One of the games we played on my street when I was little was monkey in the middle. The people on either side had control of the ball, and tossed it over my head to each other. I splayed my arms as wide as they would go, trying to block its path and nab the ball. If I was shorter than the other two players my chances were slim, which was usually the case. 

It seems I am still playing it.

The other day a friend was describing what she paid her babysitter, and I had an opinion about it. Last week someone mentioned what she spent on her summer vacation and wouldn't ya know I had an opinion about that too. Heck I can try to nab the ball when it is people I have never met, like what a celebrity lavishes on her wedding, or the size bonus a quarterback lands. It is two other people making an exchange that has never, and never will involve me, and yet I flail my arms around as if it does. 

Yesterday a friend who has spent years extracting herself from the game told me about the dynamics around her family of origin. She said that one sibling doesn't talk with another sibling, and when they try to rope her in to their side she steps away. I was impressed.

It does, I admit, get complicated when we share a life with someone. It is easy to convince myself that I get to weigh in about how John does his job, or whether my son in college hands in his homework. But lately I have been trying to get out of the middle. 

Because the monkey suit is pretty itchy.