* * *
I love seeing how different my kids are.
Cooper is -- well -- a golden retriever. He trusts everyone, can't hide emotions, comes scurrying up to you with boundless energy and a goofy grin. He loves to race, chase and play ball. Not kidding, sometimes we throw the ball back and forth for an hour. He is not complicated. It's either hot or cold. He thinks everyone and everything in life is good, so when something happens that he does not like, well, he cries "like someone killed his puppy." That's the only way I know how to describe it. Because, why on earth would anyone do something mean? There should be nothing bad in this world! He is his father's son.
Cooper is the glass half full guy. Mr. jolly-how-do-you-do-isn't-life-grand.
Cooper thinks sleep is an absolute waste of time. He has since he was a newborn. There is just too much to explore. Too many people to talk to. Too much to learn in this great, big wonderful world! He points out each new and exciting thing and really wants to make sure that you also appreciate it.
He is also a rascal. He gives me 0.3 seconds to get him down from the table when he signs "all done" before - WHAM! - he swipes his plate, placemat and all food on the floor and launches his fork across the room. Literally, 0.3 seconds.
He craves companionship. He doesn't like to ever eat by himself. He pats the table next to him and says "Mama! Mama!" or "Dada! Dada!"
He loves taking Ella's duckie-duck and running away cackling, knowing she is screaming behind him, very stressed and upset. It is all too reminiscent of growing up with my own little brother.
I think Cooper has a lot to teach me. And Ella.
Ella is deliberate, thoughtful, and complicated. She is chatty and quiet all at the same time. She is outspoken but also shy. She is smart and silly. She sometimes stops and observes and just thinks. She is creative and artsy. She is confident and insecure -- yes, she really is both of those. She is very self-aware and introspective. Sometimes when a bunch of kids are just running around dancing and acting silly, I catch her watching the other kids to make sure she is "doing it right." She is skeptical. She is bossy. She is nurturing. She is A LOT like her mother.
Ella likes to be doing something IMPORTANT. She will declare that she has VERY IMPORTANT WORK TO DO. I remember doing the exact same thing. In fact, I remember being so upset after my first day of third grade that I did not have homework that I did not want to tell my parents this embarrassing fact (what kind of slacker doesn't have homework!?!) so I shut myself away to work on my VERY IMPORTANT homework.
Ella must get her sleep. She is my kindred spirit. I think Brian thinks I am total wimp or am trying to get out of helping around the house when I insist on a regular basis that without a nap I might completely melt into a worthless puddle. But Ella does the exact same thing. So I have been redeemed. I have not been faking it. I truly need time to turn off my brain or I, too, will have a meltdown. It's something in our genetic makeup. Cooper and his constant need for interaction and complete disregard for sleep may be the end of both Ella and me.
Ella would rather do just about anything than eat. Truly. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are pretty much her most dreaded times of the day. She won't even eat kids' food -- no lasagna, spaghetti, chicken nuggets, none of it. Even pizza is a stretch. The other day she ate one pomegranate seed for lunch.
I have a challenge for myself. I want to always, unconditionally accept Ella and Cooper. Accept their strengths and weaknesses. Not try to make them something they are not. Recognize that each of them will succeed in areas the other will not, and then will struggle where the other will succeed. Recognize that often their weaknesses might actually be strengths. That what I think should be easy, or a given, might be more difficult than it appears. That I will always believe in each of them, no matter what. That they each have something to teach me. To teach us. That I will always be their biggest advocate. That no matter what, that even in those dreaded teenage years when they are pushing me away, I want to be able to see the best in them, believe in them, and make sure they never doubt that I am their biggest supporter, I am proud of them, and that I know nothing but love for them.
And this will sound strange -- but you know what I don't want to do? Push them. I already see that they will push themselves enough. That they will be their own harshest critic (especially Ella). These kids do not lack drive and dedication. I want to be able to offer all opportunities to them, but what they do with it -- and how far they take it -- is up to them. This doesn't mean I don't want to challenge them, teach them and guide them. I do want to challenge them to love, laugh, see the good in everyone, to learn that mistakes are okay, to forgive themselves and others, to hug often, to seek and teach kindness and acceptance. To be happy with whatever they have and where ever they end up. What I wish for them, most of all, is happiness, a sense of peace and contentment.
