My siblings are my best friends. We have a blast, anytime, anywhere, no matter what. Just this past Saturday, Max and Emily came to my house at 1 in the morning, slept over and left at 9 the same morning….yet it was still a joyous, remembrance. We have something unique compared to other siblings. Don’t even try to explain to me that your sibs are as cool. They aren’t. It’s always amusing to be asked how and why we are so close and to be exalted as examples that others want their children’s relationship to resemble. They witness our closeness, our goofiness, trustfulness and support of one another and that hopeful envy runs through their veins. Not a day goes by that I don’t speak to one of my siblings and it’s extremely rare that a week goes by that I haven’t spoken to them all multiple times. We vent, growl, exclaim, yell and goof off at one another, and it all ends in tears of happiness. After this gloat, and some input from the younger sib Max, I will now start my post.
Nostalgic Thoughts
Stomping
Max and I were conversing about this exact topic one late evening, when Emily arrived home from an eventful Homecoming Dance. Immediately, and without pre explanation, we asked her, what does this remind you off…? All Max said was thump thump thump. Emily’s prompt response….WHEN MOM NEEDED US FOR SOMETHING OR IF DINNER WAS READY!!!! And she was one hundred percent accurate. In Otown, we lived at 475 Hiland Dr. The home of champions. It was an older house and not as spacious as the Land of Bugs’ abode. We don’t know when or how it happened, but as a calling, my mother would pound on the ground when she was above level, three times, with her right foot, and we would all rise from below and be at her side. Usually it was the dinner bell; at times it was because she needed all of us, and other times, it was done by my father, more sternly…because we were being too loud. But we all knew what it meant and we all missed it when we moved. Solution….we told mother, and she is now going to start stomping again. YES!!!!
Scurrying
The Otown home was also creaky. Floor boards made it impossible to sneak into the kitchen, or scare someone. But it had its advantages. If we were running, not in bed when we were supposed to, we would hear either an even thump, thump,thump, or a limping thumpidy thump, thumpidy thump. The former being my even legged mother, the latter being the not so even legged father, and we knew they were coming down stairs. The loyalty to each other vanished immediately. Last man for himself. We scurried to our rooms as fast as possible. Our outlines were left in smoke as we trampled one another to be in our required bed and not get caught disobeying, because remember, we are perfect, kind, obedient children. But things changed again when the Land of Bugs was our place of residence. We were older, didn’t have a bed time, and if we were up after we were suggested to go to bed, it was due to being studious and acing a midterm paper or test. Bleh, not as fun.
Don’t wake up Daddy
Do you remember this family board game? Well we didn’t have it. We made it life size. It often happened Sunday afternoons, as dad was taking a nap on the floor of the family room. I hated this game. With a passion. I would have rather consumed my time with playing Nintendo….and I hated Nintendo. But this game. Dad was sleeping…so we thought….and we would proceed to risk our life. I have no idea how I got pressured to join the other three insane George’s in playing this, but we would quietly prance around our sleeping father’s body, and see how close we could get to him without waking him….then BAM. He would wake, snatch one of us, and tickle our entire, stiff, yet squiggly bodies violently. It hurt, especially when the infamous scratchy goatee was included in the torture. Rashes were formed and he wouldn’t stop because we were laughing. “If you don’t like it, why are you laughing still?” Then we would do everything in our weak bodies, to hold in the laugh, he would let us go, and we again, would try to prance around his “sleeping” body. What in the hell were we thinking? How in the world was this game fun? But it all ended, when the head of the George family was taken away drastically. Bishop. Bleh. Sundays were no longer fun.
Clean up Game
Max and I didn’t talk about this last night, but previously we have and I thought, and still do think, we were genius. One Christmas, Santa brought noodles. Remember the swimming floatation devices? Well he brought those but they were all sorts of sizes, included connectors and were of various colors. You could build a plethora of gadgets, castles and even a helicopter with them. We used them for years! When I became of age to babysit, this is when I become a genius and knew my mothering skills were excellent. I would take one of these noodles, connect them to a sword like handle, and tell my three young naive blood relatives, that it was a vacuum and if this vacuum were to touch any toys that were on the floor, it would suck up the toy and never be seen again. Not only did the house get cleaned, I was perceived as a great babysitter because I got the house cleaned, but I also avoided cleaning at the same time. It was a game, I was in charge and the basement was cleaned in record time. The time arrived, when my second in command brother figured out my scheme. So instead of throwing the game in the trash, he joined in. Now we had two vacuums and two cleaners. And the cleaning proceeded to occur, all while avoiding actual cleaning. Right?! Motherly. Clever, productive, fun and twisted.
There are many more adventures of the Georges that occurred at 475 Hiland Dr. but those are to be saved for another time. Peace.
