My husband comes from a family of 4, a perfect 2 child ratio, one boy and one girl. I, on the other hand come from a family of 5. Three girls making up the brood with me, the youngest, the "unplanned" one. Which is OK, it has always made me feel like I entered the world without permission in an unbridled manner. Me and my husband, much like my parents, thought we were done at 2. Unknown to me, whilst I was proclaiming my inability to parent more than 2 children, I was actually pregnant with my 3rd boy!
It was about a week ago when me, Matt and the kids were driving along in our 5 passenger blazer, and Gabe found a brand new box of wipes. He proceeded to pull each wipe out one by one and hand them to our youngest so he could then stuff each one into his underwear. These are normal shenanigans that me and Matt have now become more than used to in our house or car, or anywhere that our boys happen to be. After I threatened them within an inch of their life me and Matt went on with our conversation. My husband has always been more amazed at the stupidity of our boy's actions than I have. I was about to find out why. "I never remember doing such stupid crap with my sister growing up" Matt says. My reply is first a laugh because of a memory triggered by his statement. Then I begin to enlighten him about all the dumb ass things me and my sisters did growing up. First, may I say I do not condone any of these behaviors and am deeply sorry to my mom and dad for all the wrinkles we caused them. My first memory of anything stupid we did was when I was about the age of 5 or 6. Growing up a missionary kid, I have many memories of staying in random places and this was one of those times. I believe we were staying in a small "camp" type room with bunk beds, very minimal yet efficient. My parents were probably off taking care of some type of important business or something and left us 3 girls to fend for ourselves. All I remember is we got bored pretty quick and decided it would be cool to see what our underwear did when we threw it up at the ceiling fan while it was running. So about 15 pairs of panties later, a fan that was probably on the verge of breaking down and all of us satisfied with laughter, mom and dad were back. I was a baby when this next story took place and like most babies don't remember anything past a few years old. My parents were going through missionary training and apparently left Carissa and Desiree in a separate area from where they were. Being the lovely Cherry girls they were, they thought the best place for some rocks and sticks they gathered was the toilette. Not only was this a wise place to shove their treasure but also a great place to completely discard it. With one flush of the toilette they quickly found out that they would not be the only ones involved in the little adventure. The stories go on and on and on and on. Stories of throwing a box worth of tissue paper one by one out the window while we were driving. Stories of my oldest sister chasing the two of us younger ones around the house with a knife. Also let me not forget to mention the time we managed to tear down all of the ceiling fabric in our old station wagon, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. So my conclusion to why me and my sister seemed to be such terrors brings me back to after our 3rd was born. The earth shook that day and hasn't stopped since. I guess the saying is true, the third time is a charm.