Stop

I am cynical.

 

I am jaded.

 

I am an unapologetic Spice Girls fan.

 

They. Are. Awesome. I will brook no argument on the subject.

 

I’m driving along in the ol’ minivan, and their song “Stop” comes on. Two memories come bubbling up, and I end up grinning till my cheeks ache.

 

1. My sister (possibly drunk) sings along to the Mel C. part of the song.  She affects a throaty, skanky, cigarette-strained tone. She sounds like a pre-post-op transvestite. And she kept it up way longer than was necessary (or healthy for her larynx) just for my amusement. Even funnier, I just found out she had the lyrics all wrong. Of course.

2. My other sister is beside me, driving to Saskatoon. “Stop” comes on, and she insists that singing is not enough, there is 50’s doo-wop choreography that goes with this song, and it shall be done. It is not her problem that I am driving. Figure it out. I am desperately trying to learn the moves, execute them, and keep the car between the lines. One of those tasks suffered.

    

And even as I’m enjoying these bits from the past, I can feel the sad poking in. I miss them so much. They only live 3, and 1 ½ hours away, respectively. But crap, life gets in the way. It’s a horrible, cliché of an excuse. But when you put kids, jobs, school, husbands, friends, etc. etc. in the mix, it’s hard.

 

Growing up, we plotted ways to avoid each other. For a time, I virtually woke up swinging, I was fighting with the first sister so much. My mom was forever saying “Hate is a very strong word…” Duh. That’s why I used it. It’s been over 15 years since I lived with them, and if you told me today that I could go back to seeing them every day, I’d be ecstatic.

 

I look at my own babies. The 20 month old is going through a phase where her bliss is derived from smacking the crap out of the 4 year old. Consequently, the 4 year old isolates himself from her, right after sneering at her and shaking a fist in her face. (My son informed me that he loves me and his dad “100%.” But he only loves his sister “medium”.) I tell them to enjoy each other. They look at me like I just turned green and sprouted another head.

 

This afternoon, when things got too quiet, I found them both curled up on my son’s bed. They were watching a movie, my daughter using her brother’s hand to shield her eyes from a scene she didn’t like. And he was saying “It’s ok” over and over into her hair.

 

Clearly, the state of their relationship is beyond my control.