Every morning when I wake up, I lean out my window to say hello to Mom. She doesn't reply, but that's okay. She never was a good listener, even before she was buried in our backyard. My brother, Dill ... [+]
I was born, Mom says, dollhouse- ready, pre-Barbie hair a field of curls, the early bird that, sealed in plastic, cried like grouse or pheasant chicks between my ribcage-rattling hiccup fits that never ever called it quits until my kidney bean lungs grew. My golden locks soon draped my back and dwarfed my arms. I screamed like twenty fire alarms when hands arrived in flocks to pet and pull my hair. They called me Goldilocks. I called myself Fun-Size and fled, appalled, from fingers that would dare to yank my ponytail. This shorty squad member still stands as tall as ever. She withstands t