My parents had three girls and one boy and were hoping for another son. Weighing in at 11 lbs 12 oz, I was not small but there was no stem on that apple. I was all girl. Five kids, a farm, lots of animals, sporting events and a lot of bad decisions set the stage for a family full of stories. My Mom and Dad made a book for each of us this past Christmas. Even with a ton of shit sandwiches through the years, this was the cover:
I was born a girl, but quickly became a tomboy. I loved hanging out in the woods, climbing trees, taking shirtless tractor rides and of course playing with my pigs. I loved my farmlife adventures, minus the hornets nest I sat on one day.
The 25-acre farmette was in Elverson. At the time, this was ‘out in the country’ and the Exton Mall, about 25 minutes from the house, was considered ‘the city’. It was a place of great memories for me, mostly revolving around chocolate pudding, but there was one devastating, scarring moment.
High point: My Mom was a big tennis player. (Proof point: tennis racquet tattoo for her 70th birthday.) She would lure me to the babysitting facilities at local tennis clubs with the promise of chocolate pudding at the counter of the Strawbridge’s diner. It was so cold and creamy with a dab of whip cream on top – still today, with just one bite I think of simple happiness.
Low point: Years passed and the turning point from cute and adorable is overtaken by social awkwardness, zits, bad teeth (and breath in my case, reminder to blog about that crazy sibling situation) and body odor. Note to all girls, don’t cut your hair short at this age.
So by 8th grade, I was lanky like Popeye’s Olive Oyl, wearing basically a mullet, parading around with my large feet in clunky high tops without a care in the world. One day I began to walk into the ladies room by the food court and a lady politely stopped me and said, “Son, the boy’s room is over there.”
Life goes on and my hair grew long, styling products came along way, makeup application instructions were complete and I became a lady. (At times, this still is questionable.)
Fast-forward 2007. I had two adorable, little boys but I just felt something was missing. So we went for the third and assumed it would be a boy. Barely making it to the hospital around midnight on March 27, 2008 with no epidural but thankfully a quick entrance, Evelyn Margarite was born.
This is the tortured baby sister I was thinking of – she completed the picture! She would need to endure the drool test, being locked outside naked, Lipsoons (Sassoon jeans still rock in my mind), being bossed around and overall constant ridicule like I did!
Having two older brothers would undoubtedly inspire her to write her own blog one day. See last year’s birthday shenanigans https://alisonguzzio.wordpress.com/2014/04/05/the-wolf-of-birthday-parties/
Named after her great grandmother, the baby of ‘the baby’ and an unexpected surprise, Evy still amazes me when I think, ‘it’s a girl’. I have so many wishes for this little lady, (may she never be mistaken for a boy is high on the list) and certainly for all three kids, I just hope I can be the Mom who serves up chocolate pudding and other special memories that gives them the happiest childhood possible. https://alisonguzzio.wordpress.com/2013/05/31/10-tips-for-little-piglet/
Today I will celebrate and cry just a little thinking how fortunate I am.
In 10 years, I might be ready to strangle her or have her on complete lock down. I mean, this girl is crazy! I have no idea where she came from.
Tip of the day: Kozy Shack pudding is a close second to the diner bowl of heaven!