Abusing loved ones for fun and profit.

One of my pals recently admitted to hiding from her kids. She was lying low so as to leave a tricky parenting situation to her husband. Their girls - ages 4 and 7 - were having a nuclear war.

The younger one had licked her older sister's nightgown.

The scene was dramatic in the way only girls that age can manage. The older sister was stomping around, refusing to wear the nightgown. Because her sister hadn't just licked it - she'd licked the inside. Meanwhile, the younger sister had wedged herself between the wall and a couch and was laughing maniacally.

Ahh.

I don't have a sister, so I don't have first-hand experience with that kind of torture. I am, however, an older sister to a little brother who is obviously very, very lucky.

The nightgown licking made me think of my own torture devices. My brother Poochie had this tiny pillow that was, of course, called Baby Pillow. And he had to sleep with Baby Pillow. This was when he was, like, 3. This wasn't last year.

Anyway, my way of torturing Poochie was to threaten to "suck the freshness" out of Baby Pillow. He would scream and I'd grab Baby Pillow and bury my face in it and inhale loudly. I was ensuring that Poochie would have the opposite of the "cool as the other side of the pillow" experience.

Bwah ha ha.

When I mentioned this to our mom, she had no recollection of it. This is proof that we all have selective memories because I did it all the damned time. So, she didn't remember me sucking the freshness out of Baby Pillow, but she was quick to mention the time I convinced a 4-year-old Poochie that our real parents lived in a Winnebago and were coming to pick us up for Christmas.

Heh. Yeah, I totally got in trouble for that one. But really, I've just always been very creative. Plus, I think I was at a disadvantage being the oldest child of two youngest children.

Or maybe I was just bitter about having shorts up to my armpits. And yes, this was the summer everyone thought I was a boy. Why do you ask?

My mom was hard-pressed to choose just 1 instance of her older sisters torturing her. Here's her winning example:

When we lived on West State Street, my bed was at the top of the stairs with a little closet door next to the head of my bed. I was told that after dark the closet monsters slid under the closet door and got under my bed and would grab me by the feet when I went to get into bed. As a result, I would launch myself across the room into bed and get in trouble with Mom. I think after Mom yelled at me for the gazillionth time she found out why I was doing this every night. [Know I did it for a long time ... and you KNOW how athletic I am, so it wasn't easy.] I don't even know if they got in trouble, but I was rather gullible.

This made me laugh so hard. I've been present when my mom told her sister this story. My sweet, beautiful, wonderful aunt just CACKLED. This cruel sister showed no remorse.

I have to admit that I admire her style.

I don't necessarily feel bad about sucking all the freshness out of Baby Pillow. I probably should, but ... ehh. Poochie's fine. Baby Pillow is fine. And I was a creative kid.

What did you do to get under your siblings' skin?

Two bad things and one awesome thing.

1. I'm turning into my mother: I backed into my husband's car.

Yay!

Back in the day, my dad had a brand-new 1984 Buick Park Avenue. That car was The Shit. We named it Fred.

When Fred was new and still rocking his new-car smell, my mom kind of backed into him in the driveway. She was gone for a very long time, and by the time she came back in the house to 'fess up, we thought she'd left and come back. Really, she'd been sitting the driveway, trying to figure out if she could blame the big dent on the paperboy. But she ultimately came inside and asked, "Do you love me?" My dad just looked at her and said, "You hit the car." Then, he began his mantra of "It's just a car" - kinda to my mom, mostly to himself.

Now, when it was my turn to back into my husband's truckasaurus? I came back into the house immediately and was all, "Your CAR is in the FUCKING DRIVEWAY! I HIT your FUCKING CAR."

Yes, my anger was somewhat misdirected. I have never been in the running for Miss Congeniality, and that's OK.

But my sweet husband surveyed the damage, hugged me, and wasn't mad. Basically, it'll buff right out. Except for the hole in back quarter panel of my trusty Honda. That, we're just gonna live with, like a signal to the rest of the world that I cannot be trusted to back my vehicle.

2. Our microwave died.

I see this as a minor inconvenience. My Guy is devastated. To him, the microwave dying is on par with our entire house burning to the ground.

He wanted to reheat a pork chop for lunch today. He earnestly turned to me and said, "I guess I'll put it in the oven. I figured 350 or 400 for 20 minutes. Does that sound about right?"

Oh, sweet friend.

3. My brother and his awesome bride became parents today.

By all accounts, their daughter is the most beautiful and perfect baby ever in the history of babies. Huzzah!

So much wisdom, it's practically spilling out of my ears.

I practiced Herculean restraint this weekend.

No, I didn't have Dwayne Johnson in some sort of headlock. Actually, my parents were visiting, and we all refrained from calling my bro, Poochie, and Mrs. Poochie. They had an OB appointment on Friday and found out what flavor of baby they're having.

We left them alone! We didn't drive 3 hours to their house to ring the bell and be all, "Oh, hai ... we were just in the neighborhood. What's up?" We didn't even text them. We are saints!

Our patience finally paid off, and Sunday night, the parents-to-be emailed this pic:

It's a girl!

I've known for less than 24 hours that I am going to have a niece, and my brain is already swimming.

Darling girl, you are so smart. You can do whatever you want in life.

I know it's old-school, but I really think you will like "The Boxcar Children." I'll get it for you when you're in second grade.

Trust me when I say you will regret wearing hot pants to prom, even with a sheer skirt.

You always have a place to stay with me. I'll even buy you your own toothbrush to keep at my house. For when you have teeth.

Be kind to that doggie in the photo. He is already guarding your sweet mama, looking out for you.

Be kind in general. It will serve you well in the long run and you'll always be able to look yourself in the eye ... even if you do wear a regrettable prom dress.

I won't buy you beer when you're in high school. However, I will take you out to toast your 21st birthday.

It's OK to have a favorite aunt. Don't worry, I won't tell the rest that you think I'm the best.

Infertile and surrounded by Other People's Babies.

You down with OPB? Yeah, you know me!

I'm mostly over the whole "Everyone in the world is having babies but you" thing. No, really, I am. Mostly.

My sweet brother Poochie and his wife are expecting. I am truly so excited for them. However, it's clear that the family was concerned about how I might take the news. Poochie called me and was all, "I don't know what to say so I'm just gonna tell you: we're having a baby." And I squealed and was so excited, and then I thought about crying. But crying because I was conflicted.

I told my mom that I was totally on board with Operation: Baby Poochie. However, I reserve the right not to attend any fucking baby showers. It kind of sounded like my family was just excited that I wasn't planning on firebombing the nursery.

I guess I'm finding out that it's possible to simultaneously be happy for someone else and kind of jealous but not really. I don't have an overwhelming desire to kidnap my husband's nieces and nephews because, well, they aren't my babies. Because my babies don't exist. And even I realize that you can't turn a person into someone else.

And so I make the most colorful baby quilts, and am always up for a raucous game of Uno, and always ask how school is going. I'm not a mom, but I will be Your Favorite Fucking Aunt of All Fucking Time.