Tales of Wit and Charm…

As promised I took the twins to the dinosaur museum over the weekend.  While we were there I realized my brother is raising a teenage daughter, and not just any teenager, but a bratty one.  Which makes me love her even more.

Every time I looked over at Hannah during the 3-D movie she had taken off the glasses.  I tried to explain to her that she needed to wear them to get the full effect.  The first time she listened to me and immediately put the glasses back on.  The second time, however, she didn’t.  Instead she glared at me, pointed her chubby, little finger in my face and screeched, “Sarah, don’t you dare make me freak out at you, because I will!”

It was the single bitchiest thing she’s ever said to me.  I was so pleased I leaned over and gave her a kiss.  This, of course, pissed her off even more.  “Aunt Sarah, seriously I WILL freak out at you if I have to.”

I left her alone, because I, of all people, understand the need to freak out. I love the hell out of this little girl, and feel sorry for anyone who will someday date her.  Seriously.

Today my little brother Jeff turns 28.  Or was it 27.  I forget.  I won’t see him on his birthday.  I didn’t last year, or the year before that.  We used to be as close as siblings could be, but things changed.  Jeff changed.  And I am not good with change.

He’s still a good person. He calls our mother more often than I do.  He buys my grandparents extravagant gifts that I can’t afford.  He makes an effort, but it’s not the same as it once was.  Things happened.  Life happened.

I miss my baby brother, but realize our relationship won’t ever be what it once was.  And I’m finally at a place in my life where I’ve accepted that.

I hate the term ex-wife.  I always have.  When my favorite sister-in-law, Holli, and my brother recently divorced I wasn’t sure how to refer to her on this blog.  In the “character” section she’s referred as the mother of my niece and nephew.  As the only girl in my family, Holli has been the only sister I have ever known, and I’m not quite ready to give that up.

The divorce has been an adjustment not just for my brother, but also for the entire family.

We don’t email or text one another as much as we used to, so last night when I got a text message asking if I wanted to meet her and the kids at Starbucks I jumped at the chance.  I see the kids as much as I always have, but not her.  I miss our girl time.

When I arrived I noticed Holli was wearing a pair of shoes I had given her.  At that moment everything that has transpired between she and my brother was instantly gone.  They can deal with their shit, and leave Holli and I to discuss more important things like shoes and how damn cute the kids are.

And they so, so are.  Last night, my darling niece, Hannah, confessed she only ordered the strawberry frappuccino because it’s pink. I smiled and realized that even though Holli and I won’t be sharing the same last name forever, we will always have Hannah and Carter in common.

Fathers Day this year wasn’t quite as happy as years past. The only home life my beloved niece and nephew have known ended over the weekend when their mommy moved out.

Our family met at Matt’s house for a BBQ.  Ben and I walked in to find my nephew, Carter, laying on the floor where the couch once was with his baby blanket.  My dad had warned me it was going to be a rough day for everyone, and he has never been so right.

Carter was pretty upset by the ordeal. He’s such a tender little guy and seeing him so sad, and knowing I couldn’t help him broke my heart. Ben, on the other hand, was thrilled. Not because he’s a horrible person and enjoys family pain, but because Carter was so upset he let Ben hold him. This is a very rare occurrence.

Hannah, was her cheerful self and informed me she is way luckier than I am because she has two houses and I don’t have any. I didn’t pour my Diet Coke on her head, and instead gave her a new shirt from Mrs. AK and Little AK. She was ecstatic when I told her they had bought one for me as well. “Aunt Sarah, I want to help throw Uncle Mean (Ben) away.”

When the divorce is final I think I’ll throw my brother a fresh meat themed party. I plan to only serve bacon and invite hookers. He wasn’t keen on the hookers, but agreed on strippers. “You know for Ben’s enjoyment.”

My parents are Mormon and don’t drink alcohol. I am not, and do. Usually this really doesn’t affect our relationship, beyond the occasional you’re going to hell lecture. I love my parents, I really do. I just don’t love their chosen religion. I love a good Shiraz way more than I love Baby Jesus. That being said…

Last night Ben and I were driving to meet our parents for dinner.

Me: “I had a long day and since I can’t go home and drink wine on my couch I’m ordering it with dinner. Consider yourself warned.”

Ben: “WHAT?? You can’t do that. Mom and Dad will freak out.”

Me: “Too bad. I specifically choose Red Butte Café so I could order a glass. Having one glass of wine may cast me into outer darkness, but the world will not end.”

Ben: “ I’m not letting you drag me into this. I will take you to the bar afterwards and get you as drunk as you want, just please do not order wine with dinner. Please?”

Me: “Fine. If it’s that important to you I won’t. But I’m ordering a dietfuckingcoke then.”

Ben: “How old are you?”

Me: “12.”

Ben: “OK, I can live with that. You’ll get a dirty look from mom, but there won’t be any yelling.”

Me: “I think saying fuck is a lot more offensive to her than ordering wine. I’m willing to bet you one bar tab on it. We’ll ask her when Dad goes to pay for dinner.”

We did and she was horrified that Ben even asked her. “You know how much I hate that word, Benjamin,” she hissed at him. And for once I came out looking like the good kid!  The good kid that’s getting shit-faced on Ben’s tab all weekend long.

My brother was out of town yesterday so I picked up his four-year-old twins from daycare.  I knew it was going to be a good night when I walked in and Hannah started jumping up and down and told her teacher, “That’s my aunt Sarah, she’s a total rockstar.”

As per usual, the ride home consisted of Jesus talk.  These kids are just as obsessed with him as I am.  So much for the Jesus talk dying  (Puntastic, no?) down after Easter.

“Aunt Sarah, we have to take a different road home.”

“Why, buddy?”

“Because Jesus brought a big, yellow pipe and left it on our street.”

“Um… why would Jesus leave a pipe in your street?”

“Aunt Sarah, the road is broken.  Some big tractors came and dug it up, and then Jesus left a big, yellow pipe to fix it with.”

“Did this Jesus guy have a hard hat on?”

“Yes.”

“Buddy, I’m pretty sure that was a construction worker, not Jesus.”

“NOOO, it was Jesus… I just know it.”

“Seriously, buddy, I know for a fact Jesus is not a construction worker.  Grandma told me he was a carpenter.”

Silence.  Oh heavenly silence.

And then… in an amazed tone he asks, “Grandma knows Jesus?!”

Fuck.

I wanted to tell him that his grandma is obsessed with Jesus.  And not in the fun/blasphemous way I am, but in the “Jesus is the Savior” kind of way.  I’ll let him figure that one out on his own.