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Updating the parental curse

If you’ve ever had parents, then you’ve heard of the
parental curse. That’s when your mother or father, in
complete and utter frustration, looks you straight in
the eye and says: When you grow up, I hope you have a
child that behaves just like you do.

As the mother of several children, however, I have
discovered a curse that works much sooner. It is: I
hope you have a little brother or sister that behaves
just like you do!

Now you might think that’s a terrible thing. After
all, if you wish for your child to have a younger
sibling that acts just like him, aren’t you also
cursing yourself?

Not really. Mine is an indescribable joy when I hear
my nine-year old son complain about his younger
brother who mimics his every move.

What a thrill it is for his older sisters who have had
to endure his antics. Now he has a younger brother
that whines, teases, steals and breaks toys and
copycats. In fact, a favorite expression around here
is, “Now you know what WE feel like!”

But that’s not all. The younger child serves other
purposes beyond annoying his older brother. For
example, people are really concerned about teenage
pregnancies. I say, let them babysit. That alone
could make the popularity of abstinence soar.

It would be a most effective method of reducing the
birth rate among teenagers if we just outfitted our
two-year olds and three-year olds with t-shirts that
say, “Just say no!” and then saddled every teen with
one for at least two hours every afternoon.

A few diapers to change, several mishaps to clean up,
and the general chaos that one of those munchkins can
cause would make most teens set their sights on a
college education if for no other reason than to delay
starting a family.

Just one day with my child would convince any young
woman to send her amorous suitor away with an
incredulous laugh. “You have GOT to be kidding! Have
you met Mrs. Barker’s son? No way. I’ll WAIT.”

Yes, everyone knows MY youngest son. He makes Dennis
the Menace look like a saint. A police officer was
in our neighborhood the other day and my youngest said
hello. The officer responded, ‘Oh, I remember you!”

That’s not what a mother wants others to hear. Yes,
this is my son the streaker who frequently breaks out
of the house and makes a run for it, sending us all
into hysterics.

I’m absolutely certain that he’s a living curse for
his older sibs and the poster child for abstinence in
the new millennium.

If you don’t believe me, I’m looking for a sitter.
Just give me a call.

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