On Genetics

After twenty three years with the same guy you pretty much know how he ticks and if you don't you haven't really been paying attention. I have a clear idea of how my husband will solve a problem, react to change, or absorb information. What I find fascinating is watching our middle child Caden behaving just like his father. Genetics are beyond my ken. Let's face it, scientist I am not, but I can appreciate the complexity of the zygote becoming the flesh and blood boy. I have a more difficult time getting my head around the repetative behaviour patterns genetics throw at us.

Let's be honest there were some traits my husband possesses I was really hoping wouldn't get passed on to our progeny. And I have no doubt he feels the same way about my less than stellar contribution to the genetic stew. Einstein and Martha Stewart will not be found hanging around my family tree. Regardless, we love each other, and we love our kids, so we put up and shut up with a lot of the crap in between. And let's face it I have a handsome, brilliant husband. What more could a girl ask for?

But how do you cope when your husband has a Mini-Me that tags along beside him? Sometimes I feel a little outnumbered. A little outmaneuvered. My only edge is I have spent more than half my life with Chris so at times I can predict his behaviour. Advantageous when predicting the behaviour of his six year old clone. Take for example trying to get Caden to get dressed this morning. His pants were in the clean laundry basket. I told him to pick any pair and put them on. Half an hour later four kids and I were roasting in our own skins, dressed in our parkas waiting for Caden to make a grand entrance. And finally he did. Sans pants. Dinosaur boxers the only thing between him and the 20cm of snow that fell yesterday. I blew a gasket. Four pair of pants to choose from. What was the problem?

Well it seems, in Caden's opinion, these four pair of pants did not belong to him. They were too long and must belong to his older brother Thane. We argued. To prove my point I hauled Thane, by the hood of his parka, up the stairs to demonstrate to Caden each pair of pants only reached the top of Thane's boots. At this point Thane had denounced any familial relationship to Caden. In Thane's mind anyone who doesn't have the ability to get up and get ready for the day in fifteen minutes is not worth the air they breathe. I sent the grumbling Thane downstairs, threw a pair of pants at Caden's feet and watched him put them on. They fit. Suddenly I thought I knew what the problem was. And then Caden confirmed my hunch. He explained the pants looked different from the pants he wore last week. They were slightly longer and slightly wider. He had yet to accept the fact he had moved from a size 6x to an 8. He needed time to process that he had in fact grown, and that new pants were the product of this growth. He was stressed that something new was flying in his airspace. At six Caden would not be described as spontaneous. As his Mom, I have to allow him the time to process change and new information, even if it means he and his brother are going to be late for school.

So you may now ask, what does this have to do with genetics? Oh please let me explain. In our house Chris does the laundry. Sorts, washes, dries and folds. My job is to put away. Which would of course explain why Caden was directed to pull his pants out of the clean laundry basket. But I digress. Last night, while Chris was folding the aforementioned laundry I watched him holding pants up in front of him. I heard him sigh. This became a pattern. Hold up pants, sigh, fold, place in basket. You'll never guess what the problem was. Oh yes. Caden had new pants in the laundry. Slightly longer, slightly wider. Just that much closer in appearance to Thane's. You see Chris also sorts the laundry after he folds it. Each child has their own pile. He was annoyed that something new was flying in his airspace. In relation to being faced with the 'pants problem', on a scale of 1 to 10 his annoyance was a 2 and Caden's stress a 9, but that's the beauty of age and wisdom. Chris has learned how to cope.

So you thought when I introduced genetics I was referring to eye colour, facial features, maybe the way Chris and Caden walk. Oh that's all there. In spades. Mini-Me all the way. No, I was talking about the hard wiring. That certain something that makes our parents a part of us in a sometimes scary, always fascinating, irrefutable way. So, I think I've made my point. Genetics are a weird and wonderful thing. When you get right down to it I'm not complaining one bit about Chris and Mini-Me. Afterall I love every one of their quirks. And frankly I wouldn't want to tick them off. I predict in a couple of years they'll be fighting over who does the laundry.