Category: life

The Dulles Greenway is a privately owned toll road in northern va. It’s a 14 mile stretch that costs $3 for the pleasure of driving on it. It doesn’t matter what distance you actually drive on it, it’s $3. I happen to live at just about the midway point of this lovely road, so I pay $3 to drive 6 or 7 miles.

If I were to actually drive on the greenway every day, to and from work, that works out to about $1500 a year. And if my husband were to do the same, that’s $3000 dollars a year. Since I happen to be a money-nazi, we don’t. Much to my husband’s annoyance, perhaps, but we don’t.

There are A LOT of people who live near the greenway. In fact, that’s about all there is surrounding the greenway – it’s a 14 mile stretch of residentially zoned area, full of single family homes, townhomes, condos, and apartments. Lots and lots of ’em. And the greenway is the most convenient way to get to, well, anywhere.

But, thankfully, most of these people who live near the greenway also seem to be money-nazis. Which means, that not everyone who lives along the greenway, uses it every day to get to and from work. Which means that when I am running late, and I need to get somewhere FAST, no matter the cost, I can use the greenway. And THAT is why I love it.

Recently, I was waxing sentimental, and wrote my now infamous brothers and sisters posts. I had intended to stop there, but I have since received requests for a “husband” post, as well as a “father” post – and I’m sure there are a few out there waiting for the “mother”, “husband’s mother”, and “father-in-law” posts. I haven’t forgotten the other very important members of my family, but I also haven’t yet been inspired for those posts. The things I write about sorta “come to me” – and if I try to force it, it doesn’t turn out well. So – for those of you expecting your very own posts – don’t worry, I’ll get to them. And I hope I make it worth the wait. 🙂

Although I was more excited about the arrival of my sister than the existence of my brothers, my brothers had much more of an impact on me. In fact, had it not been for my brothers, I don’t know that I would be where I am today.

I have a brother 2 years older than me, one 2 years younger, and one 4 years younger. So, right from the get-go, I was always “one of the boys”. I was never one to shrink from a challenge; anything they could do, I could do better. I may not have come up with the idea to turn on the hose and make some good ol’ backyard mud to play in, but once things got started, I was definitely going to join in.

Don’t get me wrong; I had quite the collection of barbies, I wore dresses and pigtails, and my favorite color was pink – at least until I was 12. From the age of 6, I always had a female best friend. Recess was spent playing with girls, and I participated in plenty of sleepovers. I may not do makeup, but I am rather fond of nail polish. I’m not exactly what you would call super-girly, but there are definitely plenty of girly pursuits that I partake in.

That being said, I had many an adventure with my brothers. We built time machines that required every toy in the toybox, a dining room chair, and all the refrigerator magnets that could be reached by someone under 3 feet tall. We played Mario Brothers and don’t-let-ET-fall-in-the-invisible-pit on our Atari 2600. We made the impossible trek through the spiderwebby path between our two back neighbors’ fences. We let b2 play the flight simulator on the Commodore 64, because he was always good for a huge crash – and a crash always meant it was time to ‘parachute’, screaming of course, as we ran out the back door.

We often had to line up in the kitchen as mom grilled us to find out who had broken the plate or eaten all the cookies. Invariably, when none of us cracked, we were all sent to our rooms while my mom contemplated why it was that she had decided to have 4 children. We occasionally had to wait all day for dad to come home, just so we could line up for a dreaded spanking.

Poor b3 found himself in the emergency room on more than one occasion as he tried to keep up with the rest of us. Luckily for him, fingernails grow back and bones heal. We choreagraphed plays and puppet shows to put on for our unsuspecting parents. We went camping in the backyard. We wrote Basic programs on our IBM-compatible. B1 always knew the tv lineup, so we never missed re-runs of The Monkees or Batman.

