Benjamin: A baby's view of his summer and life in general

9.17.2007

OK, folks. It's my turn to share a bit about what its like to grow up overseas (not terribly traumatic) and be the baby brother to two older, high-powered sisters (terribly traumatic), here after referred to as the dynamic duo. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, the following may make my case a bit clearer...


Exhibit A: My mom outsources her work...

OK, I'll give you that they are cute. I'll also give you the fact that they are very crazy about me. But I ask you, can't a guy get a meal in without these two interfering! My mom, the picture taker, is always delighted when they offer for this duty. As I am quite the eater, I take what I can get, but under protest.

Exhibit B: I take matters into my own hands...


I suppose being last has its advantages. However, one of the definite downsides of being the littlest and not have any words other than Baaa (what am I, a sheep?) or Daaa (that'll get her...saying his name before hers!) is that it is sometimes difficult to make my needs known. I think my parents think it is character building to make me wait sometimes. But when a guy's hungry, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. On this day, I decided I could do as good a job as the dynamic duo and tried to feed myself. No one told me it might have been easier to start with cheerios rather than oatmeal.

Exhibit C: Character building


OK, I'll admit to being a bit on the lazy side. But tell me the truth, if you had two loving sisters and an abundance of other adults (even my parents, I might add) willing to lift you, sit you, pull you, and entertain you, you would be a bit lazy too. Our apartment rooms have this strange feature to them in that each one is on a slightly different level than the other...maybe varying a inch or two. For sometime this nasty little architectural element kept me adequately fenced in until one of the dynamic duo would come along and "rescue me". I admit to chanting in my brain, "please let it be the big one, please let it be the big one, please let it be the big one" ...Annie is certainly well-meaning, but has all the finesse and gentleness of a bulldozer. Anyway, eventually I conquered all of these doorways but one. This last frontier was a gold mine of baby thrills: computer consoles, clothespins, and, the mother lode: Sophie's leggos (more specifically her already-built leggo houses that my hands were just itching to, Godzilla-like, destroy.) As you will see pictured, I could get my legs swung up over the entry, but then I found myself stuck,...

ASIDE: I can't really crawl yet. At least not in a traditional sense. I am really more of a scooter. My mom calls me Apollo after Apollo Anton Ono...No I do not show promise as a future contestant on "Dancing with the Stars" (look at my gene pool...dancing isn't likely to be in my future with my rhythmically challenged parents), but my scooting style is reminiscent of the Olympian's speed skating style. I lean to the left and scoot, in a self-propelling, swinging motion not unlike a speed skater. In truth it could probably also be compared to the movement of the hunchback of Notre Dame. But Mom tends to look for the best in people. END OF ASIDE

...stuck with two capable adults and the dynamic duo staring right back at me. Did they move a muscle? Did they budge an inch (other than to grab the camera)? Then, the final blow, they all began to applaud and cheer, "you can do it!" What I think they don't quite get is I DON'T WANT TO DO IT! I WANT THEM TO DO IT! Sheesh. You would think that basic fact would be obvious. And so, broken by my limited communication abilities, I resorted to the "cry-your-guts-out-and-look-really-offended" ploy. As I recall it worked...The bigger half of the dynamic duo pulled me over the hump...but not before she put her lovely little red, blue, yellow, and green brick house up and out of reach. Foiled again. Those firstborns (see birth order book, mentioned below) are way too attentive to detail.

Exhibit D: Under the category of "Scarred for life".

Granted, in the picture I look happy enough At that point I don't think I was hungry, tired, or bored, so why wouldn't I be smiling? However, I know that these kinds of pictures are what every young man's nightmares are made of...being dressed up in girls' clothing. I mean, not just girls' clothing but PURPLE girls clothing strewn with horses and stars in a gown form...off the shoulder, at that. The shame of it. The blackmail potential of it. I'm sorry. I can't go on. You get the picture.

Exhibit E: Cave man

This happened when my mom and dad took a trip with our friends and I had to eat in places most people only dream (or have nightmares) about. In this particular picture, my stomach's demands were met in a roadside cave in the middle of nowhere. Did I eat it "all gone"? You betcha! All I can say about that trip is I am glad I am still in diapers...if this was the dining area, you don't want to even imagine, the, um, other...

Exhibit F: The myth about boys liking to get dirty

I'll admit to looking fairly happy in this picture. But let me give you a bit of context. I had been riding on hot dusty roads for about 4 hours, IN A CARSEAT (the injustice of it--I hadn't ridden in a car seat since I was like, 3 months old in Canada), without the dynamic duo (who were no doubt sitting comfortably somewhere in air conditioning, sipping apple juice, and watching MY Bob the Builder DVDs), and at this point I had just been freed from the above mentioned prison. Besides, (in spite of what the name "mud volcanoes" might make one think) this mud was cool. One point I would like to make, is that getting and being dirty really isn't that much fun when someone else (i.e. the adult in charge) encourages and even helps one at it. There is something untrustworthy about that. However, when one discovers a truly dirty, sticky mess of one's own (see Exhibit G), well, that is bliss.

Exhibit G: The human glue stick, also known as Benjamin's revenge

Now this picture may seem a bit of a mystery. And its purpose may seem a bit puzzling, where, after all is moi? This is part of the sweetness of revenge...Mom was so mad at this that she couldn't take a picture of me in the midst of it, somehow she thought that might only encourage me more! Instead she took a picture of my "tracks". Being the scooter (Apollo) that I am, and also being the door frame hurdler that I am (character building) I found some unattended (for all of about 10 seconds) glue that a handy man happened to leave unopened. In the time it could take you to say, "Elmer's Glue doesn't taste at all like my banana yogurt" I was in the room, had tipped the bottle over, proceeded to slather myself in it and then scooted my way along, in Apollo-the-Human-Glue-Stick fashion until being apprehended by three adults...2 minutes start to finish. Not bad for a scooter.

In Conclusion:

My mom has been reading this book on birth order ("The Birth Order Book: why you the way you are" clever title, huh?). Apparently us last-borns have this real need for either attention or revenge. From the above you can see, I am getting my share of both!

Unfortunately, she has also read in the above mentioned book that mothers tend to A.) spoil their only boys, and B.) over identify with their equal in birth order (Mom is the baby of her family, too) both of which can often result in spoiling. My mom being the equal opportunity parent that she is, I think I can see a change a-comin'...probably more character building!