You could say I’ve experienced the calm before the storm. The calm being my mother scrubbing the house, invading my bathroom to criticize my hygiene (I’m normal, I promise), and the storm being my sisters returning from their respective locations for the holiday season.
The advent calendar is nice; I happily can count how close I am to Christmas, but the real indication of when my sisters will return for the holidays is how spontaneously clean my bathroom gets.
It usually happens in the afternoon.
I sit in my room on my laptop, and I hear someone in my bathroom. I inspect, and mother is scrubbing the sinks, rearranging my toiletries, and generally being weird. For whatever reason, my bathroom has to be cleaned before my sisters arrive later that day.
I’m hygienic, I swear.
It bugs me enough having to share my bathroom with them again, but the fact that my mom invades my domain just for the suiting of my sisters ….well that’s just wrong.
The ultimate tribute to my familial status is stitched into couches.
My family loves a bargain, Mom loves a coupon, and somehow the ultimate card-up-the-sleeve in her travel log is to never ever ever give me a bed when we travel.
I’ve slept on couches in at least 4 states and 3 time zones, and not because I wanted to. Sounds a lot like a First World Problem, but the emotional, mental, and physical toll of sleeping on the couch is taxing.
Some smell like dirt, some smell like fresh linen, some scratch your back because people somehow track sand inside and onto the couch, and some smell like those towels at the gym. My favorite was the couch in Hocking Hills, Ohio, where the styrofoam filled pillows coupled nicely with the raccoon trapped inside the wall for a great night.
I should write a travel book on couches.
I complain a lot on here, but it’s not that bad. I channel a lot of stress from whatever, but a lot of it may just be the fact that I enjoy being lazy, but maybe also because I love my basement (as I’ve mentioned before).
I strongly believe a Man Cave is something essential to my sanity, and every man who has to deal with people that bother them at some point should have one.
First of all, the lighting: I can adjust the lights to however I want. Bright for whatever reason I’d want to see the creatures scurrying under the couch for my crumbs, or dark for sleepage.
As any 7th grade geologist knows, temperatures stay constant under the ground, and my Cave is no exception, staying at a frosty 56 degrees Fahrenheit (I made that up I have no clue, I just know its perfect for my Snuggie).
The TV is an obvious one, providing the entertainment and escape I need from a stressful day of being the last child.
Superman needed a Fortress of Solitude, so I’ve got a basement that pretty much keeps me comfortable and at hermit status when needed.
Being the last child pretty much means a lot of independence.
But there is always that example of independence where they push the baby bird out of the nest and it can’t actually fly and then you find a dead baby bird in your back yard and the cat starts chewing on it…
And since I’m the last child my parents are sorta letting me handle all this college stuff on my own. Not a huge deal but the Common App has pretty much become the bane of my existence.
I’ve cut it close on a few deadlines already because of my independence, but I don’t think I’ll end up like a dead baby bird that my cat turns into a “present”.
But hey, I’ve trained my whole life for this independence, so things are just getting good.
Although my siblings are old and gone from home now, they have still managed to be influential factors in my life.
Not like advice giving or role model factors, but more like when we’d fight because I wasn’t allowed to play with them.
This came about when they decided to break into my online bank account (that I have never had access to) to borrow money from me.
The fact that hundreds of miles away they are allowed to get into my meager savings account and take my money is slightly upsetting.
They took all my college tuition money…now they’re taking all of my college tuition money…
Now that I’m 18 I’m not a child.
But anyway, after a loooooong summer, I’ve returned to my public journal for complaining.
Tune in; senior year promises epic battles over college visits and decisions, Senioritis, breaking curfew, being a general ne’er-do-well.
Here are a few episodes to look forward to in the year:
College Application season (September-whatever the deadlines are)
College visit season (whenever I’m allowed to visit Ohio State)
Family Visits Adult Sister for Thanksgiving (whenever Thanksgiving is)
Being the last child, your parents aren’t quite as afraid that messing with you will turn you into a shiftless hobo, or a meth tweaker, which I’m pretty sure most parents are afraid their children will turn into if they screw them up.
Naturally being the last child, and realizing this probably won’t happen (maybe), I’m the subject of quite a few sick jokes.
The other day, my dad asked if I wanted a new car.
“Check it out.”
Normally I’d recognize the unlikeliness of this being even remotely true, but a new car is something that really gets my engine revving. (shoot me)
I looked at the computer screen and started to get excited. And then he slapped me back to reality:
“Want to go to college? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH”