My family is the bomb. My sister flew in on Wednesday to see where/how I live – her first solo flight, first trip to Boston. My aunt and cousin came in on Wednesday as well, to sight-see and eat every strange Boston-based-concoction known to man. On Thursday, my mother and father and other two sisters, my grandmother and grandfather, all arrived in the city, so that on Friday, the bunch of them could watch me spend 15 seconds walking across the stage at the Bank of America pavilion.

Festivities included a trip to the bar, a social brunch, observing a television show filming outside Mr. Bartley’s Burger Cottage while we ate, a quick tour of Harvard, a swan boat ride in the Public Garden, a ghosts and graveyards tour, a walk around the Freedom Trail, Pinkberry, Mike’s Pastry, and a fancy dinner with wine and a tray full of desserts.

All to celebrate the fact that I have busted balls for the past three years working and taking class, gone into debt, teetered on the edge of financial insolvency more than once, and generally have lived like an insane, insane person.

My family traveled from across the country, walked & walked & walked until their blisters got blisters, and skipped out on work and school, just to celebrate my insanity.

Love. I miss them so. All I could think about this whole crazy trip was “when can I get back to Michigan?”