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Brian (5), Maggie (2), Anna (8), circa 1989

My parents decided that my projectile vomiting and incessant crying weren’t enough to deter them from increasing the family size, and in 1984 I found myself in possession of a brother — meeting him for the first time is one of my earliest memories — and in 1987 a sister (“she poops in the bathtub,” I noted in my diary — even at age six a chronicler of historical events). Here we are posing quasi-photogenically in our new flannel pyjamas.

As you can see, we grew up in a house in which there were never enough bookcases. Over twenty years later I’m proud to say that Hanna and I have pretty much the same problem on at least a quarterly if not monthly basis! Hanna just turned to me last night and said, “You realize one more trip to the $1 carts and we won’t have anywhere to store our board games.” I can think of many worse situations to be in.

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