Six years after Ember and I popped out, the bizarre miracle that is Marx was conceived. Marx was born during the cycle of Mom’s obsession with Karl Marx, and instead of naming him Karl like my dad and 12- and 9- year old siblings begged, Mom went ahead and signed Marx onto his birth certificate. Maybe that’s the reason why the lovable little freak has had so much trouble fitting in. Or maybe he just takes after Ember and Mom. Whatever the reason, he’s now attending the elementary version of the preppy “paradise” Ember and I are resigned to.