Raised with wolves

"You're a guy."

That's what a good friend of mine told me the other day.  We were talking about Valentine's Day and I'd mentioned how my husband both ignored my request that he not give me candy (because I'd eat it all right away and then hate myself for a week) and bought the rest of my gift at Goodwill.  Yeah, we're cheap like that.  And I laughed and said I couldn't complain too much because there I was, Valentine's Day after work, buying his gift and card at Target.  I have many some possible good qualities, but they don't inclue timeliness.  Or much sensitivity.

Don't be offended, boys.  She didn't mean I'm like a typical guy (what's that, anyway?)...but like a stereotypical guy.  And in a lot of ways, she hit the nail on the head.

See, I'm the only girl with three brothers, which was basically like being raised with wolves.

1979ish

There were four of us in 5 years, and when we were little my dad was working on his Master's in Engineering, so he was gone a lot of evenings, leaving my mom to try and wrangle us.  Even when he was home, I'm not sure how much help he was.  My dad was a wonderful man and father, but he wasn't always on top of things. 

For example, to help my mom out, if he needed to run to the grocery store and pick up a few things, he'd take us along.  We've heard the story many times that the store actually assigned a stock boy to follow us through the aisles and repair the destruction left in our wake as my dad ambled through the store with a book in one hand and a shopping list in the other while we trailed along behind him dragging things from the shelves.

Two of my brothers once dueled in the back yard with a shovel and a hoe.  As I recall, the hoe-wielder won, and the shoveller ended up with a trip to the dr's office.  Come to think of it, the comparison to wolves might be a little insulting to their mothers.

Dinners were a free-for-all.  I can remember going out for pizza.  It would take forever to get there (I don't know how my parents stayed sane), and as soon as it was put on the table we'd have a race to see who could eat the most pizza.  You'd barely taste it, you were eating so fast.  I still think the root of my weight issues can be traced back to those times.

1987ish

It didn't get any better when we were in high school.  The conversations at our dinner table were legendary among our friends.  Few topics (if any) were off limits, and shock value was at a premium.  My mom would gasp out the name of whoever the offender was and try to hide her smile with a mask of sincere chagrin, and my dad would put down his head and chuckle.

My mom's new dining room table was broken when one of my teenage brothers ran across it and leaped off it to get another (I wasn't there, and I'm sure he'll correct me if I'm misstating this).  Yes, the wolves were definitely better behaved.

Missing a brother here, and that's my husband in the Cardinals shirt.

There's only so much we've grown up in the ensuing years.  We all have kids and responsible jobs, but we're still loud, sarcastic, obnoxious, and (I like to think) a lot of fun.  I came across a quote in a book I'm re-reading that reminded me so much of my family: "There is no occasion calling for sincerity that [our] family won't quickly diminish or pervert...We banter, quip, and insult our way through birthdays, holidays, weddings, illnesses."  People with thin skin don't last long.

Naturally, I had three boys.  The oldest two are just like my brothers.  The youngest...well, that's still pending.

My brother, my three boys, and I before the USO mud run

My husband grew up an only son with three sisters.  He doesn't stand a chance.