Oh, me! me! Pick me!
I'm an oldest!
Heard that before? Thought so. Once a teacher's pet, always a teacher's pet. I should know. Besides, that's how we oldest kids are. We like being first, we like being right, we like being THE OLDEST.
We live by the 'don't ask, I will tell you what to do, and when to do it' policy.
As in 'hey, we're going to the movie. C'mon, let's go.' There is no, "would you like to go to the movie?' Because of course you would, and anyway if I ask you then there will be all kinds of hemming and hawing, 'well what time is it?' and 'where is it?' questions I don't have time for.
I'm going, you're going, let's go!
We can't help it, we're born this way.
Ever since Mother birthed the motley crew that came after us and expected us to teach them.
We became BOSS. Happy to oblige ma'am, happy to oblige.
Siblings are used to it. Spouses are not. Research indicates oldest children should not marry each other under any circumstance. Too many pieces of chicken in the soup, not enough noodles. Or something like that.
Research Mesearch. Two marriages, and all spouses involved are THE OLDEST.
First Marriage: Uh huh...uh uh...uh huh...uh uh...UH HUH!... UH UH!
Second Marriage: Dearest, would you mind taking out the trash? If it's alright with you I mean...
Dearest, would you like me to massage your feet with precious oil and wipe it with my hair?
Even my daughter has noticed that things are different this time around.
"Wow Mom, you've changed. Things don't tick you off like they used to."
I've ma-toor-ed, that's what it is. Some day you will be ma-toor as well, which means you will have learned the great lesson of life: It's not all about yew.
"Sigh... You're still very weird."
I am?
Well at least I'm ma-toor now.
With that, she shrugged and went to the kitchen to cook us some supper. Not because I told her to, because she wanted to, God bless her.
How ma-toor.
