Skulls mocking abandoned telephone book
Shortly after I posted yesterday my sister called, not because she read it, but because we have that psychic sister connection. For real. I once called my sister in the middle of the night after waking from a horrible nightmare in which I was searching for her, but she was gone. The dream was so vivid, that even though it was the wee hours of the morning, I had to check on her. When she answered the phone, the first thing I said was “Are you okay?”
She answered that she was having a nightmare about being lost.
Weird, right? Anyway, I mentioned yesterday’s post to her, since I assumed that was what prompted her call. She had no idea what I was talking about, but after hearing about the sister series, she informed me I was not allowed to embarrass her on the internet.
Well, sissy, I would never do that (I assume she was referring to incidents from the past decade or so, most of which involve copious amounts of alcohol. Obviously those are the best tales, but in order to not embarrass my little sis, I’ll keep them to myself. Plus, I certainly come out looking like a moron in most of them, so silence is to my benefit too).
Anyway.
When Monkey Girl and I were kids we hated each other. Yeah, sure we loved each other because we were sisters, and we had tons of cute sisterly moments. But more often than not we were at war. My mother used to get so frustrated, because she couldn’t understand why her daughters fought like heathens (which she called us on a daily basis, “stop acting like heathens!’). Now, before I go, let me say that whatever I may have done to my sister as a kid, no one else was allowed to pick on her. No one. We could have been tearing each other to pieces, but if some neighborhood kid looked at Monkey Girl the wrong way, instantly I was protective.
To be fair, when she was really little, I totally took advantage. Like when were learned about Carl Linnaeus and taxonomic ranks, and I came home from school and told her everyone really had seven names, but that she wouldn’t find out hers until kindergarten. She begged and begged, and so I made up a bunch of gibberish, and then told her to memorize it all. When she proudly went in to tell our mom her ‘scientific name’, I laughed my butt off, and my mom told me to be nice to my sister. And I am nice, because that story makes me look like a geeky nerd. Taxonomy, who tells taxonomy stories? Geez…
Actually, I have a few stories spawned from science class that involved my little sister. It’s probably sheer luck I didn’t accidentally kill her, because I convinced her to eat all sorts of things.
I know what you’re thinking. I was the mean older sister. Well let me tell you something, she was a little stinker. And she knew how to work the baby of the family thing like nobody’s business. She also knew how to play me for a fool. One time she accidentally was pushed fell from the swing set in our backyard. I felt bad, especially since she was sprawled on the ground crying (which my mother would eventually hear), so I ran inside to get a towel so she could wipe the blood off her face (it wasn’t that bad people, stop judging). Being the loving sister I was, I wiped it off for her, and asked if she was okay. Her response was that she couldn’t see. And she couldn’t, because I had the towel on her face. But I thought she meant she really couldn’t see. Holy crap, I blinded my little sister! Monkey girl caught on to my mistake right away, and she milked it. Finally I had no choice but to run to my mother in a panic to tell her what happened. I knew that if you severed a finger, it should go on ice as soon as possible so that a doctor could sew it back on, so I figured that surely they could do something for my sister’s eyeballs, especially since they were still in the sockets. Needless to say, her eyes were fine, and I got in serious trouble. And she probably got a cookie, or something.
Twerp.
And she still is one, a twerp, that is. During our conversation yesterday I pointed out her birthday is right around the corner. She said it wasn’t, because she refused to turn 30. Uh-huh, poor bratty baby, it must be hard.
Tomorrow, Monkey Girl and I learn about the power of denial.
Oh yeah, I stopped telling my age around 28. Nobody knows it anymore. When filling out official forms I have to stop and think what’s my real age and what’s the age I tell myself…
And it’s rough at the bottom of the family! We have to work for attention! …and we get taken advantage of, too. Let’s have a little compassion for the babies of the familes!
What? You guys have it easy, we break in the ‘rents for you – all the hard work is done!
I have no baby pictures. nothing until I was 4 – except group shots with my siblings! Brett’s post yesterday reminded me of that. I don’t know what I looked like as a baby.
waa-waa, woe is me…
What? No pictures until aged four?
I envision you as a mischievous baby. OH WAIT! Damn Red, did you come from Krypton or something? Perhaps brought to this planet in a meteor shower? DO YOU HAVE SUPER POWERS YOU AREN’T TELLING US ABOUT?!?
Ohhhhh, sister stories. This kinda makes me want to write my own series of sister stories. We also fought a lot. Like A LOT. Like my mom put us in therapy because she thought we fought too much.
