Victory Is Mine

My youngest child is named after one of my brothers. Of the nine kids in my family, this brother was the golden child. He was perfect in every way. He was a good son, he was a great brother, everyone loved him, and no one begrudged him the title of "Mom's Favorite" because he was our favorite too.

So, I named my kid after him. Because I wanted a boy like that. It was a long shot, really. I mean what's in a name?

One of my most vivid childhood memories involves my older brother. He was cleaning the kitchen. He was probably 9 or 10 at the time. Looking back, I realize he was probably doing extraordinary things for a child of that age. But at the time I was only 4 or 5 and everybody older than me was the same (they could all stay up later, ride their bikes further and got a bigger bowl of ice cream).

My parents were standing in the doorway watching him. He was doing something ridiculous like scrubbing the floorboards with a toothbrush. Or re-grouting the counter. They were oohing and ahhing and giving him appropriate praise. For my brother, while the praise was a nice bonus, the joy of cleaning was enough for him. For me, I'd do anything for that praise. So I eyed my parents standing there giving him attention and I grabbed a rag and started intently scrubbing the foot mat of a small stool/seat. I was going to get those ridges SINGING the shine. I had one eye on the task and one eye on my parents, waiting for them to notice me.

My parents, if nothing else, are authentic. I think they called me on my game. Sure, they also gave me some praise, probably for the effort of trying to get praise. I remember feeling the victory there was weak. I couldn't have thought to spit shin drawer handles like my brother did, so anything I did would be lame in comparison.

But now, the victory IS mine. I have my own little clean freak. Even in the face of opposition, he has emerged anal retentive about cleanliness. Yee to the HAW!

Yesterday we were driving around town and passed a regular sight. I don't know WHAT it is, but it's shaped like a satellite dish, it's humongous, and it's painted bright yellow with a happy face. It's really a cheerful sight. I pointed it out to Danyo.

I said, "Isn't that cool?"
He said, "I want to take it home!"
I thought, yeah, me too, that would be fun, we could roll around in a giant bowl, take pictures, have a great time.

He said, "It's dirty, I want to take it home and wash it."

This morning Danyo has been chasing me around the house demanding that I wash his favorite blanket. "It smayohs" he tells me, "Cween it!" he demands. I have heard countless stories of parents having to sneak their child's blanket to the washer and it often resulting in major meltdowns. So, it makes me laugh that Danyo is the opposite of that. I told him I'll get to cleaning it when I get to the rest of my household chores. After the Soaps are watched and the bon-bons eaten.