My Favorite(s)

Do you have a favorite?

It's a question that we parents hate being asked. How could you answer that when you would give your life for any one of your children? When you would take down any little brat that laid a finger on your precious baby, or any bully who hurt their tender feelings?

A favorite? If I answered that question and a "less" favorite child some how learned of my "preferences" would it not be emotionally damaging at best?


I once read a book that advised parents when presented with the question by one of their children to say "I love you all differently."  And this is true. I do.

My boys are ages 9, almost 7 and almost 4.  I relate to each one of them differently.  I am going to be honest, it is easier to feel in love with my baby, my Julian.  He is still innocent enough that he doesn't know the power of words ("Mommy I hate you" can be followed up with "You are the best Mommy ever!" only minutes later.) He is still willing and ready to give hugs and kisses freely.  He is still at the age where my attention is more important than that of any other human's on the planet.  He learns new skills every day and is so proud to inform me "that is the letter J!" or "mommy, I went in the potty!" Even when covered in a nasty collage of dirt, chocolate and snot he manages to look adorable. God. He is easy to love.

And then there is my eldest son Zachary. There is no trace of baby left in him, rather I see the outline of the teenager he will soon become.  He has piercing blue eyes and an incredibly toned, muscular body for boy his age. He is moody, sensitive and has a mean temper that is shared only with those whom he is closest with. His anger is mostly turned inwards, a perfectionist, like his mother, he can fly into a rage when he feels he has failed, even if that "failure" is a lost game of Uno. As a parent his behavior can be maddening, for the LOVE OF GOD child, it's a card game why are you freaking out like a meth addict on a deserted island without his fix? But he is smart. Damn that kid is smart. Not only in his understanding of academics, but in his dealings with others.  He knows when you are stifling a laugh at his epic meltdown over a missing lego piece. He knows if there is any hint of disapproval in his choice of language, outfit or his school performance. He knows if someone is feeling left out and hurt. He knows when someone needs a hug. So my Zachary can be "difficult" to love when he is in the throngs of a near puberty, door slamming, eye rolling, profanity infused temper-tantrum, but he is raw, and real and honestly, an open book that I cannot help but identify with and adore.

And finally the Middle Child. Evan. Does he get lost somewhere between his genius older brother and his adorable younger sibling? He isn't the first to achieve anything, or the little one we look at, teary eyed and sighing "the baby"  Nope. But Evan couldn't possibly be anymore lovable. He has the best smile and the saddest face when he cries, the quivering fat bottom lip that makes the mama heart melt. He is less serious than my eldest son, less innocent than my youngest, a lovely blend of sweet, smart and goofy.  Evan was the baby I thought I wouldn't get. After nine plus months of fertility treatments, a false positive pregnancy test, and many hormone induced rages I finally got knocked up, only to give birth to the most challenging newborn in all of my experience.  Yet, here he is. Creative, thoughtful, caring, kind and NAUGHTY. The kind of naughty that is so easy to forgive, because, damn it, look at that face!

So... do I have a favorite? I have a favorite sweet baby, a favorite crazy-smart, sensitive pre-teen, and a favorite goof-ball,

Sure depending on the year, the month, the week or the day each one of my children can be easier to relate to, to empathize with or to have fun with. But do I have a favorite? I don't know do I have a favorite ice cream flavor? Cookie Dough, Salted Oreo, Double Fudge Brownie? I love them all in different ways, and while at any given day I might be "feeling" one kiddo a little more than the others, I can honestly say that I don't have one favorite, no, I have three :)

Somebody's Daughter

I spend a lot of time writing teary pieces about my babies growing up. I know I often sound like a broken record as I describe my experiences weeping softly while I pass by the infant section of Target, knowing it holds nothing that I will ever need again.

Today I will take a different approach. This isn't about my kids growing up and away from me, but about me, savoring the fact that I am still somebody's little girl. My mother and stepfather are visiting for the week and nobody cares for me like they do. Nobody. My folks are interested in absolutely everything about me, in a way that nobody else in their right mind would be. I could blab for 30 minutes about my laundry and they would listen intently. God bless them.

Yes, it's true there are times when the (often wise) advice my mother doles out about skin care or how long chicken keeps wears on my nerves (mom, I'm a grown woman, I know) but who else cares enough to lose sleep over the state of my smoke detectors? Who else is actually interested in every single picture that I post of my children? Who else can look at me and remember the little girl that I once was?

It struck me yesterday when my mother accompanied me to the salon while I spent two hours getting highlights and a trim. She sat in the chair next to me, knitting and occasionally making conversation. She was happy enough just to be spending time with me, any time at all.  After my hair was done we went into the boutique next door and I tried on a little black dress that I just couldn't live without. I am of course more than capable of buying my own clothing these days, but as I was hemming and hawing about the expense my mother took the dress from me and whipped out her credit card, in that moment I realized that I am still her little girl, and that felt great.

After my grandfather passed away at 94, I remember my mom telling me with tears in her eyes those very same things.  That even though there was a role reversal in the recent years, and she was doing the care taking, her father still made her feel a way that nobody else could.  She grieved that loss, that she was now no longer somebody's daughter.  Would anyone ever want to just sit with her in the living room in silence again and just watch her knit? She not only lost her parent, but she lost her place in life as as someone's child.  

I think of that when I am with my parents. How special the time is. How much I like being their daughter. I am lucky to have parents who love and care for me the way that they do.  I want to cherish my time with them because I know someday, I won't be anyone's little girl anymore.

Thank you mom, for making making me feel like a treasured child again.  And thank you for making me look like your sister in my new little black dress!