Everlasting Gobstopper

 I watched a video taken by one of my colleagues. It featured the burgeoning gymnastics talent of her eldest daughter. It ended abruptly as one of the younger sisters moved forward into the range of the outstretched leg of her older sister as it swung around the bar. It stopped just short of the kind of "funny moment" that might have won them one hundred thousand dollars when submitted for the approval of ABC's TV executives. Which would probably just about cover the expense of the therapy needed for that child or those children to overcome the moment when mommy probably should have put down the phone. 

No worries here. The collision was averted, and then made even better by a second video which featured the younger sister hanging on the bar in a similar fashion, with many of the same exclamations of pride from behind the camera. It was all fresh and new. Which filled me with a sense of relief for being the parent of an only child. All of my enthusiasm for my son's efforts have been genuine and unrehearsed. 

For the most part. There have certainly been instances when he has gone to the well one too many times for the reaction to his latest Lego creation or ability to leap from the bed to the floor. Ta dah! Still, his actions and accomplishments have filled photo albums and memory cards and our hippocampi because of their specialness. 

And what I keep coming back to is the commitment to keeping things vital for all the kids. All three of my colleague's daughters get their moment in the sun. They are young enough when what this means is that each one will mirror the other, most often with the oldest leading the charge. But that doesn't mean that the twins don't feel the sunshine of mom and dad's love at the same level. This is what we call "a parenting challenge."

There are those who go so far as to be obvious about who their favorite is. These are the families that could really use that America's Funniest Home Video prize money to pay for all the bruised egos and shattered expectations. They won't be the ones taking that second, third, or subsequent bits of siblings making their contributions to the family legacy. 

Which brings me back to the swarming appreciation I have for my sainted mother, who kept her interest for her three boys' endeavors as fresh as the morning dew. Hanging from the swingset, scene by scene recitations of the latest Planet of the Apes movie we all saw, science fair projects, birthday cakes, and any possible need for focused adult attention. She had it. In seemingly neverending streams, she had it. And no, I don't want to know if she was ever faking. I know that parents would never do that. 

Ever.