Week 3: Now there are lots of us

So first there were two...
And then, there were many.

I grew up in a big family. I didn't realize this when I was very little-- my four siblings were just "the others." I had a vague awareness that we weren't able to do things like go to Disney World or buy snacks at the movie theater because there were so many of us, but I don't remember ever resenting my siblings because of this. It was just another science fact: the sky is blue, objects of different sizes fall at the same rate (unless they're feathers, because wind), we can't afford that. I never really had a chance to think about whether I liked having that many siblings; by the time I was aware of it, it just was. Poor Big Sister probably did struggle with this a bit.

My Middle Sister was born when I was four. I remember sitting on my grandma's lap, holding my plastic ET doll, which was my favorite toy for ages and ages, when we got the phone call that my sister was born. Okay, now I have gotten distracted trying to find a picture of the ET doll that was my constant companion in those days and believe it or not I CAN'T FIND ONE. What good is the internet anyway?? I have scanned the 1st and 2nd pages of google image results for at least five different queries and while there are certainly a lot of ET toys represented, I can't find the one I used to have. It was big enough to hug, because I did it a lot, poseable arms and legs (but not jointed), light colored plastic, and it had a little heart. Where are you, ET? Anyway, the good news is that I found lots of pictures of other plastic toys I had in the early 80s and I will post them at the end of this. You're welcome.
But anyway. Middle sister.
Middle sister was/is the quiet one. She was docile about submitting to Big Sister's "makeovers" (I put up a fight). She was easygoing, afraid of lots of things, and generally pleased to do what people expected of her. Once we were eating lunch and she had finished and was talking to my mom when suddenly she threw up on the table. We were all stunned and just stared at her for a few beats- and then she started crying and said "I don't WANNA eat it." God knows where she got that idea but we all laughed at her. Also, Big Sister and I once rolled her up in a sheet and threw her in the kiddie pool. She was mad, but she never stayed mad long. She's a sport. She's a speech therapist now. I love her lots.

Little Sister is the fireball. She came along when I was seven or so, and she came KICKING. She had a summer at age two when we couldn't take her to the pool because she would chase boys and bite them. She has a temper, does what she wants, and in between fiery blasts of being her, is very sweet and loving and loyal. She's a high school teacher. I love her lots.

Little Brother-- well, he's a little brother to four sisters. Let's just say he got put in a dress a lot. Makeovers!! I was enough older than him that I ended up babysitting him a lot. This was hard- he was a handful, a willful little guy. All of us were big tantrum-havers, but he had it down to an art. I'm kind of shocked sometimes at how cool he is as an adult. He's in a rock band. I love him lots.

(This makes me realize that I never updated on Big Sister. She's a nurse practitioner and has three sons. I love her lots.)

The Storytime:

I wanted to find books that captured some of the unique pieces of being a big sister to so many young ones. Bonus challenge for this round turned out to be that all the books I picked were really long. I stuck with only three:

When Stella Was Very, Very Small, by Marie-Louise Gay

Very sweet story that did make me think of myself when I was little. Stella spends a lot of time pretending to be animals, and when the story progresses to where she has a little brother, she teaches him how to pretend as well. I used to make my sisters be wolves. Under the dining room table is a very good cave. 

The story is slim here, but there's a lot of room for drama in the way you read "verrry, verrrrrrrry small" (may I suggest reading it quieter and quieter as well).

The Lion's Share: A Tale of Halving Cake and Eating It, Too, by Matthew McElligott

I LOVE this book. I can't understand why it's not more popular, except that it is a little long. But it's so well paced that it doesn't matter. There's a lot of buildup during the first half, when all the animals are taking half the portion of cake that is left at the dinner party, until it gets to the ant and the crumbs fall apart and there's nothing for the king and she promises to make him a new cake tomorrow. Then the falling action begins and moves like a ball rolling downhill as the animals each promise to double that until one unlucky customer is making two hundred and sixty something cakes. Slow start but the payoff is huge. And the art is well done, with big dramatic pictures of the animals and yummily rendered cakes.
I chose this one because... I have said so many times that one of my biggest takeaways from growing up in a big family is the sense that EVERYTHING, whether it's a pile of french fries or time with a baby doll, must be divided equally between all potential recipients, and I do mean EQUALLY. I am a pro to this day at handling a big sharp knife and dividing exactly like portions, because god help you if you cut your own piece just a smidgen too big and shortchanged someone else.

Someone told me recently that her father just declared that the cutter chooses last. Wow.. that's... wow.

Lola Reads to Leo, by Anna McQuinn, illus. Rosalind Beardshaw

My parents were fond of telling me that my first words were "read read." And I said them often. Thankfully, I was generous about reading to my younger sibs when I got older. I spent a lot of time just like Lola. And can I squee a bit about Rosalind Beardshaw's art? If I could take her art and insert it into myself, so that art that looks like hers would come out when I make art, I would do it.

So there's my sibling-hood in storytime. Outcomes next!


ETA: omg almost forgot.