Humming Beatles' tune: 'All we need is love, love' . . . or maybe we need more?

There is so much history here, I cannot possibly fill you in.  This is my best efforts at the cliff notes version.   Apologies in advance if you find this repetitive or if you came here hoping for a laugh: 

I enjoyed a pretty great childhood.  There was no abuse, no living in squalor.  We took vacations, swam at the local pool, joined activities.  Mom was a stay-at-home mom.  Dad worked hard as an accountant/controller at a big company that often left him grouchy, but his mood improved if we cleaned up our toys and cleared our plates.  

I have four siblings, so was never lonely.  We were encouraged to read.  We did household chores.  Discipline was part of life.  Mom baked the best cookies and all of our friends knew it.  Our folks would NEVER have purchased an Atari game system no matter how much we begged, but then my sister won one in a Kellogg's drawing contest, so we avoided a deprived childhood. 

I suffered a bit (understatement) from middle child syndrome because my position in the family sucked.  My two older sisters were rule-following, try-hard, mousey types.  They never rocked the boat and they were really tight.  Two years separated them, so they were often lumped together, as in:  they got to see the movie Grease together and attend sleepovers at our cousin's house because she fell between them age wise. 

I arrived two years and eight months after my sister, Marie, but you would think that there was a 10 year age gap, ie:  I was NOT lumped in with them for outings and such.

My brother, Pat, was less than a year younger than me.  Mike was 18 mos younger than him.  So, I was packaged as one of the 'three little ones.'  This worked fine and dandy until my brothers decided to play a 'boys only' game and I was out of luck.  In a word, my birth order sucked. 

Pat walked on water.  Still does.  There was some serious parental worship.  The kid could do no wrong.  He was after all, the first born son in an Irish family.  Meanwhile, Mike was just super cute.  Everyone enjoyed him. Nuff said?

I sought outside relationships from the families I babysat for.  I felt needed, praised, and overall important when I was at their homes.  I got the attention that was somewhat lacking in my family.  At home, I worried about getting in trouble.  Marie once helped me hide in the basement when Mom was on the warpath and I was her target.  I was far from one of the goody-goody sisters and if I tried to walk on water, I sank. 

Fast-forward a million years to present day.  I tried for years to be recognized or to join their mentality.  I am embarrassed to say that for too long, I believed my family members and their mindset about everything was 'right.'  I tripped over myself to align with them.  

Then something incredible happened:  I grew. 

My doll,. Bridget.  My grandma
made her this
 outfit when her hair fell out
so it wouldn't be obvious
 under her bonnet.  

I no longer needed my folks' approval for shit.  I stopped caring what they thought (sort of - cause if I really didn't care then I guess I wouldn't be writing this, right?).  

An example of how my sisters still require my folks approval:  Ann (the oldest, most controlling creature alive) wanted to name her 4th baby Claire.  Mom told her she didn't like that name.  Ann decided instead to name her Bridget.  Bridget was my favorite girl name of all time.  I played with a doll through 8th grade named Bridget (yes, I babysat and I played with dolls and I could not wait to have a million kids.  FYI 6 is the new million).  By the time I had a daughter, the name Bridget had been used.  OK, so the naming thing happened 19 years ago, but nothing has changed.  Trust me. 

When I found someone to make a kitchen table for me, I asked her to put a monogram on it in the corner.  The opposite corner has a Celtic knot on it. 

Mom:  Oh, I don't like monograms. 

Me:  Oh.  I do.  (my former self together with my sisters would have said:  Oh, I am going to cancel the monogram).

My happy childhood was often saddened by the impact of gross favoritism.  Marie and Pat are incredibly smart.  I was in the middle of that.  Smart counts for a lot in my family.  I am no dummy, but I lack the genius gene inherited by Marie and Pat.  

Or I was just made to feel lousy.  When no one asked me to the prom senior year, I told Mom that my girlfriends and I were going to my friend's club for dinner -her parents' treat - and then we were going to sleep over at her house.  

Mom:  If no one asked you to the prom, then you aren't going to a sleepover.  

(I actually believe that she said:  If you aren't pretty enough for someone to ask you to the prom, then you aren't going to a sleepover - but I am not 100% sure if she spoke those words or if that is how I 'heard' it.  Either way, the same message was implied.  The words 'not pretty' had been directed at me plenty.  Why my self image was SO low?  Hmm).  I did go out with my friends that night - just took the car after school and left before anyone was home from work.

