So today is the last day of the come blog with me challenge. I have managed to write a blog every day for twenty eight days! That’s a full star chart baby! (if you would like to see why i have an obsession with stars check here https://aimeesbrainspace.wordpress.com/2015/02/03/to-blog-or-not-to-blog/#more-96)
And I am proud. My baby turned four months old yesterday, he is teething and laughs in the face of sleeping, yet I have achieved my goal! (I am secretly expecting a bunch of cheerleaders to come crashing through the door doing a chant. It however will much more likely be lovely boyfriend looking for dinner)
So what to write my final blog of the challenge about? I have been musing as to whether I should write about something topical, and pertinent to everyone or if I should just tell you a story. Maybe I should just give you some facts about me so that you can know some ACTUAL things about how my brain works, and not just my home life.
It’s a tough one. But I am still going to blog (I am aiming for at least three a week) SO maybe it should be something that keeps you chomping at the bit and return to read again.
So I am going with a story. It’s a sort of atonement/public admission sort of thing that should make my brother Adam very happy. The story is set in the last week of the summer holidays 1988.
My brother and I are at the point of the holidays when you start to go a bit stir crazy. You have run out of things to do. Your mum has given up talking to you and is hiding in any room that you are not in most of the time ( or ours was at least )
I was looking forward to returning to school. My pencil case was going to finally look good, I had been bought my first very own highlighter pens and glue stick (in pink, the BEST GLUE EVER) I couldn’t wait to show my friends, to not need to dip into the rubbish communal pot of pens when we needed to highlight things. It was going to be AMAZING.
My brother is three years younger than me. He was playing with our supposedly shared toys ( I was officially too old to be playing with them, but I really didn’t want to relinquish them to him) a farm that my dad had built himself when I was little (it was awesome, I had loved it for years, it had astro turf grass and everything) and a garage (standard fisher price plastic job that most people had in their houses)
Obviously my brother was not having enough fun with the toys as he decided to jazz up his game by taking my new glue stick, drawing all over the farm and the garage with it, then taking all four highlighters and going over the top of the glue with them. All items destroyed in one fell swoop.
I was LIVID. My mum threw everything in the bin and sent my brother to his room. This was not a fitting punishment in my mind.
I was stroppy. I was looking for revenge. But not against my brother anymore. The anger had turned towards my mum (My brother should be in a set of stocks somewhere, or not getting pocket money or SOMETHING better than just going to his room) I went into the kitchen and started looking through cupboards.
I came across a squeezy tube of bright pink shoe polish (It is the eighties remember). My mum had recently got a tumble drier. It was her pride and joy. The door opened downwards like an oven door. I pulled the door down, squeezed shoe polish on it and slammed it shut. Then replaced the shoe polish and walked away feeling like I had dished out an excellent revenge for her not caring enough about my things being ruined.
I go upstairs, play for a while. I sort of forget what I have done.
Dinner time was nearing and I went downstairs to see if I could start being in the kitchen ( you know in that annoying way that kids are when meal times are coming “sniff, sniff, what’s for dinner? URRGGGHHHHH not that! I HATE THAT! Can I have a biscuit? Oh PLEEEEAAASE. I am starving though and dinner is going be rubbish” etc…)
When I walk into the kitchen I see a sight that I have never seen before. My mum is sitting on the kitchen floor, holding shoe polish covered clothes, CRYING.
I made my mum cry.
I was the worst person in the world. So I did the only reasonable thing that a person could do it that position.
“Adam did it.”
My mum went upstairs and made him go and sit in the back garden until my dad came home from work.
It started to rain.
My brother had his face smooshed into the back door crying. My mum wouldn’t let him in.
When dad came home he got a proper hiding.
Over the years it became one of those funny family stories that got told. Remember the Adam and the shoe polish one? This story had been recounted so many times that I even heard my brother telling it to someone. He had created a memory of doing it because he had been told so many times that he did.
I had always planned to confess. But I always chickened out. That is until my siblings and I were having drinks together in 2009. My brother went to tell the story and I (half cut at this point) finally told him what I had done.
His first reaction was to jump up and say “I’m telling dad!” He then realised that there was no point, it had been so long that dad wouldn’t believe him anyway. And we couldn’t tell mum, she had passed away in 1997.
So here we are world. I was a mean, vengeful big sister. I lied about the shoe polish.
Dad, it was me.