Though I suppose those stories make me look bad too. And no one wants that
Really? Did it work?
My mom used to insist my sister and I would one day be best friends, and she was right, eventually.
No, it didn’t work. It was an annoying waste of time. I think my mom was just hoping that I wouldn’t actually kill my sister. Even now, my sister and I can only get along if we’re not together for long periods of time. We’re fine if we only hang out once in awhile
I bicker with my sister too after a few days together, but we’re pretty good about getting over it (most of the time).
My baby brother would jump between us with a blanket over his head and start screaming. Mom would come running in and it looked like we were beating him. We would get grounded and he would get ice cream.
We usually made him pay later.
Ha! Is this the same one that you guys dragged over to the ditch, while he was bleeding, so you could continue bike stunts?
My brother and I truly fought like cats and dogs when we were young. Like, draw blood more often than not fight. To this day, I have a scar on my earlobe where he once yanked out an earring, and he has scars on the back of his neck where I clawed him (yes, so bad that he still has, faint as they might be, scars some 20 years later). My parents seemed to think this was normal, though, so there was never any punishment (my parents were both onlies). Probably why it went on so long, got so violent. We didn’t become friends until we were in college. We still get along well, although it’s tough for us to hang out because his wife hates the DH and I (he likes the DH, too…once he grew up, my brother turned into a really friendly, fun guy). Too bad, she and I used to get along really well, and there are many times I’d like to talk to/hang out with my brother that she blocks us from doing so.
I’m not 31, I’m 20-11. I maintain that this is perfectly valid math… And this is one of the reasons why my SIL hates me and the DH (despite still *actually* being in her 20′s), we “refuse to grow up” (he doesn’t lie about his age – neither do I, technically – but he’s still tons of fun). Sigh, if only we would stop having fun and start making babies, and quit asking them to go to dinner with us when we visit, and stop playing Wii bowling incessantly and trying to get them to join us, and stop bringing good beer and wine to holiday dinners, and stop insisting that they should travel abroad with us…
That’s too bad. Fortunately my brother-in-law is awesome, and they love my husband, so when we get together it’s freaking awesome.
We pay our taxes, therefore we are grownups. Other than that we act like loons a lot of the time, who wants to be serious and stuffy?
Fortunately the DH’s family is awesome, even if they don’t totally “get” me. They’re rural folk…even still have a farm. They were a little puzzled the first time I climbed up into the attic to get cell phone signal (I tried everything before resorting to that, I promise), but now it’s a family joke that after I “finally” join them for breakfast (9 AM might as well be 5 PM in their world…what they don’t know is that it would be later but for the time zone change), I will go to “my corner” of the attic to conduct my “important business” (which otherwise means taking a dump in their family). But, hey, I sang country at karaoke at the local dive, kick their butts at rummy, and their son loves me, so it’s all good and they’ll put up with my strange ways.
That’s awesome. How their son feels (and is treated) is the most important thing, and I’m glad they recognize he’s in good hands!
I used to torture my little brother as well. For years and years. Then he got too big to torture and it stopped. He was stronger so I risked physical injury if I continued my tortuous ways. It took us many years to be friendly to each other. I can’t say we are even friends still. There were just too many years of hostility and brutality and seperation. He married a hateful girl who hated his whole family and he followed along like a puppy for years until the divorce. It made it difficult to be close.
I tell the truth about my age, but make it a little more difficult for others to figure out. “I’m celebrating the 18th anniversary of my 25th birthday!”
I tell the truth too. Every year I say I’m going to start counting backwards, but I never do, I’m not bothered by my age…yet.
I enjoyed reading this very much. It was very charming. I lurv my own sister so. If I were the mom, and one of my little….dickens pushed the other off a swing? Oh, how that stuff makes me FREAK. But that’s neither here nor there now, Vesta, isn’t it!
My mom was pretty pissed at me! But she was right, my sister and I eventually became best friends.
I’m adopted and found my sister as a grown up–still we have an amazing sister connection! You could never embarrass her–really–
It is amazing, isn’t it? I truly believe siblings, or some of them anyway, have powerful and not easily explainable psychic connections.
“My mother used to get so frustrated, because she couldn’t understand why her daughters fought like heathens”
THAT IS SOO LIKE SONYA AND MEEE!
and of course you were not the mean big sister, the oldest is never mean, they are always perfect and never ever do anything wrong.
I believe your side of the story always!
Thanks Juice, I’m glad someone is on my side!