The Power of Birth Order

I make a big stink about being the fourth of six children born to Anne and Steve. I DEMAND everyone's complete and undivided attention when I'm telling a story, I cry foul if I'm excluded, and I will get directly in your face and ask clarifying questions if you say something confusing to me. But it's actually wonderful to be able to fly under the radar as I do. As a child I was often "lost in the shuffle", and as a result was able to spend 80-85% of the day in my own little made up world. It's actually a lot less pathetic than it sounds. I remember stealing a letter opener from my brother, and squirreling it away under a tree. I would go to the tree with a wet paper towel, and dab my cheeks, pretending to cry over the death of my parents and Siamese twin sister. I would hop around on one foot with one arm behind my back (my sister had the other leg and arm, you see), and I would have to pull out the letter opener, using it to fend off circus workers. I think that last part was from Toby Tyler, or something. Like I said, super unpathetic.


ANYWAY, the person who really has it rough, as much as it pains me to say, is the baby. Brittany AKA Bunny. I think life as the baby in our family would be hard for someone who wasn't as easy-going and good humored as Bunny (Britt, if you're reading this, maybe you can say something nice about me on the internet...). My mom likes to say that baby girl would start smiling before she even opened her eyes in the morning, but enough gushing over Brittany, let's talk about how mean we were/are to her. Not REALLY mean to her, we never wanted to break her spirit. However, we wanted to make sure that she knew, just because her baby book was filled out all the way, she was NOT top dog (which reminds me, I'll have to tell you about Sandbo Family personalized sweatshirts). It seems that our attitudes have kind of rubbed off on the younger generation. For example, Bunny was once talking about her feelings, or something, and our niece Brooke, who was three at the time, said "don't say that Bunny!" Britt's response, "Brookey. I...I...I can say whatever I want!" Brooke shrugged. Everyone knows that Bunny can't say whatever she wants. And just last weekend, Brittany asked our other three year old niece, Lauryn, to walk on her back. Lauryn obliged, but then started jumping on Bunny's back. Brittany asked her to stop, in gasps, then demanded she stop. We were all just laughing, but Stephany had the presence of mind to hold Lauryn's hand so she could jump more easily. "PLEASE!" grunted Britt, "I CAN'T BREATHE!". That's serious, so after a few more minutes Lauryn stopped.


One day, and one day only, Brittany lost it. Our parents were gone, but all of us kids were home. As you can imagine, that's when the best stuff happened. We were taunting the girl, sure, anything she did we had something to say about. I guess after 4 to 6 hours of this, she wanted out. She packed up a stuff sack, which we thought was hilarious, she turned and I swear to you I saw a flash of feral in her eyes. She scurried past us, and booked it out the door. Luckily we had a feisty little mutt who could attack on command. We sent him after her, he was a little confused and ran right past her, catching her legs as he pasted. So there she was bum over kettle, stuff sack strewn across the yard. THE REST OF US WERE DYING!!!! I want you to just think about it for a second. An eight year old, with a purple nylon stuff sack, probably about 3 feet in length, wearing a large dingey flowery t-shirt dress, running down her front yard hill. Up at the top of the hill you see an older sibling, yell attack and point towards the little girl. Out runs a stinky little dog. The little girl is airborne for a few seconds as the dog races past her. HILARIOUS, ladies and gentleman, ABSOLUTELY hilarious!!!! Brittany was not deterred. She grabbed her things, and ran towards the backyard. We all followed behind, laughing like you wouldn't believe! I can't really convey to you, how much Brittany looked like a caged animal. He back was bent, she was stooped, her hair was in her face, which was covered in dirt and grass stains. After whipping her head, wildly looking for a place to run, she remembered the backyard is fenced in. Where could she go? The trampoline, of course! We would never be able to get her if she hopped up onto the trampoline. So, there she was in the middle of the 10ft. trampoline, with the rest of us circling her. Emily and I jumped up to wrestle her to the ground. It was then that the stuff sack became like a helicopter, spinning above Bunny's head, threatening to smack us if we got too close. One of us was able to snatch Britt's makeshift weapon, while someone else grabbed her. We got her back inside, we made her some Top Raman, and all was well. But we probably teased her about how she ate it.