Night and Day

My kids. I joke about how if you mushed them together, you'd get me. They're undeniably my kids, they have a lot of my odd traits. But what traits of mine they have inherited are amplified and slightly distorted. It's like holding a magnifying glass up to various parts of me. It's a truly bizarre experience for a parent to notice these things.

The Boy: The Boy inherited my dark, thick, unruly hair, my habit of raising one eyebrow, my nose, my chubby cheeks and my mouth. He was always a bit too serious. A bit too intense. Even as a baby, he seemed vaguely brooding. But he was always well behaved. Conversely enough, he was a cheerful baby. Didn't complain much-- unless I was slow with his food. He never shows much emotion, preferring to keep his feelings hidden (much like I do). He has my long hands and feet. He always stuck to a schedule, is fond of quoting rules, and is very literal. He'll, from time to time, bend-- or outright squash beyond all recognition-- a rule if it doesn't fit in with his plans. He likes to keep lists. He cannot be rushed. He's slow and steady, but picks up speed until he bowls you over. I've compared him to a steam roller many times and others say that that description is apt. He can eat anyone under the table and is as skinny as a rail (unlike his mother). He is also a junkfood junkie and would eat it constantly if I allowed it. He loves pretty things, can save money like no other, draws well, and will notice the tiniest of details. He is also capable of making the most amazing messes, is quite the mercenary, used to draw on the walls, and hasn't been able to find things RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS FACE. He is both intuitive and oblivious ( just like his mother). He is prone to laziness, is very sensitive and empathetic, and has a nasty temper. And, still, he's amazingly gentle and loves babies.

The Girl:The Girl inherited my almond-shaped eyes, chubby cheeks, obsession with hair, makeup and shoes and light-hearted nature. She, too, has my long hands and feet and my clumsy streak (but to a far stronger degree than any of the rest of us). She was the difficult baby. Terribly unpredictable. I never knew what to expect. She looked like a tiny fairy child and burped like a sailor. She inherited my allergies. She's still unpredictable. A whirlwind. Mercurial. And an artiste through and through. She lives and breathes art. She loves to write, draw, sing and dance (even if she keeps falling down). She can talk to anyone about anything and charm the hell out of them while she infuriates them. She's so stubborn, bull-headedly so. Even when she knows she's wrong, she won't back down. She loves animals more than people and will cry for days over an injured bird. She loves to take care of people. She's my little revolutionary, my rebel, the one who will change the world. She can never hold onto money because there are so many pretty trinkets she has to have NOW. She's somewhat vain and likes to stare at herself in the mirror. She will do this for hours if you don't stop her. She is also incredibly brave. She didn't even whimper when getting her ears pierced. But she also tried to beat up the nurse who gave her a needle. Even when I was practically laying down on top of her, pinning her arms while the nurse pinned her legs. She's my scrappy little fighter. She's also most likely to become a vegetarian. Ask her and she'll tell you her favorite food is broccoli. And she's not lying. She's whipsmart. They couldn't even pinpoint her IQ at age five. It was high. They considered putting her in an advanced grade, but were unsure of her emotional maturity. She was a little hellion that year. She even got suspended. In first grade. But she's also the hardest little worker I've ever known. She never complains about doing the work either.

Me: Somewhere between the two. And flummoxed. Also, saving up bail money for the little revolutionary.