My Children are Different

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My children are different. Not than yours maybe, but than each other. Never in my life have I seen such a blatant example of a Type A and a Type B person truly being born that way. When I got pregnant with Hazel I remember thinking, how could anything compare to this perfect child I already have in Georgia. And then she was born and as God intended, they don’t compare at all. They are each so wonderful and unique that they don’t compare at all. They are two perfect individuals with two different approaches to painting.

Georgia at work

These girls are 14 months apart in age but couldn’t possibly be further apart in their unique approaches to life. As one would expect, based on the casual reading we all do on birth order when it pops up in the sidebar on MSN, my oldest is my Type A lady and the little sister is Type B.

Georgia is the cleanest most responsible 2 year old I have ever known. When looking for something in a cupboard at Grandma’s house she will pull everything out until she finds the object of her affection, then put everything back in. She is the only child I’ve ever heard of to bring me our can of spray on Coppertone 70 and tell me “Mommy I need more suncream”. I am amazed by how trustworthy I find her at the tender age of 2 1/2. Georgia is, without a doubt, her fathers daughter.

Hazel is my child through and through. She is messy. She has a natural knack for getting dirty. She is mighty opinionated and has earned the nickname “Little Stinker” for her antics pestering her proper big sister. My mom has always said that I seemed to march to the beat of my own drum and Hazel does too.

Since we are homebound this week due to our rotten infection of Hand Foot and Mouth we have been exhausting our DVR recordings of Olivia and our Arts and Crafts supplies.

Heading outside to paint, the girls were very excited. Hazel still couldn’t wear shoes because of the blisters on her feet so we found a cool spot of ground and put rocks on the corners of our papers. Georgia immediately grabbed the pink and purple paints and left the green and red for her sister. It was instantly apparent that the papers would remain dry of paint, but the sidewalk was going to be beautiful. I pulled over an empty box and encouraged them to paint that instead of the ground and that worked a little bit. Georgia joined me in painting vases and Hazel entertained herself by painting…herself.

After about 20 minutes, I noticed that I had two girls who had been painting with the same paints for the same amount of time and had come out with drastically different results.

There is more than one way to paint a box

Georgia had nearly no paint on her at all. A little on her sweet hands. Hazel was covered, and I mean covered in the most literal way!   I took her, clothes and all, to our kiddie pool in the back yard where I stripped her to her diaper, tossed the clothes into the pool to soak, and washed her head to toe in the cool water while she cried out protests of not wanting to be cleaned and wanting to still be painting herself and her sidewalk.

I could not enjoy their drastic difference more. It is a constant source of humor and joy as I watch them begin to navigate this life in their different and unique ways.

My children are different. And I love them that way!


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