Monday, December 29, 2008

First Born Children

My (non first born) dad used to tease my (first born) mom that first-born children are like pancakes…you throw out the first ones because they aren’t as good.

First-borns can be a little annoying sometimes. They can be bossy or uber-responsible and parent pleasing. My (first born) sister Marianne used to rally us in a cheerful and conspiratory way to surprise my mom by doing all the dishes. Go away Marianne.

Marianne was always my advocate though. And she probably always will be. When I got in trouble as a child she’d argue with my parents. When I had friend trouble in 6th grade (I’m eternally grateful 6th grade will never happen again), she was on my side. When my insurance wouldn’t pay for the epidural when Braeden was born she wrote a scathing letter and it was covered.

First-born children are not all bad.

Tonight Adam and I went with his siblings and parents to celebrate his mom’s birthday. We were meeting at Olive Garden. Brian, Adam’s brother called to get a reservation but was told they only took reservations for the hours between 11:00-4:00, the hours when no one really needs a reservation.

Scott and his girlfriend, Stacy, got there at 6:00 and were put on the waiting list. We arrived (unfortunately, predictably) late. We all sat together and visited amiably in the lobby but the wait got long. Stacy kept going to check on our wait time. Adam (the first born) started going to check on the wait time too. I asked Scott if Stacy is a first born.

She is.

Brian left and came back a few minutes later and said that Azteca—which is nearby—could seat us immediately. Our hour and 15 minute wait was over! We all gathered ourselves and walked around the corner to Azteca. Except Adam. He was talking to the manager at Olive Garden.

Adam’s brothers can be an intimidating and none too nice duo when provoked. They snarled a bit then left and Adam played the good cop.

Adam, the first born, joined us a few minutes later at Azteca and handed his mom a $25 gift card the manager at Olive Garden had given him for our trouble.

When we left the restaurant, we called our own first born and told him to turn off the DVD and have everyone in pajamas with their teeth brushed by the time we got home.

They were.

First born children. You’ve got to love them.

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