Marie has a kid at Notre Dame, which is where my dad went and where Marie went, and where Mike and Pat went to school (go ahead and try to uncover my true identity now that you know that.  Good luck).  Having a daughter there is just one more feather in Marie's cap.

TODAY:

Ann is a victim of abuse from her penis-less, ex-husband who she has been divorced from for 12 years and everyone tip toes around her and tries to find ways to keep her happy.  She has always spoken with a weird entitled lilt to her voice.  I have a very curly headed kid aptly named Curly (Bridget was taken, see:  Mom did't like the name Claire).  

Ann once said to me in her entitled tone:  "I mean I always wanted a kid with curly hair."  I was not sure how to respond: 'Oh, here take mine.'  Weird.

Marie talks stock market stuff with Dad.  Calls Mom everyday at the same time on her way home from work.  If I try to call at the same time, Mom who has call waiting will NOT pick up my call.  If I happen to be on the phone with Mom at a different time and an unexpected call comes in from Marie (or anyone else) while we are on the phone, Mom:  "Oops, that's Marie (or whoever), I better take this." 

Ann and Marie get together without me.  Sometimes Mom joins them.  It hurts even though I don't enjoy spending time with them.  They are judgmental and closed minded and GOD AWFUL controlling and under a spell that requires them to clear every move they make with our parents.   Original thoughts are not their strong suit.  

A few years ago, Ann posted on FB when she took Marie to an Ed Sheeran concert for Marie's 50th.  Even if they asked me, I would not want to go to that concert.  Not the point.  They didn't ask.  I am the only other fucking sister. 

Years ago, my folks planned a surprise party for Ann to celebrate her getting her masters in nursing or something.  The ruse was:  Ann and Marie go to a movie followed by dinner.  We were all waiting at the restaurant.  Lad and Ed were invited (my younger kids were not, but Marie's youngest daughter - younger than Tank WAS invited).  Lad asked me why I wasn't going to the movie before the dinner with my sisters.  I was like, well then Ann would have known something was up since I am not normally included in their sister outings.  EVEN MY KIDS SEE IT AS TWISTED.

I was working at a dumb job in a Catholic grade school doing advancement stuff when I called Mom one day.  She told me:  "So Marie got a really good job offer today (after staying home for years) Your father and I always knew some company would snatch Marie up because she is just so smart."  I glanced around the storage closet I was working in at the Catholic School and thought, 'Hmm, so I have NOT made it then?'

Pat used to bring his four kids to my parents' house on Sunday afternoons to give his wife, who is a doctor, a break.  (might still do this for all I know.  I stumbled upon these special Sundays on accident once and his daughter told Mini that they did it every Sunday).  Mom would make them lunch, and they would play and Pat would have an audience with Dad.  I honest to God chuckle to think of what would happen if I showed up with my kids one day to just, you know, hang out, or be fed, or chat. 

Pat also sets up Dad's computer and troubleshoots all computer related issues for Dad.  Extra gold stars for this shining star! 

Pat once told me that Mini should quit dancing because she was also taking fiddle lessons from Aunt Leprechaun, Pat's wife.  They didn't know anyone who had been successful at both.  "Oh, shucks Wally, I guess you're right.  Let me yank her from dancing because YOU said so."  

My dad answers the phone with a warm "What'd ya need, Ernie?" when I call.  Guessing my two brothers or Marie, or even poor Ann, don't get that greeting because they call to talk White Sox line ups and stats and stocks and earth shattering shit.

Mike is a good guy.  He manages just fine from the perimeter (I consider myself out on the perimeter too) but he enjoys deep sports-related conversations and banking-related chats with Dad.  He isn't excluded from anything.  He and Pat are practically Siamese.  Mom told me years ago when Mike got his promotion at the bank that he makes REALLY good money.  It is pretty evident, but thanks for the heads up Mom. 

Sorry to have to stop here (before this becomes longest post ever) but the direct hit from yesterday (Feb. 26th) is a whole post in and of itself.  I will share it with you tomorrow - won't make you wait two days.  I have cried so much that I hate going out in public.  It looks like I am suffering from some puffy, eye ailment instead of shitty-family syndrome. 

I would have posted sooner, but I didn't want to screw up the pre-determined post date of the coolest story ever told that I shared Monday.  If you haven't checked it out - I strongly urge you to do so.  Mind blowing, right?