Preheat peeps at 325

Besides the obvious -- lack of baby pictures, mind blanks on your name during introductions, etc., you become aware very early of what it means to be a middle child.
For me, it came every Easter when we would search for baskets. We never did the egg thing, it was always a basket hunt. And mine was always in the oven. My sisters would search everywhere, my mom would often rearrange furniture to hide theirs. I always walked directly to the oven and pulled it out.
"Oh, Vicki you found it!"
"It's Jessica."
But if there are two universals about kids it's that they love to be timed--with anything--and they love to look for shit.
So the idea of a hunt for gifts carried over to all our birthdays. Our presents would be hidden in various places around the house to add to the fun. It was exciting to run around hunting for glimpses of wrapping paper, until it ceased to be, and we'd cry.
Realizing the whole house was too daunting, and all we really wanted was our stuff, the hiding places were narrowed down to 2 rooms, the living room and the kitchen. I think the kitchen was included solely for the purposes of my gifts.
This tradition continued as we grew up and the hiding spots could be listed with about as much effort as reciting the alphabet. It lasted through the eye-rolling angst of the preteens, "Oh, under the sofa cushion?! Good one mom--God!"
Through the high school, "No, I'm too old for that. But, ok, hide them. No--really, hide them."
And I tried to carry it to college but my freshman year roommate was not feeling it.
-have you seen my paper?
-HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
-no, seriously. I'm late for class and this is a huge deal.
-Then you better get to looking! cold, colder.
-Idiot.
My parents sent me a package and it got here a few days ago. They called to say not to open it until tomorrow. Right. Who gets a package in the mail (maybe one of the best things in the world, right?) and just lets it sit there? If anyone has that much restraint I'd like to meet you. Wait, no I wouldn't. Because you're probably not fun at all.
So they sent a basket that included an incredibly scary bunny pez-dispenser that I can't really look at after dark.
The note attached said, "This was in the oven." Cute.
Followed by, "Happy Easter, Jennifer."