My Brothers

I have one older brother and three younger ones.  For some reason we always called the younger ones the little boys, maybe because they were close together, maybe because they got in trouble together a lot, maybe because sometimes there were four of them.  I had a foster brother around their age for a while too.  He is Gummy's oldest son and Muscle Whip's half brother, Slim.  He lived with us when he was four to about six and again as a teenager.  The little boy's favorite activity that I remember is dumping over the fish tanks.  Requiring my mother to have to rescue about thirty little fweebs before they suffocated and to steam clean the fish water out of our carpet.  They did this multiple times.  When Slim lived with us, two of my brothers slept in closets.  One was a big playroom closet off the family room, lined with shelves.  It had enough room for a mattress on the floor and a turtle cage.  The other was a little cubby under the stairs.  I'm pretty sure that's where J.K. Rowling got the idea for Harry's living quarters at the Dursley's.  The other three shared the blue room.  It might entertain you to know that while this was the boys' living arrangement, Beadle and I shared the brown room and Nana had her own.  Seems fair.  But they didn't complain.  One of my brothers once got up in the middle of the night and sleep peed into the closet under the stairs.  Much to the chagrin of it's resident.
Ok. 
I have a brother with quite possibly the largest nose I have ever seen.

I have a brother who has no sense of sarcasm (a grievous fault in our family)
I have a brother who likes puns.  (He thinks they're punny, he would say)
I have a brother who is dyslexic.  This is where numbers and letters appear reversed to you.   Imagine learning to read that way.
I have two ginger brothers.
I have a brother who makes candles. 
I have a brother who can only be contacted through his girlfriend.
I have a brother who is a starving artist.  Really, he will make you a cheesecake for $. 
I have a brother who is in the Navy. 
I have a brother who is very easily embarrassed.  He turns as red as his hair.
I have a brother who frequents the gym.
I have a brother who is extremely shy.  Weirdly enough this is not the one who is easily embarrassed. 
I have a brother who goes skiing.
I have a brother who likes kim chee.
I have a brother who role plays more than he lives in real life.
I have a brother who likes medieval things. 
I have a brotha from anotha motha.
I have a brother who has watched every episode of Star Trek. 
I have a brother who is into Anime.
I have a brother who sleeps in a coffin-sized cubby that was just vacated by another dude 10 minutes before.  Yes, he's one of the ones who used to sleep in a closet.
I have a brother who can't name a single professional basketball player.
I have a brother who still reads Archie comics.
I have a brother who was called a lot of racial slurs in middle school.  Usually the wrong ones. 
I have a brother who is a Marine. 
I have a brother with ADD.
I have brother who could possibly bench press my car.
I have a brother who had to wear head gear.
I have a brother who got sent home from school for wearing a wizard cloak with a hood.
I have a brother who went bald at 22.  Instead of shaving it clean he carefully cultivates his remaining fringe to a voluminous halo.  As if extra volume here makes up for the complete lack of it anywhere else. 

Sorry, anonymous brother.  Don't murder me.
I have a brother who has never watched football.
I have a brother who will drop whatever he's doing to help out a little old lady (my grandma).
I have a brother who speaks Japanese, fluently.  Not the one who likes Anime.
I have a brother who can't tell you who Tom Brady, Derek Jeter, Peyton Manning, David Beckham, Serena Williams, or LeBron James are.
But he can tell you who Samwise Gamgee, Ron Weasley, Padme Amidala, Geordi LaForge, Lee Adama, and Col. Samantha Carter are.
I have a brother who when he sees you says "Greetings" instead of "Hello".
I have a brony.
My brothers are some of the most selfless, kindest guys I know.  They would bend over backwards to help me out even after I've made fun of them so terribly.

Only picture with all the "little boys" and the older one too.

My sisters

Whenever I go home to visit, I invariably run into people who know my family, or think they do.  We live in a small town.  When I say I'm Slugweirta and Borted Jim's daughter they usually ask if I'm the one who works at the state prison. Nope.  I must be the nurse, then.  No.  Oh, are you Muscle Whip's mom?  No, I'm the other daughter.  They have another daughter?  Yes, although you shouldn't feel bad, I think this surprises them sometimes too.
I have been blessed to have three extraordinary sisters.  Emphasis on the extraordinary.  They have shared in my joy and my sorrows.  They are maybe the only people who understand exactly who I am and love me anyway.  In honor of National Sibling Day, I thought I'd share a little about them.
I have a sister who likes to wear the same color from head to toe.
I have a sister who compulsively disposes of stray hairs.  Even if they're still attached.
I have a sister who invited me to join her gang. 
I have a sister who used to make out with pillows pretending they were Luke Skywalker (yes, we're that kind of nerdy)
I have a sister who collects dolls.
I have three sisters who know the difficulties of single motherhood, I admire their strength and hard work.
I have a sister who punched me in the face once, and chipped my tooth.
I have a sister who believes in the healing power of crystals.  Unfortunately she wasn't around when I chipped my tooth.
I have a sister who drives like a grandma (it once took her 14 hours to drive from Provo to Denver, a 482 mile trip, to save you the math that's 34 mph on average.)
I have a sister who likes grape jelly on her eggs.
I have a sister who adopted three Paiute children.  Because she's a good person.  And an overachiever.
I have a sister who is perpetually late.
I have a sister who almost got arrested when she was seven.  For petty candy larceny.  That was one stern gas station attendant. 
I have a sister with a phobia of dirty rags.
I have a sister who was bullied.  Actually all my siblings were.  One of the perks of being the white sheep is there is typically less bullying, one of the drawbacks is living with the regret of not punching the dirtbags who bullied your siblings in the balls, or the ovaries, I'm an equal gender avenger.
I have a sister who can sleep through anything.
I have a sister who sometimes bursts into spontaneous song or poetry at family gatherings.
I have a sister who writes stories in her spare time, but never finishes them, there are probably a good 100 half finished novels in her house.
I have a sister who can't use a cooking timer to save her life.  Or her cupcakes.
I have a sister who believes in the sanctity of virgin hair, she refuses to cut, color or blow dry it.  And I refuse to admit it is longer, thicker and shinier than mine.
I have a sister who was abused.  Did you know 30% of American women are in or have been in abusive relationships?  I'd like to echo the punching in the balls sentiment here.
I have a sister who reads more than she talks.
I have a sister who puts Doritos on her sandwiches.
I have a sister who has ADHD, she struggled through this before the programs that are in place today.  She is brilliant, but school was a big challenge for her.  Because of my patient mother and her own hard work, this is more manageable now.  Although I'm relying on her inability to focus to keep her from reading this entire post.
I have a sister who knows how to make mincemeat pie.
I have a sister who eats Spaghettio's starting with the little ones.
I have a sister who ran away from home.  Unsuccessfully.
I have a sister who suffers from severe anxiety attacks, and often loses consciousness.  Last time I saw her she explained this to my husband and said, "I understand you're in the medical field, if I lose consciousness, don't probe me."  "I'll try not to."
I have a sister who can't drive in the dark.
I have a sister who hit a cow with a car (in the dark).
But most importantly, I have a sister.  I cherish my sisters, I have long believed that the sister relationship is one of the most unique.  I can't imagine my life without them, no matter how quirky they are.  They are some of my best memories.  They know my dreams and they remember my past. I hope they forgive me for posting all their weirdness. 
Hmmm. 
No answer.

