To celebrate the fact that I bought a new laptop (One that works! And that stays on for longer than three minutes at a time! AND DOESN'T RESTART ITSELF A ZILLION TIMES AND HOUR!) I decided to finally write this little story that's been running around in my head on and off for months. I believe the idea first came to me when I was annoyed at my sister for monopolising my parents' time when I was trying to make some really tough decisions about my future and wanted their help. There should hopefully be three parts to this eventually each from a different perspective of the family.

Greener Grass

Mommy and Her

I sat at the fringe of the excitement, watching. It was my usual place. Never involved. Never included. I watched as my mother took my sister's hand, guiding her, showing her the most effective and gratifying way to do it. All my life it had been like this. Her and Mommy, off in their own little exclusive world, practically ignoring little old always-seems-to-be-in-the-way me. Her and Mommy doing homework assignments. Her and Mommy sewing. Her and Mommy cooking. Her and Mommy cleaning. Her and Mommy. Her and Mommy. HER. AND. MOMMY. I was sick of it.

Oh, don't get me wrong, they always tried to include me one way or another, merely so I could wreak havoc while they were otherwise occupied. "Stephanie, can you get the – insert random item here – for me?" "Stephanie, hold this for a minute." "Stephanie, why don't you – insert completely useless task here -." I was always just an afterthought when it came to them, cast to the outer rings of their circle to sit and watch, out of the way.

"Valerie," Mommy said, distracting me from my hateful thoughts. "You're doing such a wonderful job! Don't you think she's doing a wonderful job, Stephanie?" See? Yet another half hearted attempt to make me feel included. By asking me questions she was, to an extent, incorporating me in the activity. The sucky part about this method of inclusion was that it usually required me to comment on my sister's actions. And, of course, those comments were expected to be positive. I wonder if my mother realises that the great things I say about Valerie when she asks are just me being sarcastic...

Today, we – by which I mean Mommy and Valerie – were backing. A batch of cookies was already in the oven filling the kitchen with the most delicious smells ever. I had been allowed to do little more than lick the spoon for their creation, but at least I got some raw cookie dough out of it. Mmmm yummy. Now there were working on a Cherry Ripe slice. Valerie was chopping the cherries.

I watched her carefully cut the little red ball in half for a moment, trying to think of something "positive" to say about it. "I wanna help," I eventually told Mommy rather than answer her question. After all, Thumper always says 'If you can't say nothing nice, don't say nothing at all.'

"Okay, sweetie," Mommy said with a tight smile, reaching for a container on the bench. "Why don't you measure out some coconut for me?"

She placed the container of coconut and a measuring cup in front of me and I screwed my nose up at her. "I don't want to do that," I told her flatly, pushing it away and crossing my arms over my chest. "I want to chop stuff. Like Valerie."

Mommy took a moment to study me, turned her head to look at what Valerie was doing before looking back at me. I could tell she didn't trust me. She didn't want me anywhere near the knife. She didn't want me anywhere near the stove. She didn't want me anywhere near the kitchen. Probably, she would prefer if I was out in the backyard playing in my tree. Not that she liked it when I played in my tree, but I bet she was wishing I was out there right now and not bugging her in the kitchen.

As I gazed steadily into her nervous eyes I saw her plan forming. She wanted me out of the kitchen and she knew one way to do it. Lucky for me, I'd already safe guarded myself in that department.

"Have you finished your homework?" she asked.

I nodded enthusiastically, retrieving my homework book from the side table and presenting it for her to check. She looked over every skerrick of my work, trying to find something to pull me up on, but for once I'd already finished everything, done my reading and learned my spelling words.

"Did you learn your spelling?" she asked, eyeing me suspiciously. It's the same look she gives me when she's tucking me into bed and asks if I've brushed my teeth.

"Yep," I said merrily, standing a little taller, waiting for her praise. It wasn't every day that her second daughter willingly did her homework. Instead, I got a narrow eyed, squinty look that clearly said she wanted me to prove it.

"Validation," she said and I snorted inwardly at the irony before spelling it for her. When I got it correct the first time she didn't smile, didn't praise, just nodded and moved to the next. And the next. And then finally, when I'd spelled all my words correctly, she sighed and called Daddy into the room.

"What is it?" he asked, sniffing appreciatively at the air. Daddy always loved it when Mom was cooking. Or when Valerie was cooking, I suppose.

"Your daughter -," she nodded to me, "want to chop stuff," Mommy said in the tone of voice I'd come to refer to in my head as her Get Stephanie away from here voice.

Daddy wasn't having it. "Then let her chop stuff, Helen. What harm can it do?"

I watched Mommy bristle. That wasn't the answer she'd been looking for. Obviously. "She could cut herself ,Frank. Remember last Thanksgiving at your mother's house when someone left the carving knife within reach? She nearly cut her fingers off." At this reminder, I looked at the little scars on my left knuckles. I didn't think I was that close to cutting my fingers off...

Daddy did one of his eye rolls that he always does. "Don't give her a carving knife," he said and I like to think he added an insult silently at the end of it. Something like, you stupid woman! "Just give her a butter knife. They're completely harmless."

"I don't have anything she can chop with a butter knife," Mommy said, beseechingly. Still trying to get rid of me.

Casting his gaze around the kitchen, Daddy spotted Valerie on the cherries. "What about cherries?"

Mommy sighed and stuck her hands on her hips in frustration. "Valerie is chopping the cherries."

"So let Stephanie help."

For the next minute or so they had a staring contest, which Daddy – the calm one – won hands down. Mommy wasn't at all happy about this. She liked to get her way. Liked to control everything. Everything always had to be perfect. Like the cherries Valerie was chopping. They were all exactly the same.

I'll show Mommy that I can make my cherries perfect too. Then she'll have to include me.

I grabbed my 'big girl step,' as Daddy called it, so I could reach the bench properly while standing up and Mommy showed me the proper way to chop the cherries several times before letting me have the knife. She then proceeded to watch me like a hawk as I carefully replicated her actions.

Ten minutes later I had a bowl of perfectly chopped cherries sitting in front of Mommy as she inspected them as closely as she had my homework. I could tell mine were better than Valerie's. I could also tell that Mommy didn't want to acknowledge that fact. She huffed as she added the cherries to the rest of the ingredients she had prepared and I grinned at her.

"Did I do good, Mommy?" I asked, puffing out my chest, ready for her compliment.

"Of course you did, honey," she said after a moment. "I'm proud of both of you. Now why don't you wash your hands and go play?" It wasn't exactly the heartfelt praise I had expected, but it'd do for now.

Bolstered by my mother's pride, I skipped out to the backyard and my tree, climbing as high as I could go. When I was seated on my favourite branch I told the birds that flew away how good a cherry chopper I was and how proud my mommy was of my chopping.

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