Life As a Little Sister
Hi everyone! I'm in the process of writing about my memories and experiences as a child ... the good, the bad, and the ugly of it... so I guess that means I have to tell on myself every once in awhile too . We had a lot of fun growing up together and always get a good laugh out of our crazy antics as children so I thought it would be fun to share some of those stories- from my perspective as the little sister. My older brother and I played a lot but fought a lot too. He seemed to enjoy talking me into things, frightening me, and wrestling with me. My sister and I didn't fight quite as often because of our age difference, but as she can tell you, sharing a bedroom with your kid sister brings it's own set of problems... Here's part two of My Life As a Little Sister.
My sister and I are great friends now but I have to admit that I wasn't always the best little sister. We shared a room and though we had a good relationship, let's face it, little sister's can be kind of bratty. I followed her around, spied on her if possible, and occasionally snooped through her things
For instance, when she was fifteen or sixteen and I was about nine years old, she would often sit on our bed and write in her diary. If I asked what she was writing, she'd say, "None of your business" or "Stop being a pest!" (You know, the kinds of things that little sisters get told on a daily basis). When I tried peeking over her shoulder, she would snap it shut and lock it up with a little key that she kept hidden. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of a few words written on the first few pages.
"Keep out!" and "Private!" it said in big letters.
What in the world did she write in that little book, and why wouldn't she let me see? It had to be something good I thought. Why else would it be under lock and key? Who knew what kind of secrets or information that little book held?
"Keep out!" and "Private!" it said in big letters.
What in the world did she write in that little book, and why wouldn't she let me see? It had to be something good I thought. Why else would it be under lock and key? Who knew what kind of secrets or information that little book held?
Finally I could take it no more, and when I couldn't find the key, I found Mama's scissors and cut the thin little strap that kept it secure. I quickly opened it up and the first thing I read was "Went to Grandma's and ate beans." No kidding! That's what it said. The rest of the pages said things like "Twila loves Britt" and "Dreaming of Britt", but it contained nothing very exciting to my nine year old mind. I couldn't figure why this had been such a big deal. Heck, I'd ate beans at Grandma's house and everyone knew that she and Britt liked each other. He was a big ol' country boy that lived near my grandparent's house and whenever we visited, they would sneak off to the horse barn and kiss. I knew this because 1) I spied on them and 2) Mom would send me to go look for them every so often and report back to her.
I quickly flipped through more pages covered in hearts as I kept a close eye on the bedroom door. Within a matter of minutes I heard feet in the hallway and I hurried to put it away before I was caught red-handed. As I moved toward the dresser to put it back in her drawer, I suddenly realized something! I had cut the strap and now there was no possible way to lock it back up! When she opened the drawer and saw it, she'd know what I'd done! She'd tell Mom, and I'd be getting the belt again.Thinking quickly, I knew I had to hide the evidence. I ran and threw it where no one would ever find it.... under my parent's bed.
I've since come to the conclusion that I was in panic mode because I knew full well that my mom was a fanatic about cleaning! Every few Saturdays, we had to scrub the grout in the bathroom with bleach and a toothbrush for goodness sake! Of course, Mom found the diary two days later when she dust-mopped her room and I got that spanking because not only had I invaded Twila's privacy; I'd also been denying having anything to do with the diary's disappearance.
This incident, however, pales in comparison to the night my sister came home drunk. A year or two after the diary episode, I was awakened one night by bumping noises and the sound of loud voices in our hall. The hallway light was on and shined brightly into my bedroom, blinding me as I strained to see what was going on. The clock said 1:20 AM, a whole hour and twenty minutes past my sister's curfew, and she was not in bed beside me. This, along with the tone of my mother's voice, told me something big was going on and that someone was in big trouble. Naturally, I sat up to to spy...er ...see what was happening.
My mom stood in the hallway in her fuzzy orange robe with a scowl on her face and both hands propped angrily on her hips. My sister stood a few feet in front of her in a blue dress that looked as if she had spilled something down the front of it. Her arms were wrapped across her stomach and her high heels dangled loosely in one hand as she swayed back and forth, looking as if she might fall down at any moment. She had gone to her first wedding reception and my mom was livid that she'd stumbled/crawled to our front door throwing up and undeniably as drunk as a skunk.
Oh my! This was something I'd never seen before! I quietly scooted to the end of the bed to get a better look. To my amazement, Twila seemed to be taking Mom's lecture in stride, listening with a silly expression, almost a smile, on her face at times. As she wobbled and bumped against the wall, she tried to deny the state she was in, but I could barely make out her words as she slurred everything she tried to say.
"I'm ... not...druuunnkk..."
"Get to bed now!" Mom said, raising her arm and gesturing toward our room.. "You're so drunk you can't even stand up. We'll talk in the morning."
I quickly flopped back in bed, pretending to be asleep as Twila stumbled around the room and finally got herself into bed. Just as she lay down beside me, a strong repugnant odor of cigarette smoke, beer, and vomit hit my face.
