middle child

Lewis is my middle boy. However. A few years ago I stopped everything that I was doing and made a very conscious decision. I decided to no longer have a middle child. No, I didn't ship him back to Sears Roebuck. I just decided that he wouldn't forever get lumped into the Max Patton Show, starring the endlessly amusing first child himself, that was playing in all the theatres around here.

I gave Lewis his own stage, in my mind. With thick deep purple curtains and a balcony, where the mutual admiration society (Mom and Dad) could sit and shout 'Bravo'. I adjusted my thinking. And we've never looked back. I honestly think that in some small way my plan is working. There is nothing middle about this child.

He amazes me everyday. Of my children, he is the one most like me. Sometimes I can see his brain ticking through the options, logically, sequentially. He is practical. He's a card and can drop a zinger at the dinner table that has us all choking on our spicy peanut noodles.

He will only wear girls socks in bright florals. He dresses in all primary colors. He hates the morning. He is a great friend. He loves the girls. He loves comics and reading and drawing. He cusses occasionally, with a twinkle in his eye (my son, yes!). He can take 978 stop motion lego photos in a row, that tell a very elaborate story and clog up my iphoto like you wouldn't believe.

Just yesterday he joined us, it seems. But no, it's been nine years.

As a baby, he would keep his little hand on my cheek to make sure that I slept facing him.

He has always been an enthusiastic and willing sidekick. 

Max dressed like this EVERYDAY, BTW. (a bizarre force to be reckoned with, no doubt!)

This dead bird is still in his room somewhere.

Middle, schmiddle.

We get to choose these things, you know. 

For ourselves, For our kids.

Everyday we get to start anew and choose.

I'm going with disco balls and golden jaguars whenever I get the chance!

Because we get to choose.