In less than 72 hours, we'll have the first of the two biggest "family holidays" in the good ol' U.S. of A. Where everyone gets together, all the family from the grandparents on down to the newest generation that is still drooling on itself and figuring out they've got hands and feet and the awesome things called bootie socks.

As for me, I'll be sitting on my sofa, watching the parade on cable, and not bothering to change out of my pajamas.

I'm not having a very thankful holiday this year. An icy cold divorce, where my not-yet-an-ex-husband is doing his best to make sure I know that he always thought I was ugly and a big disappointment in bed, to a biological father who yo-yo's between being a caring father and a perfect stranger, and living paycheck to paycheck, I just don't feel the urge to thank anyone for anything.

Then I hear someone say "they're not my family, they're my step-siblings" and I realize just how lucky I got it.

You see, my family never put people into compartments of "half blood" or "step-daughter" or "grandchild by marriage". I have almost ten brothers and sisters. Only two of those (one of each) are actually related to me through blood, and that's "only" half-blood. The rest are steps, or informally adopted by me and mine into the family.

My "step-father" (whom I call 'Dad') was the one who taught me how to ride a two-wheeled bicycle. He taught me how to drive a truck. He taught me how to do multiplication tables, and how to play Rook and Rummy. He was the one who stood there and looked intimidating when I brought boyfriends home to meet the parents. He was the one who flipped out when I was out past curfew-

(And, for the record, if your daughter makes back home before curfew, that is when you should worry. Every time I missed curfew, it was for innocent reasons like talking and making snowmen. When I was home 10 minutes early? I had my panties in my pocket, and a hickey forming on the inside of my thigh.)

- and who always showed up to my shows, no matter if he understood them or not.

I have a mother who accepts my weirdness, from the childish sense of humor to the scary interest in blood spatter patterns. She worries over my health, and not over my tendency to forget to brush my hair in the mornings.

I have siblings who feel the same way about me that I feel about them.

I have friends who answer my phone calls in the middle of the night, even if all I have to tell them is that I fell on my ass in a parking lot.

I have a dog who tries to smother me with love instead of trying to bite my fingers off.

I have an asshole of an exhusband, and a father who doesn't understand anything about me.

But I've got a real family that would do anything for me.

You have to take the good with the bad. If that means sitting home alone on a holiday, so be it. Because next year I will be whining about the amount of cooking I need to do in order to feed everyone.