"You stink," I said and pinched my nose shut for emphasis.
"Just go to sleep" she slurred and the smell of her breath hit my face again.
"I can't," I said. "You smell gross!"
I tried, honestly I did. I turned and faced the other way, but the smell of puke and alcohol was overwhelmingly strong and the fact that I'd been rudely woken up in the middle of the night irritated me.
"Get up!" I said a little louder this time. "You need to brush your teeth!"
Her eyes fluttered open for a second as she lifted her head dizzily from the pillow. "Ssshhh, be quiet before Mom hears you," she pleaded.
"But you stink!" I reiterated.
She moaned something unintelligible as she shifted in bed and her movement stirred the air again, causing the foul smell to assault my nostrils even more.
Maybe it was because the smell really was that terrible. Maybe it was because I was the baby of the family and thought it my duty to report any and all infractions. OK, perhaps it even had something to do with the fact that had recently developed the bad habit of squeezing into my best t-shirts which stretched them out on the top and left them to sag pathetically on my undeveloped form. Whatever the reason that night, I was undeterred.
"Mom!" I called out. "She reeks! I can't even sleep because she smells like throw-up and beer! It's making me sick! She...she..smells like a brewery!" I proclaimed loudly, secretly pleased that I'd come up with that last phrase. I had no idea what it meant, but I'd heard my mom and grandma use that a few times when discussing someone who was drunk and knew it would get a response.
It did.
"Twila Annette, get up!" Mom shouted from her room.
And then she announced the dreaded punishment... the one that sent shivers down our spine...the one that we avoided at all cost, especially since Twila had recently seen "The Exorcist" and then told me all about it.
"Go sleep in the basement tonight!" Mom ordered. "You shouldn't have been drinking and she shouldn't have to smell your whiskey breath and puke!"
I hadn't expected that one and for a moment I regretted calling out to Mom and having her relegated to the damp, scary basement. She shot me a look that could kill as she clumsily climbed out of bed and stumbled down the hall toward the basement, taking the horrid smell with her.
"I'm ... not...druuunnkk..."
"Get to bed now!" Mom said, raising her arm and gesturing toward our room.. "You're so drunk you can't even stand up. We'll talk in the morning."
I quickly flopped back in bed, pretending to be asleep as Twila stumbled around the room and finally got herself into bed. Just as she lay down beside me, a strong repugnant odor of cigarette smoke, beer, and vomit hit my face.
"You stink," I said and pinched my nose shut for emphasis.
"Just go to sleep" she slurred and the smell of her breath hit my face again.
"I can't," I said. "You smell gross!"
I tried, honestly I did. I turned and faced the other way, but the smell of puke and alcohol was overwhelmingly strong and the fact that I'd been rudely woken up in the middle of the night irritated me.
"Get up!" I said a little louder this time. "You need to brush your teeth!"
Her eyes fluttered open for a second as she lifted her head dizzily from the pillow. "Ssshhh, be quiet before Mom hears you," she pleaded.
"But you stink!" I reiterated.
She moaned something unintelligible as she shifted in bed and her movement stirred the air again, causing the foul smell to assault my nostrils even more.
Maybe it was because the smell really was that terrible. Maybe it was because I was the baby of the family and thought it my duty to report any and all infractions. OK, perhaps it even had something to do with the fact that had recently developed the bad habit of squeezing into my best t-shirts which stretched them out on the top and left them to sag pathetically on my undeveloped form. Whatever the reason that night, I was undeterred.
"Mom!" I called out. "She reeks! I can't even sleep because she smells like throw-up and beer! It's making me sick! She...she..smells like a brewery!" I proclaimed loudly, secretly pleased that I'd come up with that last phrase. I had no idea what it meant, but I'd heard my mom and grandma use that a few times when discussing someone who was drunk and knew it would get a response.
It did.
"Twila Annette, get up!" Mom shouted from her room.
And then she announced the dreaded punishment... the one that sent shivers down our spine...the one that we avoided at all cost, especially since Twila had recently seen "The Exorcist" and then told me all about it.
"Go sleep in the basement tonight!" Mom ordered. "You shouldn't have been drinking and she shouldn't have to smell your whiskey breath and puke!"
I hadn't expected that one and for a moment I regretted calling out to Mom and having her relegated to the damp, scary basement. She shot me a look that could kill as she clumsily climbed out of bed and stumbled down the hall toward the basement, taking the horrid smell with her.
Luckily for her, I don't think even a demon would have touched her that night and she survived, though she did look a little like death warmed over the next morning. I know this because 1) Mom sent me to wake her bright and early for breakfast and 2) I happily complied. After all, what are little sisters for?
Thanks for visiting my blog today. I hope you had as much fun with your brother and sister as I did growing up. Thank goodness, there were plenty of good times too and they forgive me (I hope!) for being such a brat at times.
Here's a pic of us having fun on the couch.
Here's a pic of us having fun on the couch.
See you next blog!
