Good, better, bet

It is funny how little things from childhood stick.  In our childhood as pointed out by my big sister in her comments to rearranging the rocks at the bottom, most of what will stick with us will be in arteries.  Everything else is left to the memories of small children and the over taxed brains of their well meaning artery clogging parents.  That is unless you get a photo, or a foot print in cement, or you could get it in writing.  Perhaps a note or a caption on a drawing or even the words ‘Terri is my bet sister’ written on your dinnerware.  Well that’s great if you are Terri but I am not, I’m Misty. 

I am however just a shocked as you are that make-a-plate has been around that long.  I don’t recall the events of the day I was a little scribbling twerp at the time.  There were three us Terri, Wendi, & myself, with three year gaps between each sibling.  I am the baby.  There are three make-a-plates.  Mine was just colorful scribbles, and now I’m realizing I’m not entirely sure which sister threw me under the bus I’m pretty sure it was Wendi so I’m sticking with the plate reading, “Terri is my bet sister.”  But Wendi could have been ‘bet’, either way it wasn’t me. Plus I’m pretty sure Terri has never misspelled anything in her life. 

Honestly, what the hell were these people thinking?!  You buy the packet to do the plates then you pay to send them in for laminating- REALLY? Couldn’t spare an extra piece of round white paper to save a small innocent child some trauma of being served lunch with a side of soul bashing? My mom cut the skins off apples, she made six kinds of sandwiches, she put ice in your hot chocolate, blew on your corn, used sock-locks, and color-coded chore charts.  How did this plate slip by?

It wasn’t even an accurate portrayal of our daily lives.  I was the beloved sister.  I was BET.  Ask anyone in my family.  And I have stories about the two of them, Terri & Wendi, that would cause you to think twice before leaving your kids at home together.  But there the plates were, and we used them all the time.  I am not the bet sister.  And ‘bet’ won ‘best’ out of our vocabulary. Even today.       

There is joy in the little inside jokes families carry.  It’s like the Brute Family who finds the good feeling and it spreads.  The sweetness of a small child's mistaken view on life has the power to infect a whole hospital and not just any members on the staff, the best, the brightest, those with the largest of shall we say 'self esteem' & scientific minds.  This one was one of mine, little Alexis watching her Aunt Terri squinting in the sun, “Why you make a mad face to me?”  Terri and I worked together in Surgical Administration, before you knew it 28 surgical residents and their Attendings were wandering the halls of the hospital asking each other, “Why you make a mad face to me?”



I could make a long list of these, 'sanks you'; you could make a list of yours- but I’m sure mine are ‘bet’.  So I will stop here & enjoy the image of Wendi, who looked at lot like Laura Ingalls, in her little feety-pajamas bursting into the Ward Dinner having escaped from the house through a window. Terri had been tending us so my parents could enjoy a nice meal with about fifty of their closest friends & neighbors. Man-oh-man, look who is 'bet' now.  Wendi breaking all the rules outside after the dark, not wearing shoes, didn't leave a note, babysitter mutiny, & parental embarrassment on a whole new scale.  Bigger than riding her bike through the front window of the church...



The Brown Family
Lava Hot Springs '10



I was home with Terri like a good little bunny.  She was probably making me her specialty, Wonder Bread spread with peanut butter and marshmallow topping melted in the microwave 3 seconds on high. I think I’ll use that plate thank you very much. 

'Hi mom and dad.  Why are you guys home so early?' 


Enjoy your weekend. And if you have never read the Little Brute Family, you really should.  mlb :)