As for many Chicagoans in their mid-20s, for me, this past spring and early summer has meant two things: weddings and moving…and, well, more weddings. While moving is a time when one must decide which memories to hold onto, weddings are a time to make new ones. All of these events have cycled me through a strange whirlwind of emotions and nostalgia.

I began this wedding-moving-wedding journey as far back as April with a bachelorette weekend in Miami, followed by standing up at two weddings in Las Vegas and in Denver (a week apart), two moves—my own and my parents’ move—with another wedding coming up in July. As half-Jew Chelsea Handler would say: What a “hot mess.”

Aside from realizing my hatred for bridesmaid dress tailors, airline blackout dates and red-eye flights after long nights of wedding-related debauchery, I also realized how much I missed my friends and how much our lives have changed in a matter of four years since college. Instead of gabbing on about cute boys in our com arts class, we found ourselves gossiping about the latest engagements and knock-ups; instead of stressing about what we want to be when we grow up, we’re actually out there working—and praying our plans pan out.

My trip to Miami offered a reunion with friends I hadn’t seen since graduation and awakened a side of me that I missed. I remembered what it was like to have a night out with the girls that felt like a true escape. Work was thousands of miles and several days away. I could be myself with people who knew me inside and out, because we’d spent days and nights romping around Madison, WI in college.

The wedding in Las Vegas took me back nearly eight years. My college roommate of four years married the boy she met in our dorm freshman year. My other old roommate and I recounted years' worth of memories in our rehearsal dinner speeches. I talked about sitting in my pajamas in the dorm room counseling the now-groom on how to woo the bride. After eight years, their families are like extensions of my own—particularly because they’re Jewish. Their extended relatives knew my life story, though I’d only met them a couple times. It was such a wholesome, hamish love fest set in wild Las Vegas. It felt as though I had taken much of the couple’s journey along with them, making their wedding an unexpectedly emotional milestone. Yes, I sobbed.

The Vegas wedding, and also the one in Denver, while wonderful, also made me a bit sad. I realized I was closing a chapter on our friendships, on our youth, on our carefree days. First comes love, then comes marriage, then come babies…

I also began thinking about how little we actually change, despite these milestones. Just this week, I snail mailed one of my bat mitzvah invitations from 1997 to my friend in New York City. She was curious to see it after our late night chat in Denver before the wedding, during which we reminisced about our bat mitzvahs. We compared notes about the food, dessert table, theme and giveaways, and we agreed we wish we could burn the photos, which immortalized our awkward selves at 13.

Similarly, I spent a recent evening with friends watching a “Say Yes to the Dress” marathon and making boxed chocolate cake, which we dedicated to Bethenny Frankel of the Bravo TV shows “Bethenny Getting Married” and “Real Housewives of New York.” On the cake, we wrote in blue icing, “Mazel Tov Bethenny.” (We’re still debating sending the photographic evidence to Bravo.) I hate to say this, but our evening was not a far cry from my teeny bopper evenings spent with friends, giving each other makeovers and reading “Seventeen” magazine.

Now home from the first batch of weddings, I’ve found myself sifting through Prince and Billy Joel cassette tapes and Luke Perry posters at my parents’ place as they prepare for a move. The process of going through old things has been excruciating because my Jewish mother has instilled in me an irrational fear that I cannot throw things away. One day, I might need that Prince tape, one day…

My friend, who is Jewish and also moving, said she too has an irrational fear of throwing old items away. We’ve decided the neurosis is a remnant of our Jewish immigrant relatives who had to leave at a moment’s notice and take everything they could carry on the boat. My mother and I have argued about throwing out a variety of things away—her answer is always, “Save it for my grandchildren.”

If I’ve learned anything from this milestone whirlwind tour, it’s that memories shape who we are: Some fit in cardboard boxes, others tell the story of how a bride and groom met and some are just small steps in our development. While I can’t say Prince changed my life, many of those friends I spent long nights with pouring over “Seventeen” magazines, or baking cakes are part of this crazy journey. I’ve realized too, that it’s OK to let some memories and experiences go, to make room for the new ones. And if all else fails…there’s always storage.

Bubzie and Papa

Growing up, I never lived close to any relatives. Sure, my family of four had its fair share of friends who certainly FELT like family, but the closest blood relation lived about 400 miles away.

This all changed the summer after I turned eight. That’s when my family moved from Plymouth, MN to Northbrook, IL. My dad’s company was relocating to Chicago, so we moved with it. I still remember the moment when we turned onto our new street, at midnight, seven and a half hours of driving later.

Who do we see on our driveway? My mom’s parents (aka my “Bubzie and Papa”), my great aunt Jane, my uncle Steven, and my mom’s cousins Ellen and Dana jumping up and down, in their pajamas, barely able to contain their excitement. You see, much of my mother’s side of the family lives in the Chicago area, and we had just been initiated into their group by finally living within ten miles of each other. A few years later, my dad’s parents (aka my “Grammie and Grandpa”) bought an apartment in Chicago, and for the first time ever, I had both sets of grandparents within driving distance.

Grammie and Grandpa

I had no idea how this would change my life, other than being able to see my family more often. But, little did I know how awesome it is to live so close to my grandparents. And so, following in the Oy! spirit of top seven lists, I give you the top seven perks of living near your (Jewish) grandparents:

1. You have a built-in entourage for events.
When I was younger, my cheering section at dance recitals was one that could rival this year’s World Cup. While most other girls had their parents and siblings in the audience, I was that lucky girl who would sometimes have BOTH sets of grandparents yelling my name.

2. Holidays just got a lot better.
When the holidays roll around, make sure to set the table for 20! We never have a dull moment, never dread the prerequisite dinner that comes with certain times of the year. Our holiday meals are right out of a Seinfeld episode!

3. One word: leftovers.
After those holiday meals, where do you think all the extra food goes? Lunch, dinner, and snacks for the rest of week! And I’m not talking about just ANY leftovers, but delicious, home-cooked, holiday delicacies. I eat like royalty after the holidays!

4. You have someone to rely on.
If you are going out of town and need help with pets, house responsibilities, you need a babysitter or things of that matter, and your grandparents are able to spare some time, you know you can always rely on family. And that goes both ways! If they ever need help you can be there for them, too. Bottom line, you know you can always call on family to be there for you if you need it.

5. Speaking of calling, whenever you’re feeling low, who ya gonna call?
When I was in elementary school, middle school, and high school, and I wasn’t feeling well, sometimes my parents weren’t able to come pick me up. Instead of having to suffer in the nurse’s office at school, I knew I could always call my grandparents to drive me home and help me feel better.

6. Did I mention the cooking?
Not only does my Bubzie make the best food for holiday meals, but also random Sunday night dinners at my grandparents’ house are some of the best meals I’ve ever had. My Bubzie likes to collect cookbooks from all over the world, and she puts them to good use, always trying new dishes.

7. And the most important perk of all: you get to spend as much time as you possibly can with your grandparents!
‘Nuff said.