Siblings. You can’t live with them, you can’t divorce them. They know where you would run to and they’ve got your second set of keys.
I’ve often wondered why I am the way I am. Why do I talk so much? Why do I fret over the little things? Why do I feel the need to sass? After spending an evening with my siblings and their spouses, I’m pretty sure I’ve got that last one figured out.
We are a family of smart alecks. On our own, we are pretty lively. But get us together in a group and it’s a verbal no disqualification match.
Why are we the way we are? An image comes to mind. You know when cook something in a pot on the stove, put the lid on, turn up the heat, and then walk away? When you come back and remove the lid, all hell breaks loose. That’s a pretty good analogy for me and my siblings. What’s the pot, who’s the lid, and what provides the heat? I’m sure someone could have a field day psychoanalyzing that one.
Once every year towards the end of the summer we all get together and go to a Saltdogs baseball game. It’s usually around mid-August so we can celebrate several siblings’ birthdays, and my husband Rick’s birthday, all in one shot. My brother and Rick love baseball, and my sisters and I love margaritas and cold beer, so it’s a natural choice. We always talk loud, catch up on life, and spend a good portion of the game making fun of one another, catching lots of looks from the crowd around us. (Yep Teina, the couple to the left of us really enjoyed your new stripper name.)
If I was to point fingers, I would probably point the biggest finger of blame at my brother. He was smart and could run fast, but he still got beat up several times in grade school for his smart mouth. We had the typical rivalries. He used to punch me in the arm; I used to claw him with my fingernails. I tied him to a tree and left him there. He slaughtered me at Monopoly, showing no mercy and proving himself a terrible winner. There was always some obnoxious name calling and dancing involved. He also looked in my hand when we played cards. (I still call him old Rubberneck.) But then we grew up and had kids. He sprang up so tall that he outgrew his hair line. (Ha.) We still compete with each other, often at a juvenile level. I finished reading the Lord of the Ring series before him (everything is still a race). When my dad had surgery this year, he told me he had something for me while we were waiting in the hospital. He had pulled one of the entry tabs off the poster for the hospital’s biggest loser weight loss contest. He said I was a shoe-in to win because I was, of course, the biggest loser. (Really, people, who does this? Dad was having surgery.) He “arranged” to have a kid on my mom’s birthday, claiming to be mom’s all-time favorite. I do have to admit, he wins. He can have that one. I’m not popping another one out just for bragging rights.
And our middle sister picked right up on the sass and has developed it with her own snarky panache. Last week she texted me that she was at the Motherhood store at the mall and wanted to know if I needed her to pick me up anything while she was there. Ha. When I was pregnant she asked me if I was really pregnant or just getting fat. Ha ha. When my son was two, she bought him a drum set for his birthday. Not a toy drum – a whole kid’s drum set -- because you can’t take the batteries out of that toy. As delightful as that all is, I hope she remembers that paybacks are hell. And I have a long memory, just ask my husband.
Our youngest sister has lots of sass plus technology on her side. We siblings are often the butt of her jokes on her blog, on her Facebook, and via text. For example, tonight at the ball game I was getting teased that I was the only child that didn’t get a text from mom about dad’s recent speeding ticket. I know, no one loves me. While we are enjoying the game, my phone jingles and I receive a text from my baby sister. She forwarded me the original text she received from mom about the speeding text. Then she sent me another text, signed “love mom.” That is just so tricky. This brought a barrage of texts. Perhaps to give you the best idea of our family rhetoric, I will repeat our banter here. I will not say who said what, just that I am the good sister. My explanatory remarks are in parenthesis:
“Lot ’s of cops out dad got speeding ticket 2nite”
“-love mom”
“You are full of crap, walking taco.”
“Love mom”
“Does Sarah look like she’s getn fat?” (Sarah is pregnant fyi)
“Love mom”
“I ran out of singles at the strip club –love mom”
“Tens & twenties are acceptable”
“Love mom”
“Well I tried quarters but they kept falling out”
“Love mom”
“Clench tighter” (Sorry about that one)
“Love mom”
“Your dads a code red” (a super hot guy)
“Love mom”
“I threw up a little in my mouth”
“Love mom”
“(Naughty words I can’t repeat that I didn’t write)”
“Love mom”
“That is disturbing”
“Love mom”
And the conversation all goes to pot from there with things I can’t repeat. This is what I am living with, people. Is it no wonder I am the way I am? Normal people get nice family phone calls and occasional texts with loving endearments and personal news. I get “Your dads a code red, love mom.” There has to be some psychological damage to news of that magnitude.
Where does it all come from? I don’t think I can really pin it specifically on my parents. They aren’t overly sassy, although they like nicknames. My extended family, however, they might have something to do with it. My mother was one of eight kids who spent many of their days bantering and playing tricks on one another while they were stuck on the family farm. I mean really, what other family wraps up bubble wrap, odds and ends from a junk drawer, and the queen of spades (we play a lot of Hearts) as Christmas gifts? And while playing Hearts at family reunions, it is encouraged to make a Zero over your head and dance around obnoxiously if you finish the hand with zero points. Of course, they do compliment the loser on how nice their hair looks that day. And a good portion of these aunts and uncles and cousins are teachers. If your child has ever had a Mr. Everts or Ms. Everts, they may have been infected with a healthy dose of smart aleck. Good luck with that in future years. There is no known vaccine.
These smart aleck tendencies run deep among us siblings. In fact, it affects our life choices. My brother and sister and I – very active Lutherans -- all married Catholics. (Carrie will someday. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt
But our spouses keep up with the sass pretty well. I mean, we are all still married. My husband and my sister-in-law can sass along with the best of them. Occasionally I have to take my hat off to their retorts. My brother-in-law, well, I’m sure many days he has wondered how he got himself into this mess and if there is any hope for his kids. (Nope, I’m pretty sure I saw his four-year-old daughter giving my sister the “Z snap” with attitude just the other day.)
That leads me to consider future generations and the legacy we are leaving to our children. Many, many, many days I have said that it is a good thing Joe is built big and sturdy and plays lineman on his football team. He has an extremely smart mouth but, unfortunately, he can’t run fast. He will probably get beat up a lot in high school, but his size may cause them to think twice before they take the first swing.
Mandy, well she has also inherited the Everts talent for writing. Someday she will write books about embarrassing moments from her youth and how her parents have scarred her for life. Hmmmm. If her writing can’t support her parents in her old age, well, maybe there is a blog in there somewhere?
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by The Hollies
We Are Family by Sister Sledge
Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves by Eurythmics and Aretha Franklin
Electric Feel by MGMT (So sad Albitz got picked up by the Cardinals)
best. post. ever.
ReplyDelete-love mom