The Secret Lives of Sisters

I’ve already admitted I’m a snoop. But my snooping doesn’t extend only to my husband. Oh no, I snoop on the baby (well, that’s justified I guess- I’m a little worried that she’s going to stuff the “I” from her new foam alphabet somewhere it doesn’t belong), I snoop on the neighbors across the street (a new car, eh? Looks like she won’t be staying at home with her kids any time soon!), I even snoop on the damn dog when I get bored enough (what is he SNIFFING at over there?! These binoculars are a piece of shit!).

But my favorite people to snoop on are my 12 and 14-year-old stepdaughters. Mostly because it’s just so easy. They spend the bulk of their time in our playroom, which is up a short flight of stairs next to my office (a room everyone else insists on calling the kitchen), and the way the room is laid out, I can stand at the bottom of the stairs and peer into the room through the bars of the landing. Hidden by a large wicker chair that sits in front of said bars, I can see- and not be seen. And oh, I’ve seen volumes.

The fact is, it’s making me a better stepmother. Because when 14 comes tumbling down the stairs (giving me mere seconds to run back to my “position” in front of a pot of simmering spaghetti sauce), this is what she tells me…

14: I was up there, trying to be helpful, and I asked 12 to let me do her hair for the soccer game. Because it would look so good. And she won’t! She won’t let me! And she slapped my arm when I tried to just touch her hair!

But this is what I overheard minutes before…

14: You know, 12, your hair could look really good if it didn’t have all those lumps in it when you try to fix it. And if you didn’t have all those split ends. You should let me fix it for the soccer game.
12: Shut up.
14: Gosh. I was just trying to help! You’re so mean to me. It’s not my fault your hair is so stringy. Most people would be glad if their sister offered to do their hair, especially if it looked as bad as yours does today.
12: I said shut UP!
14: Gosh. (reaches over to fix, i.e., yank on,12’s hair)
12: (slaps 14’s arm away) LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
14: (realizes 12’s shrieks must be audible in the kitchen, rushes down for damage control with the stepmom).

So instead of telling 12 to stop being rude and let her sister do her hair, I tell 14 to leave 12 alone and let her do her homework. And that’s that.

Now, you can tell from the above “secret” conversation that 14 is merely honing her verbal skills so that she can one day hold her own as a Woman, whether in the corporate world (“Annette! How brave of you to wear those enormous shoulder pads on the day the CEO is in town! Gosh! You’ll really stand out!”) or on the home front (“You’re a great husband! Gosh! I don’t care what my friends say about your breath!”) .

But as we know, there’s a desert of separation between the ages of 12 and 14– so my 12-year-old often can’t tell whether 14 is applying intermediate-level conversational torture techniques… or if she’s just trying to hang. Therefore many of the playroom exchanges I overhear go like this…

14: Hey, 12, do you wanna see if “That’s So Raven” is on?
12: (Pause) (Sound of 12’s mental gears turning, trying to decide whether this is a trick. Hmmm. Must be a trick) Shut up! Brat!
14: (assumes the hurt face) Gosh, 12! I thought you liked that show! I was trying to be nice. And you called me a brat!
12: Yeah. I did. Because you are a brat. Brat! You’re a total brat and you know it!
14: Gosh!
12: Shut up! Stupid brat!
14: (rushes down stairs to tell on 12. Gives me a strange look as she finds me rushing down the stairs directly below her). Gosh! Did you hear that?!
Me: (Panting) No! Absolutely not! Hear what?
14: She called me a brat!
Me: She probably thought you were making fun of her.
14: ….Yeah. She probably did. (Runs back upstairs).

Voila! Problem solved.

You see, dear readers, great moms (and stepmoms) don’t really have eyes in the back of their heads. They simply have good hiding places.