A tale of sibling rivalry

Posted Wednesday 17th June 2015   By Ericka Waller

So it was Thing-two’s birthday weekend. From Friday to Sunday it was all about the middle-one. Cakes, cards, presents, parties. This went down like a shit sandwich with the first born, so much so she’s been renamed ‘Well-Jel’. “It’s so unfair, it’s all about HER!” Well-Jel bemoaned, pointing an accusing finger at the birthday girl, who was knee-deep in wrapping paper. “Well, yes, but your birthday is all about you”, I said diplomatically. “NO, my birthday is all about Jesus, because I was born on Christmas eve”, she shot back. I pity the fool who marries my smart-mouthed girl. No flies on her.

The sulking continued all weekend. She made sure we were late to the birthday brunch by hiding under her bed and then claiming she could not possibly leave the house without various teddies and tiny toys.

She taught her youngest sister a very rude version of Happy Birthday, knowing full well that Thing-three has a voice like a fog-horn. Ships turn round when she breaks into song.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, STICK YOUR HEAD DOWN THE LOO, GET IT COVERED IN MY BROWN POO, I KNOW IT’S DISGUSTING, BUT SO ARE YOU’ she hollered joyously to all the customers in the cafe while Thing-two cried and Well-Jel looked like a smug evil genius.

There were tuts of disgust from people trying to enjoy their corned beef hash. High on the attention she was getting, Thing-three broke into her own unique version of Jingle Bells, where Uncle Billy loses his willy on the motorway. Well-Jel lit up like a Christmas tree when I said that we’d have to cancel the birthday if this is how they were going to be behave.

It’s not like we did not get her a present to open. I always make sure that the other two have a present from the birthday fairy. But Well-Jel did not like the LEGO caravan that she’d been mooning about for months, suddenly, and for no reason other than to be awkward, she declared she wanted a baby Annabel.

“But you don’t like babies poppet. You said they were boring.”
“I like them now she’s got one. I’ll have HERS. She can have this poxy Lego.”

What can you do?

I vividly remember being so incredibly jealous of my brother’s space crater birthday cake (made out of ice cream cones covered with grey icing and decorated with edible spacemen) that I snuck down early, ate it all, and spent his party spewing up piles of half digested blue sponge. At least she did not do that.

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