Working it Out

In my family there are 4 children. I was thinking this morning about how well my parents tried to always keep things even and fair between all of us. They did a really good job.
When we were younger, my dad used to tantalize us with the reward of getting to make muffins. Looking back on it now, I realize that it was probably that he wanted muffins and to not have to make them so he would put the spin on it so we would rather die than not be able to make muffins. Anyway, he would take us to Kroger and we'd race to the muffin mix aisle and stare at the endless boxes of JIFFY muffin mix. We would each get to pick a flavor (apple cinnamon was my usual choice) and we'd go back home. This where it got tricky, however. 4 boxes of muffin mix would make a ridiculous amount of muffins--that wasn't responsible. So we'd get to make 2 boxes. It was usually a vote--decided by the two of us who had to sit in the back seats during the trip to the store. But so as not to be exclusive, whoever got to pick the flavor got to crack the egg. The ones who didn't get to crack the eggs got to stir and put the mix in the paper cups. Everybody got to do something, and we all reaped the benefits.
We had a conversion van--2 captain chairs and a back seat bench. With 4 kids, my parents early on devised a rule that you have assigned seats for the month. So calling seats as you leave the church building and racing to get to the van first to claim your throne became just a way to stay in shape--rather than a guarantee to not have to sit in the back. February was the worst month to have the captain chair--because you only got it for 28 days--29 if you were lucky. And long family vacations you wanted to time out just right so you could be in the back when the bed got put down. I realized pretty quickly on those 3 hour rides to grandma's house stuck in the back seat that the only one of my siblings I never got to sit by was the smallest one. This realization usually occured as Kali would lean her head against the window and put her stinky stinky feet across the seat in my direction. Despite the annoyingly fair arrangement of the deal, there was always something to complain about.
Isn't that how it is? I wonder what I'm going to do when I have my own kids. I, personally, am rather attached to the phrase "well, life's not fair. . ." Would I have accepted that when I was younger? Probably not. Maybe it was because my parents worked hard to make life as fair for us as they could. Maybe it's because nobody likes to get the short straw. But there's always a short straw, and somebody has to draw it. Karma? I hardly think so.
How do you get over the fact that you don't deserve everything you get?
Does it really always even out the fact that you get things you don't deserve?