I have a brother 1+1/2 years younger than I. When my older siblings started school we were still too young. He required a nap every afternoon in his crib in the room next to mine. I hated the nap and felt I was too old for such foolishness. I never napped anyway, it was just forced confinement in my room while both he and my Mom snoozed it up. There was no fighting it though, so grudgingly I would play my way through the toys and distractions my bedroom provided only to end up hopelessly bored.
Then I began to notice that nap time ended when little bro began to fuss and cry. Pretty soon I figured out that I could sneak into his room without being heard (parents room down the hall past the bathroom!), grab the bottle, through the crib rails, out of his sleepy mouth and hold it just out of his reach until he began to wail. At which point I would toss the bottle back into the crib and make a bee line back into my room and commence innocently and quietly playing with my toys.
It worked like a charm! But, of course, the day arrived when it didn’t phase him anymore. I grabbed his bottle and he just sat their looking goofy like it was a game. Making evil faces at him didn’t even work. What to do? Grab the rails of the crib and begin to quietly shake the thing until he cried. Of course he grew used to that as well, and the day came when I had to begin violently shaking the crib for a considerable time trying to get a response.
The response that came was not what I was hoping for, instead of making him cry, I had woken my mother, who arrived to see me, holding his bottle in one hand, making evil faces, and shaking his crib violently all the while cursing him out. I remember, to this day, exactly how guilty I felt.
My brother is four years older than I am. He used that to his advantage.
When I was 6 and he was 10 years old, we were sitting in a movie theater waiting for the movie to start up. My mom told us to be quiet and to just wait for the movie. We were fidgety so my brother decided to actually play with his little sister.
He turned to me and said “hey, if you give me your hand, I can read your fortune”.
I gave him my hand and he rubbed his greasy face all against it. I wanted to show him! So I said “give me your hand!” He gave me his hand and I rubbed it against my face. The thing is, my face was and has always been oil-free and baby soft. So no harm against him. Oh, and he somehow managed to lick his hand before I rubbed it against my face. I screamed so loud and our mom got so mad…
Another time, my brother wanted to play “who can hit the lightest”. Duh, I wanted to win so I barely touched my brother. He then heartily hit me the hardest he could and screamed “YOU WIN!”
That last thing I can think of off the top of my head is my brother chasing me around with a pair of scissors because I did something to make him angry. He “accidentally” swung his arm too hard and he cut my arm. I started crying and hollering because I was bleeding all over the place! He complained that he had to bandage me up because I ‘started it’. :rolleyes:
That’s ok, I got him back by being the cute little pain in the ass sister that I am!
Wow…that brings back a memory! My little brother desperately wanted to have a pillow fight one time, and I wasn’t interested. He kept pestering me and nagging me and generally annoying me until I relented. Except that I had an ace up my sleeve; I’d learned that if you take a big pillowcase and put a little feather pillow in it, you end up with something akin to a ball & chain. He got a big pillow, whacked me a couple of times, I pushed him away, and …
SWING! WHACK! THUD!
I’d knocked him completely off the bed, and into the wall head first, and he came up screaming bloody murder with a humongous black and blue goose egg on his forehead where he’d hit the wall.
Not something I did but a friend when he was about 8.
He went and got the box of Captain Crunch out of the kitchen. Then he went to where his little brother, 4 or 5, was sitting in front of the TV. He offered some to his brother who took a double handful. Then my friend went to the play room and proceeded to throw the contents of the box all over creation. When the formerly clean room was completely covered with crunchy detritus, my friend ran screaming to his mom, “Look what [little brother] did to the play room!” His mom saw the mess and then went stalking off. The little brother was found still sitting in front of the TV, quietly, neatly eating his incriminating breakfast cereal. The mom gave him quite a beating for “his” dirty deed.
