Family descending

I am sitting here waiting for my family of origin to arrive from out of state. Trying to remain peaceful and hope for the best. The house is clean, the kids are entertaining themselves, I have two loads of laundry drying in the sun, and I have a few precious moments to myself before the craziness begins.

I love my family because they are mine. They are what I know. What I came from. Grandma just turned 80 and is still as fiesty and demanding as ever. Mom just turned 61 and still thinks she's at least 20 years younger. My neice is coming along. So is my great aunt and her 4 year old granddaughter that I have never met.
They always travel in a pack and bring far too much stuff for a weekend visit.

I have sat here today, trying to figure out why I always get so stressed out before they come and while they are here. They want so badly to put me back into the familiar role that I used to be in when I was still there. But I am no longer a child and, in all honesty, we really don't have common views on much of anything anymore. They could much easier be someone else's family. But they are mine.

I moved away for the first time just after turning 18 and got my first small taste of freedom. There were a few years of being here and there, but that was always my homebase. I left for good at 24, a whole 18 years ago, and have not called it my home since. Don't get me wrong. They weren't mean to me and I wasn't running from them. Not at all. It was more that I was running towards me.

So I am bucking up, ready to stand my ground on my beliefs. I am going to try very hard not to take any of the criticism personally. I am happy in who I am, even if it's different from who they need me to be. And if all else fails...I have beer.