The Life of an Elementary School Drama Queen

“Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie them in a knot? Can you tie them in a bow? Can you throw them over your shoulder like a continental soldier? Do your ears hang low?”  sang the fussy three-year-old as we progressed on our tedious drive to Skagit Valley. The annoying song was three times better than the shrill screams that had been coming from Kristi’s mouth for the previous hour and a half. If you have ever heard the sound of a police whistle, or the sound of steam escaping a kettle, multiply that by three and you will have the tone and decibel level of my little sister’s scream. 1

My parents sat serenely in the front, as if the eternity of eardrum breaking wails hadn’t fazed them. I, however, sat in the back seat, clenching the door and the side of my sister’s car seat in absolute agony; crinkling up my nose, and squinting my eyes, as if to lock out any reminder that I had this mess sitting next to me. With my toes curled and my muscles tensed, I let out the breath I had been holding captive in my chest with a huge “Humph.” My sister just giggled at me, and poked me in the side of the cheek. I gave her a glare. She arched her back, pushing against the tight straps that constrained her in the plastic and cloth car seat. Here it comes, I thought. Her lip curled down, 3, eyes squinted up, 2,  forehead crinkled, 1, she opened her mouth and out came a glass-shattering shriek. That’s it, I thought as I collapsed in my seat against the door, I’m ready to die right now, but instead I just put on my walkman, trying to drown her out with TLC for the rest of the ride. Of course that couldn’t totally drown her out, but it helped.2

Finally we got to Skagit Valley, and I half fell, half jumped out my door, eager to get away. I sat on the hood of the car, soaking up the rays of the sun and trying to recuperate from our long and stressful ride. My mom unhooked Kristi from her car seat and she ran around, playing with dust piles and crushed flower petals, as if she had never been upset a day in her life. I sighed and just lay down, pulling up my shirt to tan my stomach. A few minutes later I hear this thunk, thunk, thunk…thunk, thunk, thunk, a clunking of metal and looked down at my little sister hitting the side of our car with a tree branch trying to get my attention. 3

“Kristi, stop that,” I said. She continued to hit the car giggling. “No Kristi, you’re going to get a dent in the car.” I tried to grab at her stick but she just moved down two feet and began hitting the driver’s window. I let out a large exasperated groan, as I got down off the car and grabbed the stick away from her. She started to whimper, so I quickly reacted; I scooped her up in my arms and started off towards the booth where my Stepdad was buying flowers or something. I set her down without a word and walked off, but I didn’t get more than five steps before she was clinging to my left leg. I continued to walk, dragging along this thirty-pound two-year-old with a death grip on my ankle, but she just laughed hysterically and got coffee-colored dust all over her cream pants. I shook my leg; it was no use… she was glued on. 4

Then she suddenly lost interest in my leg and went sprinting into the sea of tulips. The red sea of flowers completely enveloped her, and all I could see was a little splotch of blond bobbing up and down like a tiny raft. “Kristi!” I yelled chasing after her, trying not to lose sight of that tiny little raft. She was fast, and made it halfway across the field by the time I reached her. I grabbed her arm and she whipped back to me, inserting all of her momentum into my chest. She laughed at first, but then began to whimper as she realized I was taking her away from her fun adventure. Slowly I walked back to the pathway, through the rows of petals stretching in waves of red, yellow, purple, and orange for as far as I could see. 5

My Stepdad took a picture of me carrying her. It’s now displayed on the table at my grandparent’s house. I remember looking at it at Christmas, reminiscing how I had to drag my little sister everywhere. She now sat under the tree, ripping open green, red and gold paper covered presents. She giggled when she saw that it was the new Polly Pocket that she had been asking for all of December, hugging the box, and then tearing it open. She looked at the card attached, and saw that it had my name on it scribbled in red marker, so she got up and sprinted over to give me a hug. 6

“Thank you for my present,” she said, her green eyes beaming. 7

“No problem, Miss Kris,” I said back. “Now your present to me has to be just as good.” 8

She bounced up and down and said, “Don’t worry, it will be. Let me go get it for you.” She raced back over to the tree, searching through the piles of shredded gift wrapping and unopened gifts, and then came running back to me with a small package wrapped in Santas and reindeers. Inside lay the new Britney Spears CD. I laughed because I knew Brittany Spears was my sister’s favorite singer, not my exact taste in music but I pretended that it was. 9

“Thank you so much, Kristi! This is just what I wanted,” I said, wrapping her in a huge hug. 10

“Let’s listen to it right now,” she said, and poped it into the CD player. I groaned on the inside, but outside I didn’t say a word. I just sat through the music smiling and pretending that I loved it. She went upstairs to get dressed and then came back down in her little teenybopper outfit of flared and frayed jeans and a rainbow-colored turtleneck. I laughed at her thinking Oh no, she thinks she’s a teen already, and she’s only seven. I ran up to her and gave her a big bear hug and grabbed her a cinnamon roll. “No, I’m on a diet,” she said to me, pushing the roll away. 11

“You have got to be kidding me!” I said back to her, pushing the roll back in front of her. “Don’t even start. You are so skinny, kid; you definitely don’t need to be on a diet, especially at your age.” She giggles, eating the roll, while I roll my eyes at this monstrosity. Whatta mess, I thought as she got icing all over her lips and cheeks. But I smiled at her and laughed anyways. Remembering the time that she ate a whole stick of butter at Thanksgiving. She shoved the whole thing in her mouth, making my little brother’s friend throw up on the living room rug in disgust. I wonder now how she could even consider a diet.  Don’t little kids know that they can eat whatever they want until their metabolism crashes at puberty? Apparently not. 12

She just sat on the bar stool swinging those hot pink socks, and humming the tune to the song “Do Your Ears Hang Low?”. I smiled and thought back to tulip seas, and coffee colored dust, thinking about how Kristi never really changed. 13

All through the the years from when she was a little butterball rugrat, to when she was a wanna be teen seven year old, her personality has always stayed the same lovable annoying little creature, I dare to call family. She clings and climbs, debates and laughs, hits and hugs, but she’s always the same tow headed little girl. Through tulips, cinnomon rolls, hot pink socks, and sticks of butter I will love that little mess to the end. 14