Dear Big Sister: Please stop trying to make me feel better because you’re really bad at it. Love, Me.

For future reference, when sisters fail, Peanut M&M’s never let you down.

“I had a day last week. It was a “something’s wrong” day, and it took me about five hours to figure out what the problem was, and five seconds to realize there was not much I could do about it.

In retrospect, the day started right around midnight when my daughter rolled over (Daddy’s gone and she begged to come snuggle), cuddled up, and flat out wet the bed.

My bed.

Good morning, Vietnam.

The day progressed and I began to get that post-Thanksgiving too-tight-of-pants sensation, but it was affecting my aura instead of my zipper (actually, my zipper wasn’t feeling so great either). During the first few hours of the morning, I spoke with lively intent (yelled), walked with purpose around the house (stomped), and basically squinted my eyes and showed teeth when anyone came within four feet of me.

At one point I actually spent thirty minutes scurrying around putting Stuff Left Out away, trying to scratch that obnoxious unsettling itch. When the house hit 75% clean, I knew wiping the counters off one more time wasn’t going to make me feel better.

I turned on the television, but Law and Order was a rerun and Rachel Ray was annoying.

I checked my email, but no one types anything that matters anymore.

Finally, after wasting an entire morning wallowing in discomfort, I gave it up and called my sister.

“I’m…bothered,” I said.

“Why?” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Yes you do, think about it. There’s obviously something irritating you. What is it?”

And with one little tap, the nut cracked and out my problems came.

“The house isn’t rented, J Bird is in Florida, June is regressing so bad that the orphanage won’t even take her this week, the kitty’s going to the vet tomorrow, the baby has her top teeth–a very stupid invention if you ask me–I’ve got new wrinkles, the scale was up two pounds, and I spent the last of my grocery money on socks and will have to cook dinner for the kids tonight instead of pizza. Besides that, we still haven’t sold our Sequoia.”

“Yeah, that stinks,” she said, “And you’re never going to sell that car, with gas prices rising every day.”

For the record, this is the worst thing to say to someone trying to unload a vehicle that averages ten yards a gallon on the highway. My sister obviously hasn’t read How To Cheer Up Your Sister In Ten Words or Less, a book that I’m planning to write sometime next week.

“That’s not what I needed to hear,” I said.

“Oh. Well, is there anything you can do about any of this?” she asked.


“I didn’t think so. Well then, did you watch What Not To Wear last night?” And just about that fast we both moved on.

Life gives everyone problems. It felt good to acknowledge them, even if they couldn’t be resolved right away. And thank goodness for a sister who doesn’t always try to fix things.”


(PS – We’ve sold the car and rented the house. Yay!)




  1. Rachael Ray IS annoying! Good thing you can wallow in pity while stuffing your face with cheesecake and making your fat pants even fatter.

  2. Wow, that was easy. I wish I had a sister to solve my problems.

    Cute post.

    • Thanks for reminding us you can have a bad day, and it is normal! You could have spray painted that hugh mirror you bought! It can be Therapy! I hope you keep writing and blogging when you move. You are so darn good and a bright spot in a sometimes mundane life! Have a Good Day!

  3. Everyone needs someone to help keep them grounded, and sisters are the best.

    Congrats on selling the car AND renting the house. You’re living right, I am sure.

  4. Sold the car..AND rented the house. See things are looking up already.
    Yeah, sounds like your sis is a no bull-sheez kinda gal.
    I slept with my grand daughter once and she wet the bed…..I certainly did not want her to feel bad, but ICK-O
    Good Morning Vietnam…that was funny!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  5. I resemble this post. I am the older sister, and no matter how hard I try, I always say the wrong thing. I think it’s genetic.


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