Love, war & rent: One year under one roof

Learning to grow and build without breaking what brought us together.

Photo by Library of Congress on Unsplash

The backseat was littered with sand, snacks and quietly settled kids. Parker was twisted into one of her usual post-adventure pretzel shapes, fast asleep. Tiffany stared out the window, lost in her own world. Triest sat beside me, settled into a calm that matched the day. I drove, letting the hum of the road stretch through the silence.

It felt like one of those rare, easy days — almost perfect — until I ruined it.

We were heading home from our first Pineapple Family beach trip — Tiffany’s first ever. Parker had counted down all week to building sandcastles. Lil Mama, newly confident after completing swim lessons, still called lakes bacteria-infested, but she went waist-deep anyway. That alone felt like a win.

The day had been light. Joyful. The kind of day you want to replay in your mind, every slow, sun-drenched second. The girls insisted a family movie night would be the perfect way to close it out, and we didn’t hesitate to agree. I’d even swung by Home Run Inn for pizza on the way back.

And then, before we made it home, I opened my mouth. And ruined it.

“Man, y’all don’t say nothing,” I said to Triest, nodding toward her and Tiffany’s quiet vibe — so different from Parker and me, who talk a mile a minute.

Her voice broke the stillness, sharp and sudden: “Why does it bother you?”

It wasn’t silent anymore.

The question hung between us, heavy with more than curiosity, as if my words had poked something she wasn’t ready to say.

We never made it to our movie, and I set it off.

The mood shifted, swinging from calm to charged in a heartbeat. In front of the girls, we had words — real, honest and uncomfortable.

The moment turned messy fast. Difficult, maybe even long overdue.

Living together was never going to be as easy as a day at the beach. And reminders of that truth tend to show up when we least expect them.

Today marks one year since we moved in and officially became a family. The journey hasn’t always been smooth, but it’s shaped all of us in ways we never saw coming.

We’re the Pineapple Family — because it’s the one fruit we all agree on, and, let’s be honest, it sounds way better than “blended family.”

Last year, Tiffany drew a picture of us as pineapples. Naturally, she left the crown off mine on her original version to capture my baldness with full accuracy. The name stuck. Parker, now a proud pescatarian, has even made pineapple her go-to pizza topping.

The unexpected but heartfelt drawing by Tiffany that started it all.

But agreeing on fruit is one thing. Learning to share space, routines and emotions as a family of four? That’s been a completely different journey, one full of challenges we never could have anticipated.

And it all starts with me, King Pineapple.

I’m demanding — not in a selfish way, but in a way that might be worse. The never-ending “you can do better” kind of way. It's constant. It’s exhausting. Believe me, baby, I know. I don’t get a break from me either.

I’m stubborn and strong-willed. A hard-ass with high standards. A perfectionist for things that don’t matter to most people. I can be a lot, especially in the close quarters we live in.

We share a small, two-bedroom apartment. One bathroom. No dishwasher. No parking. One laundry day a week, shared with other tenants in our multi-family building. It’s tight, barely comfortable and never convenient. Our space wasn’t made for four people, much less four very distinct personalities. Four undergrads wouldn’t trade places with us.

And yet, we’ve made it work.

Someday, when we finally arrive where we’re going, we’ll carry with us the pride of how far we’ve come, and how much these humble beginnings shaped everything. We’ll look back fondly on how the “tough” times made us stronger.

When we moved in, for example, I started the 5 a.m. club less than two weeks later — probably not the smartest timing. Those early mornings and intense routines stacked the odds against us right away. At the same time, Triest was navigating her own challenges. We didn’t always know how to show up for each other. But we never stopped trying.

While I pushed through pre-dawn planks, court dates, car issues and a root canal, the girls were adapting too. Parker and Tiffany learned to share a room, go without screens and start their mornings without cereal — no small things when you’re growing up.

Triest has backed my vision every step of the way. She’s given me not just real love, but true partnership, even when we don’t always get it right.

Just this week over breakfast, she said three words some men never expect hear: “I was wrong.”

Now do you believe me when I say she’s a unicorn?

And after ruining our nearly perfect beach day, it finally hit me: most of our friction starts with me.

I’ve been holding everyone to my standards. Not out of ego or control or cruelty, but from the belief that my intensity is a blueprint for growth, for going from good to great.

But it’s not. It’s mine.

And just because I choose to live this way doesn’t mean the rest of the Pineapple Family should.

Triest sees all of me — even the parts I’m still learning to soften — and somehow still loves me naked. That’s not just love. That’s something deeper. That’s grace.

My vow for this next year, Lil Mama, is to give you the same in return.