How the Apples Fall from the Trees

One of the best things about having kids is the process of figuring out which parent each kid takes after and how. Outsiders like to comment on appearances: "Oh, your son looks just like your husband!" and "How fun to have a Mini-Me!"

But for me the most interesting thing about the genetic soup that makes our kids who they are is that it determines their personalities as well. I'm a big believer that "nature" trumps "nurture." Of course you can't torture and torment your kids and still expect them to be lovely and gentle, but it seems to me that kids are pretty much born with their personalities already hard-wired into their brains.

My kids are so dissimilar that the fact that both of them were spawned from the same genetic pool is pretty cool.

My kids look nothing alike. 

First, they look nothing alike: eye color, skin color, body type--all different. My son gets his looks mainly from my Irish husband's side of the family, while my daughter has a tiny bit more Armenian shining through (as evidenced by her incredibly long eyelashes).

But considering both kids were raised by the same two parents, it's crazy how different their personalities are and how they are such interesting combinations of me and my husband. My five-year-old son is sweet, sensitive, and enthusiastic about everything (in other words, he's nothing like me); yet he also loves learning and discovering, has a real thirst for knowledge, digs science, and is super-inquisitive (in other words, he's a nerd just like me).

Take Harry Potter, for example. I love that little wizard, and was ecstatic when my slightly premature attempts at indoctrinating my son in the ways and wonders of the wizarding world paid off. I've just finished reading him Sorcerer's Stone and he's begging for Chamber of Secrets already. Every second he's home, he's pleading with me to read him more, while the only way my husband can get my son to show any interest in the World Series is by pointing out that the guy up at bat's last name is pronounced "poo holes."

I love that my son and I have this thing we share just between us two. It makes me smile to hear him prattle on to my husband about how Ron got bitten by Hagrid's dragon and the cut got infected, because my husband has no clue what he's talking about. My son and I share a secret language--a language of muggles, Slytherin, Voldemort, bludger, quaffle, alohomora, Filch.... 

I am a huge fan of the fantasy, sci-fi, and horror genres, while my husband...eh. Let's put it this way: He doesn't LOVE Star Wars.

My son looks nothing like me, yet he shares most of my interests. And, thanks to my husband, he's much sweeter than I am. That's pretty awesome.

My three-year-old daughter, on the other hand...whew! Now I know how my mother felt when I was growing up and she would exasperatedly tell me to stop being so bossy. I never saw it as being bossy--I was just damned sure that my way was the best way so therefore everyone needed to listen and do what I said.

I see that trait in my daughter as well. Like me, she's headstrong and stubborn. She knows what she wants and can't be coerced into changing direction (unlike my son who is more reasonable and can usually eventually be persuaded to consider other options).

Unlike me, however, she loves everything girly: pink, sparkles, princesses, fairies, dressing-up, shoes, purses, Hello Kitty, Minnie Mouse, mermaids, kittens, and puppies. It's not uncommon for her to change outfits three times a day, and she will even allow me to tug and pull at her hair ("You hurtin' me, Mommy!") if the end result is "boo-si-vle" (beautiful) poofy pigtails just like Abby Cadabby's.

Maybe it's because I grew up with two brothers, but I don't remember ever being so obsessed with all that girly stuff. I'm pretty certain I still allowed my mother pick out my clothes when I was three, and I doubt I begged and pleaded with her to buy me sparkly pink shoes every time we went to Target Bradlees.

Though come to think of it, did they even make sparkly pink shoes for kids back in the 70's, or were red Mary Janes as exciting as it got?