Don't shake the Family tree

Don't shake the family tree, you never know what will fall out

There are strange fruits growing from it's limbs

Names omitted for the preservation of my sanity...and also to refrain from arming them with more fodder to sling my way.

Skewered, satirical and dysfunctional...a family where sibling rivalry simmers like a stew left too long on the stove, and everyone’s elbowing for the dubious honor of being “head cook and bottle washer.” A darkly comical character sketch, with a dash of absurdity and a pinch of truth.

🍽️ It is but a House of Clanging Pots.

It existed in the grand, grease-stained halls of the family kitchen...where love was measured in teaspoons and grudges slow-cooked over decades...each sibling fancied themselves the rightful heir to the throne.

👑

One declared herself Executive Chef of Emotional Stability, though her specialty was passive-aggressive casseroles and guilt-flavored gravy. She wielded the ladle like a scepter and spoke in recipes:

“If you’d just follow the instructions, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

She kept a secret spice rack labeled Control, Martyrdom, and Unsolicited Advice.

🔥

The other self-appointed Sous-Chef of Chaos, believed the kitchen was a battlefield. He sautéed resentment with flair, flambéed old wounds, and served sarcasm on chipped China.

“If I can’t be in charge, I’ll deliberately be in the way.”

🧼

The younger Dishwasher of Dreams, scrubbed away evidence of conflict while quietly plotting her rise. She knew every stain, every crack in the porcelain. Her rebellion was silent but spotless:

“Let them fight over the stove...in the end, I’ll own the sink.”

She kept a diary of grouses and evidence of her right to inherit the kingdom in the detergent box.

🍾🍾🍾🍾

The Parents

The matriarch and patriarch...now retired from active culinary warfare - watched from their recliners, sipping champagne between bouts of lukewarm tea and muttering:

“We raised chefs, not children.”

They’d long ago stopped trying to mediate, instead placing bets on who’d burn the house down first.

🥄 The Rivalry Ritual

Every day, they gathered for the Feast of Dysfunction...a potluck of pride, old wounds, and undercooked apologies. The table groaned beneath the weight of competing existence and unspoken accusations.

No one ever ate the same thing. No one ever agreed on the recipe. But they all showed up, forks in hand, ready to serve and be served.

You would think that it would get better as time dulled the senses and forced responsibility on the unprepared, wide-eyed silly children pouring out of the house of glass and eggshells.

It does not, it gets worse.

Reality hits them hard in the face and they become sharks in the sea of lost souls trying to navigate the maze of life.

Every now and then our stars collide...sometimes they shine...shimmer, at other times brightly lit, sometimes dull with intermittent episodes of headaches and clarity.

Family - the answer is out there somewhere.

Who can harness the meaning of it all.