Oldest

It's hard being the oldest sibling. I know from nearly 22 years of experience. Oldests have to be the responsible ones who get up first for the shower in the morning and then wake up the rest of the troops once they're done. They have to remember to take lunches to school (and remind the younger ones), make sure the school bus waits while the slower ones struggle to the bus stop through snow drifts, get the younger ones ready for bed if the parents are busy or dealing with another child. They have to edit their siblings' English papers and try to help them with math problems that they can't even remember how to do because they did those problems three, four, five years earlier. Oldests have to set examples in orderliness, character, and creativity. But the benefit of being the oldest sibling is that you got x amount of years alone with your parents before the others came on the scene. Unfortunately for most of us, those years happen when we aren't really aware of the alone time with our parents before it's over.

Similar siblings

You know you're siblings if:

-you regularly finish each other's sentences.
-you enjoy/hate the same types of music and have many of the same tracks on your iPods/MP3 players.
-you go on a trip together and find, upon arrival, that you all have the exact same toothbrush, just in different colours.

Photo: On a plane

There's a picture on my desk. Three towheaded children are playing on a back porch with ugly green fake-turf surfacing. The youngest, a pink-cheeked, long-haired one-year-old boy wearing a striped blue and white hoody, balances in the middle of a bright red Fisher Price airplane/teeter-totter/merry-go-round, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. On the teeter-totter's high wing sits the middle child, three years old and dressed in a light pink sweatshirt and sweatpants (probably hand-me-downs from her older sister since pink is not a colour she usually picks out to wear), peeking out from a considerably well-looked-after (for her) mane of slightly-tangled blond hair. From her half-guilty looking glance at the camera, one can only guess what mischief she was involved in before playing on the porch. On the low wing of the plane is the oldest sister, age six. Her legs are crouched and her pointy knees show she is growing out of the airplane teeter-totter (although she will still play on it with her siblings and younger cousins for years to come). She's wearing a wide, big-sisterly Jack-o'Lantern grin, pink leggings that come halfway up her calves, and a baggy pink sweater with an intricate design. A neon-yellow plastic ribbon is pinned to the middle of her sweater and her bangs flip out on either side, caused by a cowlick that will bring dismay to future hairstylists. The trio is the picture of happiness, enjoying the time playing together on an apparently seasonable day. The picture was either taken in early autumn or late spring, judging by the clothes, although all three children are barefoot.

Every time I sit at my desk I glance at the picture and wonder where that Jack-o'Lantern-grin girl has gone. Although her teeth have grown in and she has stopped wearing leggings, she's still the same girl. She still adores her siblings and loves hanging out with them. She still can't wait until winter ends and she can go barefoot once again. She still loves airplanes. But, sadly, she's grown up. No longer can she spend an afternoon on a back porch spinning around in circles trying to make her younger siblings laugh. She has to think about important things like classes and homework and writing news stories and editing and work and finding ideas for creative writing stories and keeping her relationships with all her friends on good terms. She is busy. She is tired. She is ready to be done school. But she is still imaginative. Sometimes she lets her mind wander back in time. With great care, she'll pick up an old story she thought up years ago, blow the dust off, and replay it in her mind. Once in awhile she'll write it down. And that's what keeps her going. The stories, both true and made-up, that come from back then, in her memory, where she was a young girl, happy and innocent, who just loved to make up stories and tell them to her siblings.

New sibling

She walked into her parents bedroom, bounced onto the queen bed, and cuddled into the comforter with her younger siblings, waiting for her parents to speak. "What would you think about having another sister or brother?" they asked. She didn't need more than a second to think about it. "Really? We're going to get one? When?" questions sprang from her lips. "We're not quite sure yet," they responded, "And it might be twins. We'll know soon." She thought about another child in the family for the next couple weeks. A little sister, a little brother, twin look-alikes, twin not-look-alikes. Her parents left the children at her aunt and uncle's house often while they went off to appointments. She played with her cousins, always knowing--in that secret only-I-know place in her mind--that soon her life would change. Her parents brought back pictures and gave explanations. Names popped from everyone's mouths like the bubbles she blew with her Hubba Bubba gum. A wave of excitement crashed through the house when her parents announced it would be a boy. But only just the one, no twins. There was a name. Jeffrey. The upstairs saw a frenzy of moving. She moved out of her bedroom with the window overlooking the backyard, the Big Toy, and the alley behind it. Her brother moved in. It was bigger, better for two boys. Her sister moved to her brother's old room. She moved into her sister's room. That window looked out onto the red shale planter bordering the driveway that led to the road. New items appeared around the house. Flannel towels, soft as bunnies fur, stacked in the washroom closet. Blankets and sheets and comforters covering a second bed in her brother's new room. New shoes lined up on the closet floor. Toys placed in strategic piles around the room. She sometimes found her brother playing with the toys. She showed him his own toys. Legos, toy trains, Cool Tools, matchbox cars. But he liked the new ones too. She went shopping with her mum for new clothes. Bright, colourful clothes, too small for her to fit into. She helped fold them neatly and place them in the drawers of the new dresser that somehow squeezed into the bedroom. And then it was time. She traveled to meet him for the first time. She never thought he would like her best. Maybe her brother because they were both boys. Maybe her sister because they were only four months apart in age. Not her, the older sister. But he did like her. Better than the other two. While they raced from jungle gym to slide to teeter-tooter he stayed right by her side. Her new soon-to-be-officially-adopted brother. Jeff.