Lest You Think I'm Not Enamoured of the Other Son

I am guilty! Guilty of blogging more complimentary things about one child than about the other. So herein I set the record straight. (I learned this from my mom. I am the 2nd of 4 children, all born within a 5 year span. It behooved Mom to ensure that we had the same number of jelly beans in our Easter baskets and an even rotation of grunt work on the chore chart. We'd be sure to let her know if anything was in any way unfair. I suspect I was the first to discern a slight. And if my pettiness made Mom the whiz at spreadsheets she is today, well, all I can say is, "You're welcome, Mom.")

So my firstborn, D. He hasn't read Tolstoy. Strangely enough, this hasn't devalued him in my eyes whatsoever. I have to admit, actually, to an unseemly amount of pride in this child. Back when he was an infant, and I was a new mom, I was obsessed with his every new syllable and the gleam in his steady brown eyes, etc., and I kept a monthly diary of his progress through life. He gnawed his toes! He grew 3/4"! He has the cutest chickpea-sized birthmark...! (Location of birthmark redacted due to his now being 15 years old and probably desirous of a certain amount of discretion from his mom.) Every once in a while I pull out that journal, but not as frequently as I might if I'd been as through with K's journal. (Ask my mom about our baby books. Or better yet, ask my oldest and youngest siblings. I tried to learn that lesson from her, too, but failed. Probably I should destroy all of the baby journaling, and not just because it's frighteningly apparent that I was pretty sure I was the most amazing mom of the most amazing baby in the universe.) So, I've been watching over this guy for a long time now, and have yet to find any major flaws. Not a lot of minor ones, either.


Here are some things about D of which I am not at all rightfully proud:

• His musical ability. He picked up violin at 7, guitar at 12, bass guitar at 14. He writes music and sings with his band (you can buy their first single!) It's a definite talent, is what I'm saying. And I... I can't pick Middle C out of a lineup of nothing but C notes. That's all from his dad, and all I did was foster it when D decided he was interested.
• His height. Isn't that a silly thing to be proud of? Especially as I'm 5' 4" (or 5' 3 1/2" if you ask my 5' 4" sister.) His dad's the one who's 6' 2" so D standing eye to eye with him has naught to do with me. I do love marking those pencil lines on the kitchen wall, though. 
• His charm. He's an extrovert, and quick-witted, and sweet-tempered. Or at least I think so. (Re: sweet-tempered - most of the time.) While I like to think I can be funny, probably the fact that D, aged 3, memorably retorted, “Oh, you sarcastic woman!” when I was trying to harangue him into his car seat one day means that I don’t possess that subtle wry thing that D has. His dad is the master of the Embarrassing Dad Pun, so no help there. It’s clearly innate.
• His smarts. Okay, he gets them from me. But the way he uses his intelligence impresses me. He's very goal-oriented, thinks long-range and figures out a plan and then - this is the part unlike me - sets about doing the necessary work. And self directed! I mean, it's not that I don't want him to take all honors level classes and make all As (good luck on those last 2 finals tomorrow, son) but I try to maintain the illusion that "doing your best is good enough" and all that no-pressure-parenting stuff. 

I won't go on an on. Well, I won't go on and on and on, at any rate. The point is: D is excellent, I admire him, I respect him, and I love him. And... now I've got a carte blanche to post anything I like about his excessive texting and dirty socks and the fact that I absolutely don't get nervous at all when he drives me on the freeway.