Fresh mountain air eases through the windows, ushering in the kind of calm that makes for a perfect nap. But I only close my eyes for five minutes before a beckoning in the distance shatters my peace. The shouting gets closer: “AUNTIE TAY!” I giggle as my five-year-old niece, Mae Mae, sprints toward my bedroom, repeating my name the whole way. (Full disclosure, Mae Mae puts an extra letter in there, so while untrained ears may hear HANTY TAY, our family knows what she means. It’s an effect that makes her demands more endearing.) She runs
all the way from the water’s edge into our cabin to get me, and I follow her calls the whole time, giggling at her tenacity. Now she’s at the side of my bed, out of breath. “Hanty Tay. Can you get me a shovel and a pail?” Some quick math reveals that Mae Mae’s quest to find me had her running by five adults already at the water and right past the very shed that stores the pails and shovels. There were quicker ways to get her items, but she wanted me—specifically—to do it for her. I climb out of bed and put my shoes on. No nap for me today. Such is the life of a Super Aunt.
Summer vacations in the Adirondacks started when I was twelve with the five members of my nuclear family, but we’ve since grown: my two sisters, my two eldest nieces, spouses, and the second generation of nieces and nephews now join in. At last count there were seventeen of us: eight adults and nine children under the age of eleven. (It is a very loud week.) As the lone single lady in our group, I have a lot of discretionary free time and am a happy free agent, available to whatever team of children needs me on their roster. Best believe, it is a marathon week for Auntie Tay. Buoyed by all my littles being under the same roof for one week, I’m up early, rising as soon as I hear the first kid shuffle out of bed. I take requests for breakfast, usually peeling and cutting apples to each child’s unique specifications. During the day, there are life jackets to zipper and row boats to paddle on our many turtle-spotting expeditions; water wings to fasten for those brave enough to swim in the lake with the fishies, and diving contests to judge for the acrobats in our crew. At night there are marshmallows to roast and card games to play. Occasionally, I get called for a rare assignment—the one that qualifies me for Special Auntie status—when a little voice yells down the hallway: “AUNTIE TAY, COME WIPE MY BUTT!” It’s not the nicest job, but I know it means I’m trusted.
I’ve always been a very intentional auntie; my first niece was born when I was only eleven, and I quickly became her de-facto nanny. Changing diapers, babysitting, handing out band aids. During summers in college, my nieces would visit for a week, and I’d plan excursions like the planetarium, shopping, and going out for ice cream dates. They love to tell the story of how I took them grocery shopping but made them stay within my college budget. They’d bring me luxury items, like Kraft Mac & Cheese or a full bar of soap, and then laugh as I screamed in the aisle: “I SAID KEEP IT UNDER TEN DOLLARS!”
My current crop of littles lives in Canada and Chicago, so I spend a lot of time in the car and in airplanes to stay present in their lives. A few years ago, during a trip to Canada before Christmas, my niece asked me to write out a Christmas list to Santa that she dictated. She thinks my American status grants me better proximity to Santa, so I agreed to help, and now it’s tradition with all the kids. I write and mail their lists to Santa, who (of course) always writes back and tells them which cookies he prefers. I dread the day they lose interest in this ritual, so every winter when they run to me with papers in hand and a fresh list of ideas, I am overjoyed.
I get little clues about my success as an auntie all year long, like when they fight over who gets to sit next to me at dinner, bring me a special rock they found, or march up to me while I’m still sleeping to watch cartoons in my bed. But, there is no more intense report card than our week in the mountains. I don’t get much sleep; I’m running from kid to kid and rowing the boat multiple times a day—because when they want something done, they come calling for Hanty Tay. This year, my nephew Jasper, too intimidated by the lake in previous years, asked me to take him on the boat three times in one day, and there is nothing like watching quiet bravery in action.
Perhaps I give so much to my nieces and nephews because I know firsthand the enrichment of having aunts and uncles who work hard to fill life up with magic. I think of my childhood, stocked with memories of my Uncle Al, who first took me horseback riding; my Aunt Terre who took me ice skating every weekend; my Aunts Emily and Mamie who took me on a weeklong road trip to Prince Edward Island in Canada. I know I flourished under their attention.
Whatever the reason, my happy place is in the middle of these screeching, chaotic children; that’s when I feel most wrapped in peace. It’s an affirmation that all the plane tickets and miles driven have paid off. So many things in life are fleeting and superficial, but there is great comfort found in pouring into a child and bearing witness to their growth.
This article originally appeared in the January/February 2026 issue of (585).
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