Today is my baby brother’s birthday. As the head principal of a large high school near Phoenix, Ariz., he probably would prefer to not hear about the time our mother propped him, me and his bottle in an over-stuffed chair so I could feed him all by myself.
Fortunately for him, I don’t remember much about his babyhood or how the pecking order was established between the five of us born in six years. But, my three grandchildren born in four years, provided a few insights during last week’s visit.
Big sister and little brother both wanted the only blue cup when they got a drink of water. She insisted, he resisted. Big sister ended up sipping water from the blue cup grinning victoriously at her brother.
Each visit, all the children gravitate to the toy cupboard. Brother’s first choice is the remote control truck and car. He confidently moved the dump truck forward and backward and tipped the bed to empty it. He was doing pretty good until he picked up both remote controls at the same time. While he guided the truck around the coffee table, the car veered off course and crashed into a chair and table leg.
He thrust both remote controls at his mother, “You take them.”
He pulled out a green tractor out of the toy cupboard. Little sister wanted that tractor. She did not want one of the other tractors. She wanted the tractor he had. Eventually she took a heavy, duty red metal tractor out, sat on it and scooted along as if it were a bike.
Brother looked at her with scorn. He knows the tractors are for loading, hauling and dumping sand from one pile to another. Little sisters don’t know how to play with big boy tractors – or sand. She rubbed the sand on her tummy.
Little sister did however, know what to do with the box of popsicles her sister discovered in my freezer. Food on a stick is a perennial favorite with children. I ushered them outside to drip on the grass instead of the floor and furniture.
Green, red and blue ooze melted down their arms. A satisfied look spread across each face.
The oldest finished her popsicle first and came to me grinning, “I want another one.”
“One is enough for now.”
A look of determination passed over her face. She headed for the freezer.
“I said, ‘no.’ You can have one tomorrow,” I moved over to the freezer.
She yielded to my size, if not my mandate.
Middle brother finished his with a sigh, “I want another one,” he said handing me the sticky piece of wood.
“No, you can have another one tomorrow.”
Big, brown, begging eyes looked up at me pitifully, “Please.”
I shook my head ‘no’.
He ran off to play with the water hose.
The twenty-one month old, with a red sticky smear across her face and down her arms took one last bite. She looked up at me with an appealing smile, “ ‘Nother one, gra-ma?”
“No,” I smiled, “Not today.”
Having copied her big brother’s and sister’s requests and received the same denial, she dropped her stick and started to run off to play.
“Wait a minute. Let me wash your hands and face.”
She held out her hands.
I grabbed big sister and gave her a swipe. Little brother, not wanting to be left out, came over and held out his hands.
Ahh yes, the good-ole days of childhood if one child gets something, they all must get the same thing. I’ll bet my 46-year-old little brother, dressed in his impeccably clean clothes, supervising several hundred teenagers is glad I don’t live close enough to remind him of his sticky fingers, sibling rivalry days.