A whole bunch of pictures of people who are like sisters to me.

 

 

Exhibit C: The Ban on Candy

I was going to follow up my Thanksgiving post with Christmas, but seeing as how it's Easter this weekend I decided that a candy post would be more appropriate.  I'll save Christmas for it's appropriate season. 
So...candy at our house was a huge rarity.  At least when I was little.  We got some at Valentine's, from school, some at Halloween, from our neighbors and we made our own for Christmas.  And that was pretty much it.  There were a few reasons for this.  One, sugar is bad for you.  And two, we didn't have dental insurance and couldn't afford to get cavities. 
My parents fancied themselves "health food nuts" long before the whole organic craze got started.  Refined sugar, including white bread, was strictly frowned upon.  No sugary cereals for us.  Our average breakfasts included: Oatmeal, Shredded Wheat biscuits (if you are unfamiliar with these let me assure you they are a far cry from Frosted Mini Wheats.  Here's a picture, so you can fathom what I am talking about)

also common for breakfast was Cream of Wheat and Grits (no butter or sugar added).  IF we were lucky occasionally we would get plain Cheerios or Wheat Chex.  So now you know how pristine our colons were.  My mother would make all our bread.  There were good batches and bad batches, but we never had enough bread pans, so she used the tins the yeast came in to bake our bread.  They looked like this:

 

Consequently our bread was cylindrical, with a bulbous top.  You can imagine what this looked like, if you want.  The round, clearly home made slices were infinitely embarrassing for me when I took my lunch to school.  Now, gum, gum was an unforgiveable sin.  I mean this literally, it was never allowed, never even spoken of.  I assumed that chewing gum would lead to eternal damnation and was on level with recreational drug use.  Also, that it was fabulously expensive.  Really, my mom just wanted to avoid getting gum in the carpet and having school pictures like this:

 

Unnamed sibling

 Of course, I had to have it.  I remember once chewing some gum I found on the underside of a table in a restaurant when I was six.  I'm super grossed out by this now, but at six I just thought "hey, free gum!"  When I was eight I decided I had to have the real thing.  I saved my biweekly allowance of $5 for EIGHT MONTHS to do this.  This was real premeditated gum-chewing.  Chewing in the first degree.  One balmy summer afternoon I snuck off to the 7/11 that was two blocks away.  It isn't hard to sneak out when you have seven siblings.  As my parents would learn to their great dismay when we were teenagers.  I still remember the dude behind the counter.  He was overweight, balding with a bushy moustache.  He was about to become my bubble gum dealer.  I casually looked over the selection of gums.  The syrup filled Dr. Pepper Hubba Bubba was my destiny.

I walked quickly with my selection up to the counter.  I slid the gum across to my dealer.  Along with the 16 five dollar bills that were rolled together in my back pocket.  I looked furtively over my shoulder to make sure my mother hadn't followed me.  It seemed clear.  The gas station attendant only paused for a moment.  Then placed my purchase and $79.50 into a brown paper bag and slid it back to me.  Clearly he was used to dealing with undersugared 8 year olds looking to score some gum.  I ran all the way home.  I didn't even go inside.  I ran around to the backyard, my heart beating a mile a minute.  I hid under our large lilac bush and chewed all five pieces one after another until the flavor ran out.  THEN I dug a hole and buried the evidence and went inside.  My mother was never the wiser.  All this could have been avoided if I was allowed to have Lucky Charms once in a while. 
My first visit to the dentist occurred when I was 19.  NINETEEN!  I had zero cavities.  Because of my sugar-free youth, I maintained a perfect dental record until two years ago.  They should give out awards for that. 
On Easter, we dyed eggs.  Real hard boiled eggs in vinegar dye.  Then my parents hid them around our yard and we searched for them.  Often finding last years eggs too, because my dad never counted and acted like he was hiding them from bloodhounds.  The real fun of Easter was dyeing eggs.  It became somewhat competitive (what?!?) but usually my sister Nana had the prettiest ones.  I wish I had some pictures of the eggs she painted.