A few weeks ago, my little sister, Carrie, and I got into a sick text fight.
Lest you are confused and mistaking "text fight" for "text battle" (which, obviously, would be like a rap battle, but with awesome rhyming texts), let me clarify right now. It was not a badass virtual versification. It was an actual fight. Like, a mean one. Where the involved parties write to wound.
I don't remember exactly how it got started... Okay, that's a lie. I'm a petty bitch, so I obviously recall every detail of my sister's offenses.
She and I disagree on a lot. And by a lot, I mean, everything. She's religious. I'm not. She's Republican. I'm not. That's pretty much it, actually. And here I thought it was going to take longer to explain...
Anyway, she and I were chatting on the phone when she said something about one of the (now sidelined) Conservative candidates practically being a Democrat. I got on Facebook and posted how funny it was that two blood relatives can be so different. She mistook what I intended as a playful jest as barbed commentary regarding her intelligence, and she sent me a text (essentially) telling me I was a twat for attacking her. I responded by saying that if I had meant to hurt her, she'd know, because she'd be hella hurt.
Things went downhill from there, with her accusing me of wanting to kill all the babies (because I'm pro-choice) and me telling her that she's the shittiest sister to ever shit (because I'm totally rational in the face of disagreement.)
Please keep in mind that when this all happened, my sister had just given birth to my newest nibling, who is the fourth child Carrie has under the age of 4. She was exhausted, hormonal, and all around umbrageous. While she had an excuse for being cranky, I was just being crabby for crab's sake, because that's how I roll, but without any crabs, because a) I don't like seafood, and b) I've always used protection. (Note: I was just informed by my husband that condoms do not protect you from the creepy cooter crawlers. Double Note: I am now curious as to why my husband is so knowledgeable on this matter.)
Carrie and I don't fight often. In fact, we never fight. Hand to God, this is the one and only squabble we've had since I graduated from high school. So, honestly, if our first tussle came at ages 30 (her) and 32 (me), then I think we're pretty fucking chill. Or really, really repressed. Fifty-fifty, I'd guess.
Regardless, this 30-minute whopper of a text exchange was unsettling, and it didn't help that I ended it by texting, "I hope your dog eats all your kids' homework forever, and they all get expelled, and then you have to homeschool ALL FOUR OF THEM AT ONCE and then they get chicken pox ALL FOUR OF THEM AT ONCE." (I know, right? She needs some aloe vera for that buuuuuuurn.)
A few minutes after that, my phone rang, and I picked up, expecting a shouting match. Instead, I was greeted by a Minnie Mouse-esque voice saying, "Hello, Aunt Bekah? Are you there?"
Well, hot damn. Turns out, my sister isn't nearly as stupid as she apparently thought I had said she was. She had my 4-year-old niece call me, and, as niblings are my Kryptonite, it worked.
"Hello, Aunt Bekah? Mommy told me you are sad, and I don't want you to be sad anymore, so I wanted to tell you about the things that make me happy, okay? Birthdays..."
And that toddler went on for who knows how long listing every. single. bleeping. thing. that makes her happy: kittens, dancing, candy, more birthdays, her mommy, her daddy, breakfast, tractors, balloons, raccoons, swimming, etc. And at the end, she asked, "Do you feel better now, Aunt Bekah? Did I make you happy?"
Dammit, y'all, she did. Oh, she did. She and her chirpy little happy list made this Auntie damn near giddy.
And this, folks, is the #1 reason I need a kid... so I always have a way to win an argument.
(P.S. Sorry about that super fucking scary picture of that child dressed up as a clown, but that's what you get when you type "Happy Kid" into a Google Image search and you're too lazy to find something more befitting your particular anecdote.)
True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. What's the worst thing you've ever said to your siblings? One time my brother told my (severely overweight) older sister that she needed a liposuction. He was just a kid at the time and didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was mean. It's still one of my favorite childhood memories. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes? What mean thing have you said to your siblings? Or how have you used your children to make people happy? Have you ever been blindsided by a rosy rug rat who just wants to make you not sad anymore? Can you order your children extra-peppy? Or do you have to train them to intervene in these sort of scenarios? Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.