Me first!

Every morning, after the kids have had their breakfast, we go through this annoying dress ritual. My sons, upon devouring the last bite of their pancakes, race for their clothes for that day, to see who is going to get dressed first. No one says anything...for fear that it will spur the other to switch it into "high gear". It's a fierce, unspoken battle to be the first one to be dressed, complete with shoes and socks. My older boy is now 6, so he can get dressed all by himself...but my younger one is almost 3, so he is still trying to figure out how to NOT end up with both feet in the same pant leg. Usually, it's a dead heat, right down to the socks (with a little help from Mom, of course). At that point, all the pressure lies on me...as 4 white-socked wiggling feet are waving in front of me, vying for my undivided attention. I try to remember who "won" the day before, so the other can have a taste of victory once in a while...but usually, I make my oldest sweat it out solo, as he has just recently learned how to tie his own laces. When all is said and done, the victor is usually everything BUT humble, and I end up with someone pouting. I don't really know how this competition came to be in the first place, but I am seeing it manifest in other activities in our home as well. At bath time, for example, they both want to be the first ones out of the tub. At breakfast, they each want me to cut their pancakes first. And, of course, at story time, they each want their story read first. It can get really annoying after a while, and I am not sure how exactly to handle it, other than taking turns...the least favorite option of the one who goes second! I don't remember being this way with my sisters. Maybe boys are different and more competitive all around. For now, the battles are small and manageable. What I am really wondering is how it will be when the younger one learns to ride his bike, when Dad teaches them to shoot a rifle, and when they both learn to drive. (oh my!)

A Mother's Reflections

As the third birthday of my youngest son approaches, I have been thinking about what has formed and shaped him up to this point...From the first words spoken over him of, "Wow, he has a big head!!", until now, my baby has experience more of life in almost three years, than many do in a lifetime. He came into this world in July, in Yuma, Arizona, in the Sonoran Desert...we're talking 115 degree July...I don't care what anyone says...at 115 degrees, is not a "dry heat", it's a burning inferno! Nevertheless, my little bundle of joy proved to be a trooper! His first exploration was at 2 weeks, upon the arrival of my side of the family. We set sail for San Diego where he experienced the Pacific Ocean at Mission Beach and The Famous San Diego Zoo, all within 2 days time. He went South of the Border to Sonora, Mexico for a day trip, and even dipped his chubby little toe in the Colorado River. My family returned to N.Y., and life's routine settled in. He had a sitter named Betty, who was a sweet girl I knew from our church in Mexico. She lived in our town, and it seemed like the perfect set up...that is until the one morning that I arrived at her house and she wasn't back from the morning school run. I patiently waited, and smiled when I saw her drive up. She got out of her car, and I noticed that her son, who was a year and a half, wasn't riding with her. When I asked about him, Betty opened the door and showed me that her little one was lying peacefully sleeping in his crib. Now, I should tell you that when my blood pressure raises, my face turns all sorts of shades of red...and I am certain this day in particular, my cheeks were a radiant purple, when I thought of the dangers of leaving an infant home alone, even for a short period of time...Needless to say, Betty found other employment rather quickly, and Dad became Mr. Mom for the next year. For those of you who know Luis, you know he is a passionate, driven man...consequently, Jonathan walked at 10 months, his first word was "Dada", and if the food was Mexican, Jonathan ate it!! The mode of transportation of choice was Dada's '88 Toyota pickup...single cab, manual transmission. Josh would ride straddling the stick and Jonathan got a window seat. The pickup had no a/c, so when they would arrive to their destination, they all had fabulous sweat-slicked, wind-whipped hairstyles. Jonathan is a very vocal child, to which I also attribute to his Dad...but one day, when Jonathan was about to turn two, the Parra house grew very quiet...my husband, who had learned that silence equals trouble, arose from his computer studies, in search of Jonathan. He found him within seconds, in our bedroom, holding a brass lamp that I had bought at a yard sale. It was a really ugly lamp, and I don't know why I even bought it, but at the time, their junk looked like my treasure. Anyway, Jonathan was clutching the lamp, not saying a word. Luis took the lamp and Jonathan began to wail!! We later realized that he was being electrocuted by the lamp, and we drove him to Urgent Care in Yuma, for second degree electrical burns on his left ring finger. Thankfully, he didn't lose the finger (or his life!!) and still has normal feeling and use of his hand. Although he has a nasty scar that will probably require surgery in the future. This past year, we left the desert and headed east and landed in South Carolina. Jonathan has worked Grandma Carmen's farm (with only one casualty involving a chick trapped under his Elmo sneaker), he has dined on azalea flowers, and lived to talk about it...and he has discovered the hard way about fire ants and their protective flesh-eating nature. He still has his mischievous tendencies...Silence still equals trouble, and he still has a big head, but it's a cute big head, and I'm told he'll "grow into it". But I am hoping that his third year is a quiet, uneventful one. Here's hoping...Happy Birthday Jonathan!