Things I Could Have Avoided By Having Only One Child

There are times when I really do wonder just why I ever wanted to parent more than one child. Days when I question just what wonderful things I *think* I'm seeing in that damn teenager I have. Days when all my buttons are pushed at the same time, and I just want to take my pillow and go hide in the farthest corner of my closet with my favorite book, my favorite adult beverage, and possibly a small TV with Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure playing on continuous loop. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate.

It's no great secret that Bug wants to be Just. Like. Jock. Seriously, he would turn himself into his clone if he could. He agonizes over the distressing fact that he was not born as Jock's twin. It really frustrates him sometimes that he doesn't share any physical characteristics with his brother, outside of the obvious boy-ness appendages. Don't misunderstand, he loves his individuality. He just wishes it was an individuality he could completely share with Jock.

And so he gets a girlfriend at the same age as his brother. He wants a cell phone at the same age as his brother. He grabs his brother's clothes and tries to wear them before Jock realizes they don't fit him anymore. And as soon as Jock DOES admit to outgrowing something, Bug snatches that article up before Jock even finishes the sentence.

Normally, Jock manages to just ignore all of this. Yes, it irritates him. There ARE five years between them, remember, so it's not like they can really share too much at this point in their lives. However, there are times when Jock morphs into what can only be termed as an ASS. (And I shudder to think what will be led here by the search engines for the use of that word.)

Bug had some money burning a hole in his pocket, and so yesterday we went shopping. What he wanted more than anything was a pair of aviator sunglasses. Just like Jock's, of course. And we actually found some, so of course we grabbed them. Then we headed off to pick Jock up from football practice. (Side note: this might well be a good example of why it would be good for him to be driving himself. This whole thing could have been avoided that way. Or maybe he should start schmoozing his driving friends for rides.) Jock comes strutting down the hill towards the parking lot (yes, it was strutting. He's a teenage boy; I don't think there is another walk that breed is capable of), gets to the truck and takes a look at his little brother sitting there, proudly wearing his new shades.

Well, I can't wear mine anymore.

Bug slowly pulled his new sunglasses off his face, and visibly deflated right in front of me. So I looked at Jock and told him that was a truly craptastic thing to say. At which point, the teenage attitude flared up fully, and he ceased to be able to communicate in any way that did not involve a grunt in my general direction for a few hours. Which was fine by me, because I couldn't talk to him without wanting to pinch him someplace uncomfortable for being obnoxious.

The truly amazing thing about all of this, though? Is the way Bug managed to shrug it all off and make excuses for his wienie of a big brother. Bug now swears he knows, just knows, Jock was only joking around. How can this sweet, forgiving little boy keep thinking his brother is the greatest thing since seedless watermelon?

Jock better hope Bug continues to forgive him. Because as clever as Bug is, if he ever decides to turn all of his brilliance towards thoughts of revenge? I might end up with a bald-everywhere-oh-God-the-itching-and-why-are-all-my-clothes-suddenly-too-small-and-HEY!-is-that-a-camera-NO!-don't-post-that-picture-online teenager.