payback

Tonight I caught Arabelle sneaking her dinner into the trashcan so she could have dessert.

Her brother, who is two years older, has never even considered the thought.

I'm certain this is the result of some idle wish on Mom's part that I would have a daughter just like me to deal with.

That sort of idle wish I think is just so natural to a parent dealing with a trying child. I honestly try not to think like that about my kids, even if it has no real effect on the future generation's personalities.

But then the next moment of pure frustration happens (why must these children be so stubborn?!), and inside my head I hear myself rant.

I hope you have a kid just like you when you're a parent. Then you'll see! And I'll be laughing at your payback. Laughing!

favoritism

Growing up I felt quite strongly that one of my sisters was the favorite daughter while I was more or less the black sheep of the family. This was absolutely not true - in fact, that "favored" sister felt just as strongly that I was the favorite and she the black sheep. But despite coming to this understanding, I find myself extremely sensitive to any preferential treatment of siblings.

Today, at my niece's birthday party, I found myself musing over the favoritism issue once again. I've been witness to several times over the last month where it feels that my children receive unequal treatment. This has been worrisome to me, even though I know the logical explanations behind it. I remember how easily I was convinced that I was the least favorite, though we were all loved equally. I remember how it ripped my and my sister's relationship to shreds for the majority of our lives so far. How it constantly picked at my self esteem. How it severely damaged my relationship with my parents. How it stopped me from wanting to adopt because I was scared I wouldn't be able to love that child as much as my "real" children.

I made myself a promise that I would never make my children go through that, if I could help it. But I'm off to a lousy start. Even aside from the instances of last month, I am embarrassed to note that the majority of the contents of our toy closet are Yonah's. It's easily at least a 4 to 1 ratio, and it would be an even greater difference if I hadn't started calling certain toys both of theirs. I worry that she won't be able to catch up to his two year head start. And I do worry a little that neither she or Lila will find themselves equal to his standing of first (grand)child and (currently) only (grand)son.

How much of this is my past shadowing my childrens' future? Am I the only one who notices this? Is it simply because of my old emotional scars that I do?

growing up

Today's moment is actually two, but they had the same impact on me.

First, there is Yonah's insistence on using the boy bathroom all by himself.  We've agreed that he is allowed to do this at the church only.  This might be a bit hypocritical since the same sort of people probably use the bathroom in a store, but at the church there is pretty much always someone I know and trust around who can keep an eye on him for me.  Today he only mentioned as he passed me that he was going to the bathroom.  I followed and hung out in the hallway waiting for him, but it struck me that I only did so because it was end-of-service crowded.  If it had been less busy, I wouldn't have been bothered much by the idea of his going completely by himself.

Second, at Carl's Jr., he hurried through his lunch and went to play in the playground.  After checking out the environment (mostly making note of the few kids/adults in the area) I felt absolutely no need to do more than casually keep tabs on where he was - and that really only to ascertain that he had not wandered out of the play area.

His maturity level now is such that I trust him to be wholly independent like that in certain (safe) circumstances, and to come to me immediately if he ever feels uncomfortable.  I'd never consciously thought about this before, and it blew me away a little bit to realize just how big he is getting.  He sure isn't my baby boy anymore.  I just hope I am able to manage that crucial balance between allowing him to practice spreading his wings and protecting him from dangers he doesn't see or fully understand.

bubbles and water

I'm changing the tone of this blog a little bit.  I'm going to be focusing more on a specific moment that stands out to me from each day, assuming any do.  The other stuff I've been doing is great, but it doesn't feel quite right to me.  So, here goes.

After far too long, I finally got the kids into the tub again today.  It was an interesting experience.  Bath time usually is, but today's adventure was a different sort.  For one thing, Arabelle has begun the journey into irrational fears that all 2-year-olds go through.  If not for some new bath toys, I don't think I would have been able to get her in the water at all.  Once she was in, however, she didn't mind any part of getting clean.  The one exception to this was when my washing her hair inhibited her ability to play.

The second reason it was a different experience: While still panicky when water got too near his forehead, Yonah was doing his best to rinse out his hair by himself.  It's been close to two years since his fear of hair washing began; I believe I witnessed the beginning of the end.  I suppose I never really expected him to grow out of it.  It will be odd to slowly do away with the extra care his baths have required.

But put those two occurrences aside, and that bath was still something that stands out to me about the day.  Sorting through a pile of freshly laundered rags and washcloths on my lap as I observed the two interacting and playing with each other in the bubbles and water . . . It was perfect.  I will very much miss the combined baths when they begin to lose the innocence of the very young.