E is for Edith

A little over a year later, my sister Edith was born. Unlike my brothers who I knew could probably fend for themselves, I felt a certain pride and protection over this little girl: my sister—a fair tempered little girl, who’s brown hair stuck up all over the place.

By this time, my mom had quit her job. With four children under the age of four, she considered that it was better to be at home. Especially since Braxton would soon be starting Pre-K. It was hard to think that my oldest little brother would soon be in Kindergarten.  

I was now thirteen; short hair and taller than most of my friends. I still enjoyed reading, even getting a bookcase and even enjoyed looking through the latest fashions in magazines. No, I didn’t earn much in allowance, and had to look through the window most of the time. Mom and dad kept telling me that if I wanted to make money, then I would have to do more around the house or babysit.

With four siblings, I knew my parents were hoping that I would babysit them and not the neighbor kids down the street. Especially with the new baby, I could tell that she needed a break—and enjoyed being a mother more than ever.  Except for today, when I caught my mother scolding my brothers for running in the house. Edith was crying in her arms, while she tried to soothe her and stir dinner.

I put my backpack on the floor, and she turned around. Really, I never saw her so relieved. I took Edith out of her arms, as I could tell that she was thankfully, but a little scattered. I found her green pacifier in the diaper bag and that quieted her; also giving my mother some peace and quiet at the same time. 

Grabbing her blanket from off the chair, I tucked it around her as she leaned against my chest. The quiet was short-lived as I could hear my brothers teasing one another. Not only that, but one was wailing, high pitched screams. 

That could only be Devin, my sensitive and youngest brother. At the age of two, he had already a set of lungs that could make anyone cringe. However, he only did it when he was fed up. And today was just one of those moments.  

“Let’s talk some sense into your brothers.” I whispered to Edith, opening the back door. Devin was sitting on the grass; his brown curls bouncing as he sobbed. Braxton and Caleb were to the side hitting each other, which wasn’t any surprise.

I knelt next to Devin after catching the redness on his arm; bite marks specifically. “What happened?”

“Brax. . . Brax—” He let out a hiccup, as he continued. “Bite me.”

My eyes narrowed; the fighting not ceasing at that confession. It was no wonder, that my brother had learned that little habit during his time at preschool. “Braxton.” I called out his name, with no result. I ended up grabbing his hand, while warning Caleb to let go of him unless he too wanted to stick his nose in the corner. “Did you bite Devin?”

“No. . . I didn’t.” Braxton had a devious look on his expression, like he was about to get away with bloody murder. “He bit himself.”

 “Caleb, what happened?” 

“Braxton bit Devin, because he didn’t. . . didn’t want him to play with us.” I gave him a pointed look, then grabbed his hand. Caleb was mischievous, but most of the time he would tell the truth—if he wasn’t the guilty one.  Either way, the kid never won.

“Come on.” I grabbed Devin’s arm, leading him into the house—of course not without a fight. I dragged him in towards the living room where the playpen was and put Edith down. I tried putting him in the corner and he tried to run, so I grabbed him and lightly swatted him.

“Oww!!”

“We don’t bite.” Firmly I placed him back in the corner as I took both Devin and Caleb to wash up. With further inspection, I confirmed that although the bite hadn’t gone through the skin in his arm, it was still quite red. I put a band-aid on it, and dried his tears, before sending him off to play.   

When I went back, Braxton was sniffling in the corner while Edith was cooing in her playpen in the other room. It had been a little longer than four minutes. His lifted his head when I called out his name.

“Braxton.” He sighed, then put it back against the wall and shuffled his feet against the floor. I tried again. “Come on—we need to talk.”

“Why?”

“Because you did something that wasn’t nice, and I need to know why you did it?” He turned slowly, and then shrugged. “I think you know.”

“I didn’t want him to play with us.” Muttering, he slowly sat in my lap, and I almost fell to the floor. It was true that my brother was getting heavier every minute. In fact, each one of my brothers were eating machines.

“What happened to using your words?”

He almost shrugged again. “I didn’t want to use them.”

“Well you need to. If someone bit you . . . how do you think you’d feel?”  

“I would cry.” Balling his fists up, he momentarily rubbed them under his eyes. He looked up and touched my chin with his hand.

“Right. So how do you think Devin felt when you bit him?”

“He… he was sad.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yes. He was very sad. Do you think that it hurt when you bit him?”

“Yeah.”

“So what could you have done instead?”

“Umm. . . “He paused to think about it; momentarily distracted by a toy from underneath the table.  I pulled him back into my lap and he put a finger on his chin. “I don’t know.”

“Use your—”

“Words!”

I held him tightly, tickling as he squirmed around with laughter. “Think you can do that?” When he didn’t answer, I kept tickling until he gave in.

“Okay, okay. I will.”  

“You will?”

“Yes.”  I tickled him once more for good measure, and let him go to catch his breath.

“Good. Now go apologize to Devin before I have to tickle you some more.”