Whew it's been a while. I hate thinking that I should say, "Oh my, it's the first post of 2012! I better make it a good one." But you know what? Who cares. If this post was all about how spectacularly well my life is going and it was completely typo-free, then where would I have to go with it in the next 359 days. (Check my math if you must, it's a leap year people.) A lot has gone down since I last posted. There was New Years, a cancelled dentist appointment, lots of too much shopping, and Christmas.
To keep myself busy I have been rearranging and redecorating my room at my mom's and my dad's houses. There will be a whole blog post on that subject alone, but I mention it now not knowing if I will finish this post now because of the overwhelming urge I currently have to organize our garage (It is currently 1:28 AM). I can't help this obsession with cleaning and organizing. Normally it changes in proportion to my stress and busyness levels. When I have a big project or hectic schedule, I really love to organize any and everything. My sock drawer is guaranteed to be color-coded and carefully arranged every finals week. Must be a form of procrastination I guess, but why I'm compulsively spending my break this way remains a mystery.
Having three younger siblings, I often have the delusion of deserving respect. I'm an elder even if it is only by ten years dang it! Respect me! But these kids, man are they something else. (Side note: it took me seven attempts to type the word "else" in that last sentence.)
My twelve-year-old brother suffers from the delusion that he is in his twenties and completely in control. Once my chubby and cuddly baby brother, he is now my swearing, 5-foot-5 160 lb bruiser. He now only refers to me by my favorite moniker, "Sissy," when he needs to twist my arm (sad thing is, it works). Despite the age difference, this kid and I turn this town upside-down when we're together and his stories about the trials of junior high make my belly hurt from laughter. Aren't you glad you never have to relive junior high? I am. The seventh grade has brought on a slew oflove interests hormonal teenage girls that like to text one word messages at all hours of the day. This has unearthed my protective instincts. Every time he goes to a dance I cry a little inside. Thankfully, despite all of the attention my stud brother gets from the opposite gender, his favorite pastime is prank calling Leslie's Pool Supply where he has struck up an unusual friendship with the assistant manager Rob. Oh to be young again...
Only one year his junior, my sister is her own version of hell on wheels. I struggle to prioritize which of her interests worries me most: Twilight, makeup, or my clothes. Every time I come home from college she is prettier and sassier. Perhaps my biggest fear is that she will be just like me. I mean, we already know how much she likes cats. She's as bright as a 100-watt bulb fresh out of the box (not to toot my own horn) and has a mouth that's only downfall is not being able to fire off smart ass remarks as quickly as she comes up with them in her head. Oh, and she's perfected the art of blackmail; lesson learned after biting her so hard it bruised. When all sisterly battles are forgiven, we are actually beginning to enjoy one another's company. I spent a lot of Christmas break shopping with her and doing our nails. She shares the same fondness I once had for insanely bright colors and patterns. There's also a very strong personality backing all that up; she knows what she wants. Upon a recent trip to Build-a-Bear, she decided the cat's meow sound effect was too meek for her new pet. Her solution? A Siamese cat with the booming roar of a lion. That, my friends, is someone I am proud to call my little sister.
The youngest of my siblings never ceases to throw us for a loop. To say "black sheep" is a little too far, but he's definitely the different one. He's always on my good side though because he idolizes me like no other (this makes for cheap labor on my end... "Get me a drink...Scratch my back...Can I have a dollar?" (I swear I'm not a terrible person, I just utilize available resources. Is that wrong? I did change his diapers after all!) Every time I come home, he becomes my shadow. I have had an easier time of ridding my feet of fungus than I've had prying him from my side. Even as I type this, he is sleeping five feet from me in my bed. The only time he is out of my sight is when heplaying uncontrollably banging on his drum set. I know God requires us to forgive, but it's been a struggle since my parents bought drums for him when he was only four. All bleeding ear drums aside, the kid does have real talent. He could definitely have a future in a rock band if he decides against becoming a fireman, plumber or pool boy (all of which are aspirations of his). I love the innocence that comes with having a little kid around and, seeing as he's the last one, I am not in a hurry for him to grow up. The other two kids are already doing that so fast. My only prayer is that he would hurry up and grow out of the tooth-losing phase. I'm knocking on death's door with every visit of that God-forsaken Tooth Fairy.
Being the oldest of that rowdy bunch, I was an only child for a while meaning I learned lessons elsewhere. The people I spent the most time with were close family members. I am blessed to have a strong circle of women in my family. For nearly half my life, there were five generations on my mother's side and we still have four. I had a great-great, great, grand, and mom. When we're together there's an abundance of spunk and sass, most often revealing itself during a competitive game of cards. Gin Rummy is the reason my name has been repeatedly written and erased from my great-grandmother's will. The card table was where I learned to swear and stomp out the hopes of others, but it is also where some of favorite time with my family was spent. Just this Christmas, I sat with my great-grandmother whom we call Nanny and chatted about life. This will be her 87th year of life and she is dang proud. With the exception of a little arthritis in her index finger she says she couldn't feel better. When people ask how old she is, there's a certain joy she gets with saying "86!" Nan's set her eye on 100. While longevity is neat to have in life, quality is what counts and she's got it. I can only hope to be as cool as she is one day. The make being an elder cool.
