If you have more than one kid, your kids will eventually accuse you of having a favorite. The child accusing you, of course, is certain that he or she is NOT the favorite- the topic comes up to protest some alleged act of favoritism on your part to anyone other than said child.
This love manifests itself in some odd forms, too, like food distribution. Seriously, people. Crackers.
The kids all have their theories on which child is my favorite. #1 swears its #2. #3 is convinced it’s any sibling except him. #4 is convinced it’s anyone who gets more crackers than her, apparently. #5 thinks it’s her, because she’s a born optimist.
But one thing that all of them seem to collectively assume is that my true favorite kid is:
#6.
The baby.
Now granted, he IS the baby, which colors much of what he does with a bittersweet sentiment. And those dimples go a long way in often getting him out of trouble for his frequent shenanigans.
Truth be told, I have a favorite kid. You know you do, too.
But what our kids don’t get is that the identity of our “favorite child” changes day by day. The favorite kid is the one that is easiest to get along with on that given day. Period.
But my kids have often insisted that #6 is my favorite. And after receiving THIS birthday gift, it’s hard to convince them otherwise.
I collect Willow Tree figures, which is relevant to the story. I’m not sure when my love for them started, but over the years my collection of figures has grown. I’ve got lots of them, including a statue symbolizing each kid.
#1: “Wisdom”
Photo Credit: Willow Tree
#2: “Kindness”
#3: “Caring Child”
#4: “Joyful Child”
#5: “Spirited Child”
FYI- Don’t snicker at my lameness in loving these things, youngins. Sure, one minute you’re young & carefree, & the next, you’re middle-aged & gleefully hoarding carved wood “collectibles”.
When I first received the child figures, #6 was a baby. So for years, his figure was an infant. When my birthday rolled around & The Captain asked for gift suggestions, I told him that I’d love an upgrade on #6’s to that of an older boy.
Birthday: As I unwrapped the box & saw the “Willow Tree” logo, I began to get excited; which boy figure had The Captain picked?
“I picked this one ’cause I thought the little plant he was holding was cute.”
And the plant was cute. So was the little boy holding the plant. It was perfect… except for one small detail. Well, one BIG detail.
Photo Credit: Hallmark
A pedestal. The little boy is on a frigging PEDESTAL.
Sure, the plant’s cute, but what about the giant mound of ROCK the little dude is perched on?? Awkward. But I quietly tried to deflect attention from it.
Until #2 eyed it closely & exclaimed,
“Oh my GOSH, Mom- see, he’s so your favorite! Look, he’s on an actual pedestal, Ma!”
I tried to keep it on the down-low, but the rest of the kids crammed in to get a better look at the newly arrived Golden Boy. Snorts of disbelief and “I knew it!” flew around the room. The Captain began to cackle, & chuckled, “I didn’t even notice that.”
Then after dropping this controversial gift-grenade, he stealthily left the room, leaving me to deal with the sibling rivalry shrapnel. Happy birthday indeed, traitor.
I take great care in treating them equally: making sure each kid has the same exact number of Christmas gifts. Doling out the same number of ice cream scoops. Hugging & loving on each kid each day to ensure that they all felt equally loved & valued.
But alas, those extra 3 inches of wooden pedestal confirmed my guilt. Apparently.
#6, of course, was thrilled with his newly upgraded status. And by upgrade, I mean UPgrade. Because of his massive pedestal, #6 now towered up over, well, every.single.sibling.
If the statues had faces, you’d see that #5’s would be an expression of, “What the heck?!”
Sure, I protested, and pointed out that I didn’t pick the statue; it was their DAD’s fault. But the damage was done. In their eyes, there was now solid proof -concrete, factual evidence- that #6 was my favorite child.
To their credit, they took their assumed revelation in stride, & it’s still the subject of many jokes today.
They found it less amusing, when another family member received an elevation in status.
I had that since #2’s cat was part of our collection, I needed a cat figure to represent Queso, aka, “my nuggery fur-baby”. Technically he’s the family’s cat, but everyone knows he’s MY cat. He snuggles with me every morning, & I’ve been known to kick a kid out of my room with a fiercely whispered, “Shhh… Queso’s sleeping.“
In the words of #3:
“Gosh, Mom, you treat him like he’s your actual son.”
Truth, son. TRUTH.
The Captain, bless his heart, bought me the only cat figure that Willow Tree sells, which I knew existed yet hadn’t actually seen.
(Do you know where this is going? I didn’t. But you probably do… )
Another damn pedestal.
Disclaimer: I love my every single member of my family, with every fiber of my being. It’s just that I think of one or two of them more…. HIGHLY than the others (according to my non-pedestal-perching family members, anyway).
© Copyright 2019 Six Pack Mom, All rights Reserved. Written For: SPM Writes