and fits right in. School is not exactly his happy place, but he is already dreaming about a hands-on career, and there is a quiet determination beneath all that softness that makes Moose one of the most easy-to-love humans in this house.

Sparkle is my only stepdaughter and our built-in spotlight, a 13-year-old who can turn any space into a stage in under thirty seconds. She is loud, dramatic and absolutely convinced that life is more interesting when she’s at the center of it, which makes her both exhausting and wildly entertaining. Sparkle loves cheer, loves attention even more and has an Olympic-level talent for one-upping everyone around her. Underneath all that big energy, though, is a kid with serious fire, and when she points it in the right direction, she can light up the whole room.

Lulu is our 11-year-old mashup of brains, beauty and pure chaos, still holding court in elementary school. She’s scary-smart and responsible, a competitive cheerleader and hip hop dancer who can go from counting eight-counts to collapsing in giggles over bodily functions in no time. Farting is, unfortunately, her signature move; her teammates tease her for it, and she swears she’s lactose intolerant but still drinks milk on purpose so she can “perform.” She’s funny, charming and completely unbothered by what anyone thinks, which is equal parts delightful and terrifying, because if this is her energy now, the teen years are going to be something else.

Button is my 10-year-old stepson and the undisputed baby of the family, even with a whole crowd of bigger kids ahead of him. He is sweet, still loves to snuggle and has a tiny streak of learned helplessness that mostly shows up when it’s time to clean his room. The rest of the time he actually loves to help, especially in the kitchen with me or when he’s out trying to keep up with the older boys, where he’s surprisingly athletic and determined. Button is mischievous in the way that makes you nervous when the house gets too quiet, but he’s also so ridiculously cute that it’s hard to stay mad for long.