I've got nothing but respect for these ladies and I am eager to continue the line of hip chicks in our family:)
Random Tangent: I hate the vents/fans they put in bathrooms. It gets me every time! All I want is the light switch! Is that too much to ask for? Oh and next time, I better find the toilet paper placed the right way. Don't you hate it when it rolls from under instead of from the top? Am I just weird...
*Note: this was written over a period of two days, so if you find discontinuity, politely get over it.
**If for some reasons my siblings come across my blog, know that I love you all very much. If the embarrassing things mentioned here hinder your reputation in any way, feel free to file a complaint with the Customer Service Department of my blog.
To keep myself busy I have been rearranging and redecorating my room at my mom's and my dad's houses. There will be a whole blog post on that subject alone, but I mention it now not knowing if I will finish this post now because of the overwhelming urge I currently have to organize our garage (It is currently 1:28 AM). I can't help this obsession with cleaning and organizing. Normally it changes in proportion to my stress and busyness levels. When I have a big project or hectic schedule, I really love to organize any and everything. My sock drawer is guaranteed to be color-coded and carefully arranged every finals week. Must be a form of procrastination I guess, but why I'm compulsively spending my break this way remains a mystery.
Having three younger siblings, I often have the delusion of deserving respect. I'm an elder even if it is only by ten years dang it! Respect me! But these kids, man are they something else. (Side note: it took me seven attempts to type the word "else" in that last sentence.)
My twelve-year-old brother suffers from the delusion that he is in his twenties and completely in control. Once my chubby and cuddly baby brother, he is now my swearing, 5-foot-5 160 lb bruiser. He now only refers to me by my favorite moniker, "Sissy," when he needs to twist my arm (sad thing is, it works). Despite the age difference, this kid and I turn this town upside-down when we're together and his stories about the trials of junior high make my belly hurt from laughter. Aren't you glad you never have to relive junior high? I am. The seventh grade has brought on a slew of
Only one year his junior, my sister is her own version of hell on wheels. I struggle to prioritize which of her interests worries me most: Twilight, makeup, or my clothes. Every time I come home from college she is prettier and sassier. Perhaps my biggest fear is that she will be just like me. I mean, we already know how much she likes cats. She's as bright as a 100-watt bulb fresh out of the box (not to toot my own horn) and has a mouth that's only downfall is not being able to fire off smart ass remarks as quickly as she comes up with them in her head. Oh, and she's perfected the art of blackmail; lesson learned after biting her so hard it bruised. When all sisterly battles are forgiven, we are actually beginning to enjoy one another's company. I spent a lot of Christmas break shopping with her and doing our nails. She shares the same fondness I once had for insanely bright colors and patterns. There's also a very strong personality backing all that up; she knows what she wants. Upon a recent trip to Build-a-Bear, she decided the cat's meow sound effect was too meek for her new pet. Her solution? A Siamese cat with the booming roar of a lion. That, my friends, is someone I am proud to call my little sister.
The youngest of my siblings never ceases to throw us for a loop. To say "black sheep" is a little too far, but he's definitely the different one. He's always on my good side though because he idolizes me like no other (this makes for cheap labor on my end... "Get me a drink...Scratch my back...Can I have a dollar?" (I swear I'm not a terrible person, I just utilize available resources. Is that wrong? I did change his diapers after all!) Every time I come home, he becomes my shadow. I have had an easier time of ridding my feet of fungus than I've had prying him from my side. Even as I type this, he is sleeping five feet from me in my bed. The only time he is out of my sight is when he
Being the oldest of that rowdy bunch, I was an only child for a while meaning I learned lessons elsewhere. The people I spent the most time with were close family members. I am blessed to have a strong circle of women in my family. For nearly half my life, there were five generations on my mother's side and we still have four. I had a great-great, great, grand, and mom. When we're together there's an abundance of spunk and sass, most often revealing itself during a competitive game of cards. Gin Rummy is the reason my name has been repeatedly written and erased from my great-grandmother's will. The card table was where I learned to swear and stomp out the hopes of others, but it is also where some of favorite time with my family was spent. Just this Christmas, I sat with my great-grandmother whom we call Nanny and chatted about life. This will be her 87th year of life and she is dang proud. With the exception of a little arthritis in her index finger she says she couldn't feel better. When people ask how old she is, there's a certain joy she gets with saying "86!" Nan's set her eye on 100. While longevity is neat to have in life, quality is what counts and she's got it. I can only hope to be as cool as she is one day. The make being an elder cool.
I've got nothing but respect for these ladies and I am eager to continue the line of hip chicks in our family:)
Let's only hope the next generation is a little less like me and more like them...
(I'm genuinely embarrassed by this.)
Random Tangent: I hate the vents/fans they put in bathrooms. It gets me every time! All I want is the light switch! Is that too much to ask for? Oh and next time, I better find the toilet paper placed the right way. Don't you hate it when it rolls from under instead of from the top? Am I just weird...
*Note: this was written over a period of two days, so if you find discontinuity, politely get over it.
**If for some reasons my siblings come across my blog, know that I love you all very much. If the embarrassing things mentioned here hinder your reputation in any way, feel free to file a complaint with the Customer Service Department of my blog.
