Really, why couldn't it have been a Tritops?

      I have always been grateful to have been raised in a big family.  I mean really, how awesome to have a house full of friends? And to go on vacation with a ready-made group of interesting people who kind of look like you (even me and Jenna have similar noses; at least that's what the head of wardrobe for ACL said and hey, I'll take it, her nose is cute!)--it was always fun and lively.   

     Well, let's just say there was never a dull moment.  Not when my pop ran our van into a pothole as big as Delaware (which is small for a state, but large for a pothole, you gotta admit), made all of us kids get out but told my mom to stay in (we found out later this was to give the van "balance" and I don't think my mom found this flattering or amusing), and proceeded to procure a man who just happened to own a tow-truck coming out of a nearby bar who smelled suspiciously of alcohol, but really, we weren't in the position to be picky at that point.   This very, uh...relaxed man, so to speak, got us out (and by us I mean my mom, since she was the only one still in the van, per my pop's orders, just balancing it away) in no time and my parents' were quick to call him an angel.  By the way, do they have AA meetings in heaven?  Just wondering.  

    Anyway, growing up was always interesting.  

    But here's the thing: when you are on the bottom of the totem pole--namely, the mere fourth child in a grand total of five--you don't always have a lot of say.  In anything.  And for a while, it was just me and my brothers--Jenna not having arrived on the scene yet--so I had nobody to boss around; conversely, everybody was my boss.  When Josh was around, he was the authority and we were subject.  If it was just me, Jase, and Jonathan, well Jase ruled the day.  And when Jase was gone--well, you get the picture: Jonathan exercised his right as Supreme Older Brother; he said jump and I asked how high.  When he deemed it the right time to ride our bikes to Landhope Farms (the very mecca of candy, hot dogs, and ice cream treats--I don't know if we even realized that adults did anything so boring and blase as get gas there, and if we did, we didn't care), well then I excitedly grabbed my little red bike with the banana seat and peddled furiously after him.  

   My brothers were kind-hearted, but couldn't resist a little teasing when it came to me.  I was an especially easy target, since I was so sensitive (I say was like I'm not anymore. Ha.) and would give them a nice big reaction every time.  Anyway, my given name is Jessica Sarah Elisabeth--and before you go thinking that I lost my train of thought, let me explain.   Until kindergarten (it was there that I was in a class with two other Sarahs, making me the 3rd Sarah--so I decided to go by my first name, Jessica, successfully making me the only Jessica in my class.  You can imagine my disappointment when another Jessica was added in 2nd grade...), I was called Sarah by everyone.  This was due to the fact that my mom thought I looked like a Sarah as a baby, I think.  

   Anyway, what's important is that somehow dinosaurs became a topic of interest in our house.  Particularly, the triceratops.  Yeah, say that again, out loud.  Notice that it has the name Sarah right smack in the middle of the word?  Well, I would get so mad when my brothers would say that, because I was sure that the dinosaur was really just a tritops--that my brothers had inserted MY NAME into the middle of it just to tease me.  Once they realized that, they would mention the triceratops all of the time.  Suddenly it was, hey Sarah, whaddaya think of the triCERAtops? And, Hmmm, is the triCERAtops a carnivore or a herbivore?, always with an emphasis placed on the CERA.  I could barely believe it when my parents had to explain to me that the dinosaur was, in fact, a triceratops--that my brothers hadn't made it up.  I mean, what are the odds that a bazillion year old dinosaur with a latin name has my Christian name right in the mix of it's own?  Go figure.  

   And here's something else: when we would be out and about playing as spies or some other sort of cloak and dagger fun, we had code names.  I don't exactly remember my brothers' names, but I can assure you they were titles that brought to mind heroic deeds of guts and glory.  

   What was my code name?  Balloon.  Just an inanimate, round, easily-popped object that has no autonomy of its own.  Interesting.  I am sure when our enemies heard that the dreaded Balloon was nearing, it shot fear into their hearts.  I can just hear them whimpering, begging for mercy as they say, Please! Send Snake Eyes, or Dagger, or even Lone Wolf--but whatever you do, keep Balloon away!!!

   And lastly, whenever we played Transformers, which is something we did a lot, I was always, without fail, the yellow buggy, Bumblebee.  I guess there really wasn't a girl transformer, but if you had to pick the weakest, sissiest one, it would be Bumblebee (but not in the latest version of the movie; Bumblebee is pretty awesome now).  Here's the catch though, if another girl--a friend from church, perhaps--ever joined us in Transformers, then I was automatically demoted to Baby Bumblebee--a character that didn't even exist.  Let's just say it was a really good day when I got to be Bumblebee. The real thing.  You know--the one that is actually on the tv show! 

   So yeah, it wasn't always easy being so low in the pecking order; but at the same time, I wouldn't trade my place with anybody for anything--even with triceratops, Balloon, and Baby Bumblebee taken into consideration.