The one that looks just like me only I'm nicer and she's five pounds lighter (all right, six...Fine. Seven. Sheesh. Fingers, stop typing.).
And the younger, well-rested one who knows how to get revenge. We call that passive/aggressive. Or just smart.
That's us - three girls.
Our mother is down-to-earth, energetic, and the perfect mom for girls. She taught us how to shave our legs without needing stitches afterward, listened to a lot of arguments over curling irons and clothes, and she took a lot of abuse when we would use her as our reason for refusing boys. "My mom says I have to finish my trig homework... My mom says I'm not allowed to date boys who drive...blue cars...[sheepish smile]...with...doors...and...uh...dented bumpers." She sat in her fair share of parking lots at late hours, waiting for school dances to finish. With her night-vision goggles firmly strapped into place.
My father was and is a strong, manly man who turns the channel whenever there is a Tampax commercial and feels most comfortable with conversation that revolves around dirt bikes, politics, or...his girls. Between us and our mom, he was outnumbered, but took it like a man. He bought us motorcycles, coached our team sports, and somehow, still managed to smile in all the prom pictures. And wedding pictures.
In a nutshell, our family is mostly all-American with a dash of redneck, a smidgen of mountain man, and a whole lotta peculiar. Or nutty, if you like to go with the nutshell metaphor. The good news is that we love each other a lot. Like Jim Carrey ahhh-lot.
I didn't mention that the younger one lives about two hours away. This stinks.
Now, with the twin and her Littles planning to leave in eight days for Japan, we're all trying to monopolize her time. Or maybe her kids. Any way you want to look at it, I'm not going to be homeschooling this week because I plan on being the annoying auntie who pinches cheeks, begs for snuggles, and even gladly changes their poopy diapers. And those aren't my twin's cheeks or diapers.
Well, the little sis invited the twins and our kids over for a visit this weekend to her home. Real Gil had to work and I really wanted to take the road trip, especially when Grandma and Grandpa offered to go as well. BUT as rare as this might be, I thought of someone other than myself, and realized that the little sis and her hubby don't have kids yet and will probably be very overwhelmed with a total of five rambunctious, raucous, run-a-mucks in their house. So, I declined the invitation.
This is what I missed:
All of this looks like fun. I am not above playing the victim. In fact, it's one of my specialties. But the truth of the matter is that I wasn't jealous, I really wasn't. After all, I was at home taking these sorts of pictures:
Just like I tell my children, sharing is good and kind. I was happy to share the nephews and clone for the weekend.
Until I saw this. The twelfth picture in my dad's emailed slideshow from the weekend.
Guess who is pinching his cheek?
[Prepare yourself, ladies.]
A complete stranger.
And look at my nephew's face. Charming. Sweet.
With a strange woman.
I feel so dirty. Betrayed.
I'm using deep breaths and just hoping that my twin washed his sweet face with Purell.
I'm glad they had a good time.
Across an ocean.
To see their daddy.
To reunite their parents.
Talk about bittersweet.
If you don't hear from me, or if I choose to write about surface topics like how to get stains out of t-shirts or why mountain folk don't plant flowers until June, it's only because I'm afraid this silly web-cam might turn on while I'm bawling at the computer, pouring my broken heart out to you all. But never fear, there's always next week when they are gone, when Grandma and Grandpa's house is too quiet. Then you'll hear all about it.
Until then, I'm doing my best not to strike out at little, old ladies who want to pinch my nephews' cheeks. If you are a little old lady and you are deeply offended by this, let me invite you to pinch my cheeks. They have a little extra meat on them and I offer them, free for the taking. But back away from the nephews. Their chubby cheeks are mine for the next eight days. All that talk about sharing is just my hypocrisy in full motion - yes, the kids share their toys, but I am not sharing the chubs.
I'm savoring them. And hope that you are savoring a few chubby little cheeks, toes, and fingers today, too.
Resting in Him,
P.S. All right. (Harumph.) I'm feeling a little guilty all ready and I haven't even pressed "publish" yet. (Eyes rolling, words mumbling.) Fine. I'll try to share the boys. Come and visit them if you want. Bring them sweet treats and entice them with Hot Wheels. I'm a christian and a christian shares. Good news for you...but don't push it. Or I just might send my children to your bedroom pillow...