Is that Jen, again?

If I had a nickel for every time that the phone rings, and Jayme says, "it's Chrissy...again" or every time I pick up the phone to call someone and he says, "are you calling your sister...again?", I would be a rich woman. In his opinion we talk a lot. I, however, have no idea what he's talking about. I only call my sister when I need something.

Chrissy is almost five years older than me, and we have a lot in common besides genetics. We are both teachers, wives, and mothers of young kids; so there are plenty of opportunities for me to need something from her. Occasionally, I need teaching advice, or just someone to vent to about such- and- such a student. More often I need parenting advice because suddenly Trevor doesn't want to take naps anymore and Taryn is starting to sass me. I don't always want to call, but I NEED to, because after we talk I am certain that I am not alone in my woes. I am, almost certainly, not the only mother who wishes to be sentenced to a few hours in solitary confinement just every once in a while.

I need to talk to her about all different things. Occasionally, yet be assured very rarely, I need her to tell me that I don't need to worry about what Mom said, because she's "crazy" anyway. And, on the nights when I think that grilling one more hamburger or spinning one more salad might kill me; I absolutely need Chrissy to reassure me that it is indeed a lot to expect me to cook dinner EVERY NIGHT. When I have to bake some deliciously rich dessert for a baby shower, and I know my sister has the perfect recipe,one from my grandmother's recipe box, then what else can I do but call Chrissy? I need that recipe, and she has them all!! And when I send my 95 year old grandfather the "Best Birthday Card Ever", I need to tell her so that she can mail her more inferior card out too, and get it there in time.

It isn't always easy. There are days when I am tired of talking. I have talked to my students, my husband, my kids, my coworkers, the guy that is doing market research (just as I get dinner on the table), and the man from the Fraternal Order of Police. On those nights, quite frankly, the last thing that I want to do is to talk to one more person. Alas, I need to call my sister to tell her that I played my turn in our Scrabble games on Facebook, and there was a line on a TV show the night before that reminded me of her or our family growing up. Sometimes, its a little bit random, like when I just need her that she doesn't have to worry about me because I met a new friend at work, who I think really "gets" me. After all, she knows that people seldom really get me. Likewise, when they serve Buffalo Wings and celery at lunch, and the celery is so fresh that I can smell it, well, then I need to tell her that I know how much she would have hated just being in the celery's presence. I have no choice.

I love my friends, my husband, and my kids, but I am surrounded by people who have only known me for 15 years, and most for much fewer. I need to know that in her I have someone who "knew me when...". She knew me when I had a mullet, and braces, and allegedly peed in a yellow Vega. She knew me when I was really good at basketball, and spent consecutive summers at Martha's Vineyard playing "Pitch" and "Cribbage" with my aunts, uncles, and cousin. She knew me when I was Grandpa's favorite and when I caught my brother smoking pine needles in the back yard. Somehow, I need her to make me seem more real. My imagination is quite inventive, and me creating my whole past is not unfathomable, even to me.

So, maybe I do call a lot, but that's just because I "need" a lot.

What I need most is just to know that she is there.

"Pooh," he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."”