As we waited for a table for breakfast on Sunday, which happened to be Mother’s Day, the boys grew bored, even with their uncles standing right there to amuse. But what’s more fun than messing with your brother? Not much. So my boys were touching each other, pushing each other, making jokes about each other, getting into each other’s faces to make weird noises, hugging/strangling each other, just messing with each other. Nothing turned into a fight, it just hovered there.
My Mom: Your boys like messing with each other. A lot.
Me: (shrugged) Most siblings do.
My Mom: You kids didn’t.
A montage of childhood antics flashed before my eyes. The Face crying when the swing knocked him in the back of the head. The Friendly Giant dropping and breaking my piggy bank as I wrestled The Face. Turning and seeing The Friendly Giant with a clump of my hair in his hands. Wrestling for hours over the damn remote. Arguing over the green glass. Fighting over the green glass. Holding a finger just an inch away from the other person. Swearing I would break that finger if it wasn’t removed. Walking into my room to find the Great Beheading Barbie Massacre of ’89. Swearing unholy revenge on behalf of those Barbies and Skippers. Trying to make the others talk during the Quiet Game. Trying to mime that my brothers were cheating on the Quiet Game. Complaining about being near each other in the car. “His leg is touching mine!” “Her hair is touching me!” “He’s over the line on my side!” The lecture we all received about how wrong it was to punch or kick someone in the groin; and our mother telling us she wanted grandchildren one day. Breaking into a clean-underwear fight during our chore of folding the underwear. (Much like a snowball fight but with underwear) The Face asking if I wanted to see time fly as he threw my glow-in-the-dark watch across the room. Learning that heads bounce off dry wall. Telling the Friendly Giant if he didn’t get in the pool and play with us the vulture would get him. Ferocious fights during Shark games or Water Polo. Screaming s/he is cheating! Never finishing a game of Monopoly because someone always stole from the bank and we end up throwing pieces and money at each other. Fighting over video games. Tons of cut-downs. Tons of name calling. Tons of pulling faces. Tons of tattling. Tons of pushing, hitting, kicking, shoving, scratching, and pulling hair.
Me: Yeah, we did.
My Mom: You’re obviously misremembering.
Me: One of us is.