the three little pigs: a mother's tale

so, i have these three kids...they were all raised about the same - same parents, same values, same rules. so, what the hell happened to make them all so different from each other?

bennett is my oldest crumbsnatcher at 14. he is rather introverted and fairly quiet, with lots going on inside. he makes strange friends - they are basically good kids, just a bit different. he is very smart, but so lazy. he is quirky, he wears these gloves with cutoff fingers...wears them constantly. he is brown, his hands are white...weird. he calls them his 'hobo gloves' i cannot explain it, nor will i try. we joke that even indirect sunlight will turn his retinas into flaming pools of lava and that fresh air is pure poison to his system - that's how often he spends time outside. he is not athletic, nor would he give a rip if he was...if he could, he would spend 12 hours a day on the computer or playing some form of electronic game...he would spend the remaining 12 hours sleeping. he has no interest in board games or talking on the telephone. he does, however, LOVE to ride the quads - he is a careful rider but still assertive and he is learning to breathe nice and shallow so as to not actually overdose on the oxygen-rich Fresh Air his mother is ruthlessly exposing him to. he likes girls, but he's very shy and sees himself as a dork (which, let's face it, he is my child). he loves invader zim, family guy and robot chicken (yea, nothing but quality programming for my children). he loves music, but very rarely sings out loud...most times i might as well be talking to the plants for all he hears me with his ear buds in and his taste in music leans towards darkness and yelling. he is a very loving kid, he tells me he loves me daily and always kisses me goodnight. he is generally amicable and easygoing - well, as long as i don't ask him to do anything crazy (read: uhhh...shower). he grumbles a lot and doesn't particularly care for the two monkeys that we call braden and brynn. he is a handsome boy, just in that zitty, awkward teenage stage. he is quite tall - like, 6'2" - and very physically mature for his age, he has been shaving for the last 9 months (remember: kid's 14...) he tries to be tolerant of others, but deals with a lot of inner frustration and turmoil - again, with the 14 thing.

braden...(whoa! did the lights just flicker on and off at the mere mention of his name?) braden is, at 11, just "a braden". he is like no one else known to me. he is loud, oh so loud - the house can be silent (ok, so this doesn't exactly happen often) and something in that stimulates brader's brain into thinking, "hey, i think i'll shriek something unintelligible at the top of my lungs for no apparent reason other than to scare the pee out of my mom". it literally makes my teeth hurt - CRAP i hate it when he does that. braden is very happy-go-lucky. he is handsome, with these eyes that the girls may very well kill for down the road (big joke at school, "hey braden, have any mascara left that i can borrow?"). he's always smiling, singing and dancing (i'm quite unnerved by, but beginning to accept, the very strong possibility that he may end up being a pole-dancer), he is energetic and athletic - he's very tall and reminds me of a ginormous puppy. one of those really big, really dopey, really BIG puppy's, like maybe a saint bernard at 6 months old. his friends have almost always been those trouble-makers kids that every school has and every mother chants as her personal mantra at the beginning of each school year, "oh-dear-please-GOD-don't-let-my-child-want-to-be-friends-with-that-child". they have names like "spencer" and "charles" - i've yet to meet "neew-man" (think seinfeld), but i have no doubt he's out there just biding his time. braden is always running everywhere, he's always leaping on things, he is always breaking shit. he doesn't mean to, ("it just happens mom") but when i see him with something in his hands that is not exclusively his to destroy the crap out of, i hiss "drop it, NOW." he'll put it down gently and look at me with those eyes that say "jeez mom, i just wanted to look at it" all kinda mopey and junk. i feel bad, but the kid is, pure and simple, a 9.8 earthquake just waiting to happen. weirdly, braden is very cautious out on the quads. he rides verrrrrry slowly and stresses out over ruts in the road. to be perfectly fair, he has taken a few 'nad-taps on the gas tank - that could have something to do with it. when braden eats - OMG, when this kid eats, it's like a train wreck, you really really want to turn away, but the pure horror of it just pulls you back...food flys everywhere, it is in his nose, in his eyebrows, on his elbows, on the back of his head. keeping in mind he has never been made to cage-fight for a meal, this child eats like his food is not only threatened by all other life forms, but that it may, at any moment, mysteriously vanish and he will literally D.I.E. if he doesn't get it ALL into his belly faster than the speed of light. he'll have food-juice and shit running through his fingers (forks are utensils of the devil, meant to cause a slow agonizing death if solely depended upon for getting food to one's mouth). upon fighting back the nausea and actually observing him eat a meal, i see him take a bite and shove it to the back of his mouth, then shovel another bite (or 10) in there before even attempting to chew, all the while talking and laughing about, oh i don't know, ANYthing. ah yes, i am lucky enough to experience this on a daily basis. my middle child does have a huge heart - he would happily give you the shirt off his back, of course it'll be all smelly, stained and ripped to shreds, but hey that doesn't make him any less generous.

