A few days ago, the kids and I were stationary long enough to enjoy a movie in the living room. I can’t remember what we were watching but I do remember having the chance to observe the girls together. Having never had a sibling, I find their relationship interesting, weird and precious. Interesting because I’m a voyeur. I like to watch people interact with each other without having to talk to them myself. Precious because, well, they’re mine and it’s so stinkin’ cute. Then we get to weird. It’s mostly weird because I can never understand how you’re yelling at someone one minute then hugging and kissing them the next. I mean, I am married so I know that type of behavior exists. But among siblings, it is the basis of their relationship - the push and pull of opposite personalities.

Watching them sometimes I wish I had someone, another me to tell my problems to or take me out somewhere, or tell me funny stories and give me nephews and nieces. I am not oblivious to the fact siblings have problems just as much as they have good times. Not everything is rosy. I get it. I’m willing to take the good and bad.

Having two children allows me to watch what parts of me and BFam belong to which. Booger has yet to show any sign of being related to either of us except through her persistent and frequent characteristics of out and out stubbornness. She actually reminds me more of my grandmother which, in some respects, can kill you or make you stronger. It’s a toss-up as to how good or bad that likening is as one of my grandmother’s nicknames is “The General”. She has a few others, “The General” being the most polite. Only time will tell.

Then there’s Mooter.

I remember being a child and being so super-duper sensitive to everything, it would drive ME nuts. I could tell I was irritating my family, especially those who broke boulders with their cold, cold hearts. The result was my impending suicide attempts and life lessons of harsh reality from a few relatives. Over years, I was a monster: mean, blunt, curt. I have gotten better as I’ve gotten older, enough of a change for me to notice. And then God thought it would be funny to not only give me a child, but give me one that was a mirror. I was a sensitive kid. Mooter is fragile and sensitive. Nothing was done in her life to cause this. She was born, they cleaned her off, and she did the weirdest thing: she stared. A lot. Stared at doctors. Stared at me. Stared at BFam. Stared at nurses. I don’t remember her crying a lot either. Not 24 hours into her life, she was rushed to NICU with tubes and wires coming from every part of her. She’d swallowed meconium and was having trouble breathing. There she stayed for two weeks. It was a scary time going home without a baby. I had no idea how I got her father to leave there in one piece. Years later, and she is more a carbon copy of me than I care to admit. She’s something of an old soul, a term I wore my entire childhood. At six, she’s going through the phase of wanting to be like me. “Mooter, what do you want to eat?” gets the response, “Whatever you want to eat because I want to be just like you.” I guess I should relish a moment like this. How long does a child willingly, consciously want to be like their parents? I’m almost on the verge of buying a tape recorder to document every moment she utters these words just to play them after our first fight about lipstick and boys and how unfair I am and how I just don’t understand and Suzie’s mom let her do it!

I’m sure every parent wants their child to be their own person, have their own personality. In Mooter’s attempt to be me, she’s also adopted my childhood weaknesses. Even though I prayed and prayed she wouldn’t, every sign is showing me otherwise. And every time she cries because her peas are touching her rice, or the colors in her coloring book are just wrong all wrong!, or she walks into wall, or trips over her feet, or wants cereal with no milk but milk on the side with the Dora the Explorer spoon in the Dora the Explorer bowl, or her reverse comforter on the stripes side not the flower side because the stripes keep her safe… I realize blood is thicker than water.

And then she laughs when someone falls. Damn those genes!