Being eight is hard.
Between the play dates and the softball games and the gymnastics and the sleepovers and the swimming, it’s a little overwhelming. Add in a birthday party every other week and overnights at Granny’s and it’s simply exhausting.
It’s even harder being eight with a fifteen year old sister.
That’s really hard.
Your sister gets to sit in the front seat with your mom while you’re relegated to the back seat where no one hears you call out “What did you say? I can’t hear you. What are you talking about? ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ME?”
Your sister gets to wear cool makeup like purple eyeshadow and green eyeliner and blue mascara and you’re only allowed to dab on a little of that sparkly invisible lip gloss that came with the Bratz doll you got three years ago, the one your mom gave away because she didn’t want you playing with anything resembling a Hootchie Mama.
Your sister gets to wear fancy bras with underwire in them and then worry about setting off the metal detector alarm in airport security. Your undershirts don’t set off anything.
Your sister gets a cell phone because she goes all sorts places alone and the only two places you’re allowed to go alone is the bathroom and never.
Your sister gets to shave her legs and you can’t even grow decent hair on yours, no matter how much you water them.
You have to go to bed by 9:00 on school nights because your mom says you need a lot of sleep so you won’t be grumpy but your sister gets to go to bed whenever she wants since she can’t help being grumpy because she was born that way.
Your sister gets to watch PG-13 movies with her friends and you’re not allowed to watch anything worse than a PG because a PG-13 probably has bad words in it, which doesn’t even make sense since you know all the words by heart anyway because Mom’s an adult and has earned the right to use whatever words she wants, whenever she wants.
Your sister gets to turn Mom all sorts of colors and make her twitch and slap herself and practically throw up by yelling I GET MY LICENSE IN 365 DAYS and the only thing she does when you yell I GET MY LICENSE IN 8 YEARS is tell you that you obviously have plenty of time to clean your room so get a move on.
Your sister gets to monopolize the computer all the time because she has homework and mom thinks that’s way more important than buying a color coordinating toilet for your Webkinz bathroom.
Your sister gets to have a real, live boyfriend but you’re not allowed to like any boys until you’re in high school because that’s when Mom says boys stop being smelly and chock full of gross.
Your sister gets to wear contacts and pretty sunglasses. You have to wear regular glasses and the only sunglasses you can wear are the big, plastic, floppy ones you got from the eye doctor a couple of months ago and you can’t even wear those because your toy box ate them.
Your sister gets to have her very own piece of punctuation and whenever you ask Daddy when you can get a period too, he always tells you to ask Mom and then when you ask Mom, she always tells you that you don’t want one, which is crazy because if you didn’t want one, you wouldn’t ask for one.
Your sister gets to have two birthday parties while you’re stuck with only one because your mom still loves your dad and stays married to him even though she says he cheats on her with his crackberry.
Being eight is hard.
Let’s hope nine is a whole lot easier.