Quit Trying to Dismember Me!

                                                   Being the youngest can be a trial

What happens when you live with five older sisters?

It was a beautiful fall day. The sun was already warm Although the school bus was not scheduled to pull up for another twenty minutes, six-year old Rebecca, my youngest child, already had her lunch packed in her schoolbag, the bag on her back and her shoes were even tied. In grade one, she was so excited, she could hardly wait to climb up the steps and sit with her friend on the big school bus. She started pulling the heavy kitchen door open, hoping to sneak outside for some free time before school. As the door open, I looked up.
Before I could comment, Sarah, one of her many older sisters, whipped around and remarked,
"Rebecca, did you try to do your own hair again? The part's crooked. Come over here and I'll fix it for you."

Rebecca sighed. She had barely taken a few steps towards Sarah when Claire bustled into the kitchen, stopped and looked her up and down. Claire closed her eyes and shook her head at her little sister,
"Mum couldn't have picked out those clothes for you to wear. The top doesn't match your sweater. You'll have to change polo shirts or keep that sweater buttoned up all day."

Rebecca started the slow, awkward process of doing up the buttons.

Hearing all the commotion, Mary yelled from the bathroom,

"Hey Rebecca, you forgot to brush your teeth again!"

My youngest daughter suddenly threw her arms up into the air and huffed out in exasperation,

"All right, all right everybody. Quit trying to dismember me."