Trying to Kill My Sister

Today is my sister Carrie's birthday.  I had mentioned in another post that I would tell you about the time I tried to kill her.

Here ya go.


When I was little, my mom got up every morning and made me pancakes, eggs, or French toast.  I know, because I had never eaten cold breakfast cereal until my sister came along.  By then, I didn't like cereal.  I had had the good stuff.   The warm stuff.  The tasty stuff.   The non-soggy and  non-funky tasting, non-Grape-Nuts-oh-dear-Lord-add-some-sugar-so-I-can-swallow-it-down stuff.  I know this is true also because Mom has admitted it.  I  remember, too,  if she didn't feel like cooking on a Saturday, we would go as a family to Lil' Sambos for breakfast.  On one occasion, I distinctly remember being so proud to get to wear my Cookie Monster dress to the restaurant AND not having to sit in the booster seat.  I was stylin' and profilin'.

*I* was a big girl.

Then momma's belly started growing, and they started talking to me about sharing toys and having someone to play with.  I remember being told to hug her belly.

Even then, I thought it was weird.

I was three.

I don't really remember hating the idea of a baby right off.   I think I was fine with it.

At first.

One day I  was presented with a doll, a baby bathtub, a real washcloth and a tiny little bar of real soap.   It was one of the coolest dolls I had ever had, and I loved how the Ivory soap smelled.   I also got a doll bed and a high chair.   This was so I could take care of *my* baby when Mom took care of hers.

Things worked out for awhile I guess, because I don't have any memories of them not.

Until THAT day.

Carrie wouldn't leave me alone.  She crawled around after me all the time.  She got into EVERYTHING.  She broke and ate MY crayons.  She messed with MY toys. Then she started walking.  I would go into my room to play, and there she was.    We weren't allowed to close our doors, so I couldn't lock her out that way.   I just had to tolerate her.

I remember, one day, I was playing with my doll.  Carrie was everywhere I wanted to be.  I had the baby in the doll bed, and then Carrie wanted in the doll bed.  My baby doll had just woken up from her nap and was crying, just like Carrie did all the time, so I knew my doll was hungry.  I tried to put the doll in the high chair, but Carrie was hanging onto me trying to stand up.  When her wobbly toddler legs could hold her and she was steady,  she lurched toward the high chair, knocking off my play baby food and spoon.   Great!  Now I had to clean up pretend baby food off the carpet. Do you *know* how long that takes?

Carrie put her little leg on the high chair and tried to climb it. I pushed her leg down and told her, "No."  She went back to the doll bed and tried to get in.  I told her, "No" again.  My frustration was mounting.

Carrie came back over to the doll high chair again.

And then it happened.

I was so angry at her.  She was always bothering me and I  just wanted her to leave me alone.  I wanted her..... GONE....back to the days of when I could play with my toys.  ALONE.

I pushed her as hard as I could.   She fell right into my bed.  Specifically, into the rails of the bed frame.

She was still and silent for a second and then there was blood.

Lots and lots of blood and lot and lots of screaming.  Bad, bad high-pitched screaming.

Mom came running into my room, and then started yelling at me.

Apparently when Carrie *fell* (notice I used "fell" like it was her fault and not "was pushed" like it was mine), she managed to hit the bottom of her chin causing her little baby rat-like teeth to bite her tongue in half.

In.  Half.

With each little demon-filled scream, you could see that her tongue was hanging by just a little piece of sinew on the side. 

Mom was furious. 

She loaded my butt up into the car and held Carrie, screaming, in her arms as Dad drove us to the clinic.  Momma said I had to watch while they sewed her tongue.

I remember them putting that little bitty baby on a papoose board, strapping her down so she was immobile, and then putting her tongue back together.   Mom made Dad hold me and watch what I had done.

I'll never forget it.  

I guess all is well that ends well.   The coolest thing that came from all of this is that now Carrie can do these crazy shapes with her tongue and fold it in half.   Whenever she sticks it out, it has this weird shape to the end of it.... like an evil face-eating clown or maybe this guy......

Happy birthday, Carrie.   I'm glad you're still around.