So I should start by saying this is not Motormommy. This is Motormommy’s younger sibling, guest writing on her blog because after a vacation with two children under the age of three, you need another vacation.
When my sister offered me the opportunity to guest write on Motormommy my immediate response was disbelief she would let her socially awkward little brother, who knows nothing of things motor (be they homes, cars, or mouths) write on her blog. As far as I knew, I’m still not allowed to write comments on her FB page.
Anyway, for whatever reason, I’m here now. And I’ve been trying to think of what I can contribute to the theme of “Motor home, motor cars and motor mouth”, especially as they relate to motherhood in today’s society. And like a blind man in a batting cage, it suddenly hit me ©, that I could share with you a little more background about Motormommy. I can open a door and give you a quick glimpse of what she was before the RV. Before her children were born. Before the husband, the house, and the capital career in auto sales. I present to you, Motormommy: Teen angst. Kidding…kind of.
Let me start by saying that I have the utmost respect for my sister. I look up to her in pretty much every way imaginable. There isn’t a single large life decision I make that doesn’t start with a text to her that says “What should I do?”. For instance her recent trip down to Florida with a sub-one and sub-three year-old in tow. I can’t even go on a bus trip by myself without being filled with so much anxiety that I almost talk myself out of it. But she can do that. Grab her two kids and deal with airport security, flight delays, anxious looks from strangers, baggage claim, and worst of all (if you really know my sister and me) a set time that you simply can’t be late for. She seems to make friends with everyone, everywhere she goes. She has this magical gift where she can talk to people and she will (believe it or not) actually listen to what they are saying. She’s not thinking of what to say to relate to or impress you, or of how she still needs to go grocery shopping when she gets home. She just listens. She didn’t always listen.
I must have been about 14 at the time. My sister hadn’t gone off to college yet and it was a truly rare night for me because my sister was driving me and a couple of my friends around our hometown. I have no idea what we were doing together, because back in high school my sister and me didn’t exactly get along. Children of today will never know what it was like to have to fight siblings for important resources like the single phone line going to your house. There were life changing calls to be made and flirtatious AOL instant message sessions to be had and both required that precious dial tone. If it wasn’t for the invention of call waiting I’m pretty sure one of us wouldn’t be alive today. So anyway, here we are, driving along one of the busy main roads, apparently getting along for once. Being up to our usual immature adolescent (redundant, I know) hijinks, one of my friends decides that it would be a good idea to start mooning some of the people that we drive by. And for some reason my sister doesn’t care, even though she’s the one driving, and therefore somewhat responsible for us. She’s usually too cool for our infantile acts of delinquency. Eventually it’s my turn, as everyone knows all occupants of the vehicle must equally partake in the bare-buttocks displays, drivers excluded for that would surely lead to a…wait for it…a rear ending. While waiting at a stop light, we see a group of three adults walking down the sidewalk and I decide it’s time for my moon to shine. As the light turns green and the cars begin to take off, I stick my pale naked posterior out the passenger window of the car. Then I realize that something is wrong. In hindsight (so many puns) the sound of my sister finally laughing along with my friends is what should have tipped me off. Our car was not going anywhere. The light was green, the other cars had gone, or were in the process of going around us on the four lane road and we were just sitting there. It was just the three adults on the sidewalk, standing there, staring at my ass. And I don’t know what to do. I wasn’t expecting to actually have to see these people, or even know that they had actually seen me. This was supposed to be a drive by mooning. I might as well have been walking along the sidewalk with them and suddenly said “Oh, by the way, check out my butt”. I am mortified. “Go! Drive! Please!,” I plead, but she’s not listening. I don’t dare move because then they can see my face. What if I know them? What if they are not the adults I supposed, but some of the “cool kids” from school? What if it’s a girl I like? Eventually they shake their heads and move on, and it’s only after they’ve done so that we do the same. And that’s when I realized the true brilliance of my sister. By the simple act of not acting she was able to turn our stupid little prank around on us. And she was willing to suffer any indignity of being associated with us as the driver in order to do it. She didn’t just drive us where we needed to go then out of the goodness of her heart. I paid a hefty fair for that trip. But I gained a lot of respect for my sister that day. That’s not to say I didn’t do my best to get her back, but still…
So I guess I probably didn’t deliver on what I originally promised. You really didn’t get a good look at what my sister was like before the kids, and things, and life. What you did get to see was that brother and sister fought the way that brother and sister were meant to, the way we were designed to by our ancestors and our instincts. By total humiliation. You simply can’t trust sibling who always get along with one another. You can trust my sister though. I’ve got the scars to prove it.
I close this post by offering some advice to little Buster. Buster, with little Princess just about the same age older than you, as Motormommy is older than me, you’re going to need to stay on your toes at all times. You might be able to have separate cell phones, and (somewhat) equally share the Wi-Fi, but trust me that you and your sister will have your day on the battlefield of sibling rivalry. And take it from me: there’s no such thing as a free ride.