the Girl. my petite little flower. my quiet, gentle, clean, little, girly-girl.
uhhh...no.
ms b is 7 and tall and loud and smart and feels no pain. she can hang with the big boys and often outdo them. she is part tomboy, part princess...she evidently loves to have her hair hanging in her face, her clothes as mismatched as possible and no longer fitting properly. you can pretty much always find her wearing fashionable heels (with the toes all ground down from dragging her feet and dirt permanently tattooed in the shape of her sweet little smelly feet upon the inner soles) with any clothing ensemble; sweat pants with the knees blown out and heels; a motorcycle helmet, jeans that quit fitting 2 years ago and heels; a swimsuit and heels; a snowsuit, gloves and heels (add the lime green socks, and it's truly a kick-ass look). yes, my girl is a fashion maven. sigh. brynn sings all the time - girl can belt out the tunes and sounds incredibly good while doing it. she hates to shower, hates to brush her hair and gets "puffy" (meaning her faces get all red and puffs up as she readies herself for summoning tears on cue) if i rush her in the morning. if i pick out clothes she doesn't like. if i misunderstand something she says. if i pour too much milk on her cereal. if i say she can set the table for dinner and then decide we can all eat at the bar watching tv instead...you getting the idea? the girl puffs. she also makes "books". hundreds of "books", all the time "books". copy paper cut and folded and stapled. sometimes she simply copies down one of her story books onto one of her own homemade "books" - yes, word for word. brynn loves the quads and thank GOD she is too small to ride one on her own. of course then who in the world would she talk to while riding? i do not exaggerate here...we can be in the middle of the desert or on a mountain top; it can be 100 degrees or 35 degrees outside; we can be riding slowly down a straight stretch or perched precariously on the edge of a 900 drop off...the. girl. does. not. shut. up. she talks, and talks and then thinks of something to talk about. if she's momentarily out of ideas, she sings. her mouth moves constantly. the tough part here is that we both are under helmets and bandanna's - sounds are muffled, hearing is pert-near impossible, but GOD FORBID i not correctly hear something she has to say. she drills me later on the various subjects we "discussed" on our ride...needless to say, these convies often end up with a showing of yes, puffiness.

my kids are all so different, but they do have a few things in common; they all love hamburgers and tacos (the only two meals i can create that no one bitches about); they all love music and have varied tastes; they all hate to be clean and believe that good-smelling skin and hair is evil; all three bedrooms make (post-bombed of course) Hiroshima look like a big calm, beautiful meadow; they all have insanely fabulous senses-of-humor, they are freaking hysterical little beings and make me laugh constantly; they all do amazingly well in school, have huge, kind hearts and are all-around very good kids. sometimes it's hard to see that through the gross hair, the smelly bodies, the food-stained and holey clothes, the broken crap strewn about the house; sometimes it's hard to remember it when some are beating each other up and others are screaming for mercy, but i always have the nights to remind me. each evening before i turn in, i set out into the various "danger zones", intent on making my way through the mass destruction, finally making it to their beds (assuming i haven't drawn personal blood along the way and had to turn back for emergency surgery). i tuck them in tight and kiss their sweet, sweaty faces and am hit with the full force of how much i love these gorgeous little bastards - with all of their quirks and complexities, they are mine.