Brothers, different yet alike

Since Eve shook her head at Cain and Abel, as they squabbled over a toy on the tent floor, mothers have said the same: How can brothers be so different?

Born of the same parents in the same tent, fed the same food, and never apart in their entire lives, why is one so quick and agile, the other slow and deliberate? Why does one explode into a storm of frustration while the other sits and ponders the problem?

So with our grands. Samuel, now 3-and-a-half, and Bubba, as I call the 11-month-old, are as different as can be. Both seem to be very smart (but how would I know? I’m only their Grandma.)

Samuel was born early, and must have been 2 or 3 months old before he was the size his younger brother came into the world.

Baby Bubba? I’d have to characterize him as round. Everything about him is round. His head, his cheeks, his eyes, the crease of flesh around his wrists and ankles, his fists and his knees – all round.

Samuel is non-stop, go, go, go, just about done with naps, yet occasionally falls asleep at the dinner table. His all-out pace requires room to run and discharge energy. When he was at the age when babies love to drop toys from the high chair, he’d scream to have them back.

Bubba, on the other hand, leans over, sizes up the situation, shrugs and decides he really didn’t want that one anyhow. Did I tell you they keep an open-side up trash can lid on the floor under his booster chair?

I know I’ve mentioned Samuel’s passion for anything with wheels on it. “Wheel-wheel” was the byword, and was applicable to anything that rolled. As he became more discriminating, he sorted the world of wheels into trucks and cars and trains, and actually points out the differences between wheels and tires.

When Sam-I-Am was really young, his mother called his favored means of locomotion Seal Baby. He’d somehow rock on his belly and use hands and feet to drag himself along.

Bubba, by six months, had a classic crawl – legs and arms doing what they’re supposed to do, synchronized perfectly.

Until he learned it’s hard to crawl when one’s hands are full of toy cars. He sat up one day, cars in hand, bent his right knee under him and sat on it, extending his left foot in front of him. Pushing it backwards like a paddle, he was on his way, and I can’t even describe it.

Both lie on the floor, rolling little cars back and forth in an arc. Bubba doesn’t see the harm in grabbing one of Samuel’s, especially if Sam’s not using it. “Share,” Samuel starts quietly and escalates until he’s shouting. “Baby, share!”

Bless him, he doesn’t hit, but comes close to losing it. Finally he appeals to a grown-up, who suggests he try substituting another toy for the one Bubba appropriated. Samuel is skeptical: “Said ‘Share’ politely.”

Samuel’s passion for trucks was fueled by almost every Christmas gift he received. We gave him a huge tractor-trailer truck, and other gifts included some big puzzles of trucks and a DVD about a construction site and the real-life machines that crawl around it. He nearly dances with excitement as he points out “backhoe” and “excavator” and “giant dump truck.”

And yes, my grandson can also spot a “ladder truck,” a “tanker,” and an “emergency vehicle.” The syllables drop in nearly perfect form and timbre, and if Mommy prefers “dump truck” to “dump twuck,” he happily complies.

Jean is concerned about some aspects of Samuel’s speech, but I don’t see how it could be much better, especially with Grandpa Dave as a mentor. On a visit earlier last year, he taught the little boy some German invectives. While Samuel greets me with the sweetest word in the language – “Grandma!” – he has a different greeting for his Grandpa.

“Achtung, Schwein!” he shouts joyously. “Achtung!”

They are both such sunny little boys, and without question the world’s most perfect babies. Well, mostly perfect. Even perfect babies catch colds sometimes. I won’t get graphic, but there is nothing quite so disgusting as an 11-month-old with a runny nose and a penchant for explosive sneezing.

Beats me why they share so generously with sibs and parents. And grandparents.

My door prize was almost a week in bed: two days in the motor home heading back to Georgia, three more days at home.

Thanks for sharing, my golden boys. You’re worth the cost, whatever it might be.