B1 was hard to keep up with. When he learned to blow bubble-gum bubbles, I spent weeks working on it. When he came home from school and could write his whole name, I made him teach me how to do my lastname. When he learned how to tie his shoes, I studied the way my parents did mine until I could do it myself. (I consequently tied my shoes ‘wrong’ – with my hands actually crossed – until I was 21 years old and someone pointed out that my method was horribly inefficient and painful to watch.) When he figured out how to whistle, I spent a whole day walking around the house with my lips in a tight ‘o’ shape, blowing as hard as I could.

Even though we shared many adventures, there were some I couldn’t join in, because I was ‘just a girl’. When I was 5, I excitedly told my dad that I wanted to be a cub scout, too. B1 got to go off in his blue shirt and yellow kerchief to go do something really fun, I was sure of it. And he wasn’t the only one, there were other kids in the neighborhood, too. All I remember is my dad telling me I couldn’t be a cub scout, girls weren’t allowed. I’m sure he went on to tell me about girlscouts, but if I couldn’t do what b1 was doing, I wasn’t interested.

All my brothers went on to be boyscouts, where I wasn’t allowed to follow. Not being one to just accept the fact that the ‘Y’ chromosome makes for a superior fire-maker, arrow-shooter, and hiker, I organized my own backpacking trips with my friends. And found that girls can carry 25% of their weight on their backs and spend a week walking 35 miles through the woods, building fires and filtering water along the way, just as well as boys can.

It didn’t stop there; science and math weren’t ‘too hard’ for girls. And I certainly wasn’t about to play dumb to improve my appeal to the other gender. If they had a problem with me being smarter than them, they could go cry to their mommas about it for all I cared. I was a girl, yes; but that didn’t mean I should have a different playing field.

In college, I picked the ‘man field’ of computer science, and I excelled at it. I put those boys in my calc class to shame; they never saw me coming. I graduated with Latin honors, and had a fantastic job lined up when I graduated – which was more than many of my fellow graduates could say.

Today, I’m a software developer, where I work with mostly men. In fact, on my current project, I sit in a room with 4 guys, who range in age from a few years older, to a few years younger. And I love it! It’s just like getting to hang out with my brothers – every day.

When I was 11 years old, I was elated when my mom had a baby girl. I already had 3 brothers; now I would finally have a sister!

What I didn’t account for, was the fact that she was 11 years younger than me. And that when I moved out, she would be 7 years old. And that after I moved out, I would be more like an extended relative – more like an aunt who visited a couple times a year – than a sister. The late nights of giggling about boys that I had imagined turned out to be late nights of babysitting.

Not to say that I didn’t enjoy having a baby sister. I think it taught me a lot about the fine art of child rearing – I was too young to remember much of anything about my two little brothers’ first few years of life. With my sister, I was old enough to start learning the arts of diaper changing and baby pacification. I haven’t yet needed those skills – except for other people’s kids – but the responsibility was good for me.

It’s been a few years, and my sister is finally starting to catch up with me. She’s in the midst of high school and will soon be setting off for college. While we’ll never have a relationship of giggling about boys long after we’re supposed to be asleep, I do look forward to getting to know my sister as the adult she is about to be.

The sad thing about my sister growing up, is that one of these days, she is going to realize I’m not quite as amazing as she once thought I was. When she was 5 or 6, I asked her what she wanted to do when she grew up; without any hesitation, she told me she wanted to wear contacts, play the clarinet, and work at McDonald’s. You might think that’s an odd wishlist, but those were the things she knew that I did – and at that age, she knew she wanted to be just like me. Because when you’re in kindergarten, there’s no one cooler than your sister in high school.

I asked her just the other day what she wanted to study in college, and, true to little sister form, she spouted off my major. To be fair, it also happens to be the area of study for two of my brothers – but she’s still looking to follow in my footsteps. I’m glad to see that as she has grown, she has also grown more discriminating – nowhere in her future plans does she include “drive a car with a hugely embarrassing dent” or “own a house with popcorn ceilings.”

She’s definitely not what I thought I wanted when I was 11 years old. But she’s my sister. And that’s exactly what I needed.