I love all four of my offspring to ridiculous proportions. I am equally blown away at the differences between them. Case in point: halloween 2006.
Daughter #1 gets dibs on the best dress-up dress just because she yells louder. She gets the chance to go trick-or-treating to the big city with her pal, who warns her to bring not one bag, but two. She leaves the house first and comes home last. She gets the most candy. Upon entering the house, she asks for a handful of our leftover candy from the big bowl. I say "No way". She is appalled. She asks me when will I get around to dividing it between the four of them. I say, "never".
Daughter #2 takes all my advice on how to look like Raggedy Anne. She is thrilled senseless with the raggedy anne hair that I made for her out of a hat and strips of red fabric. She is happy to walk around the neighborhood with her friend til she can fill the pockets of her apron with candy. She comes home and gives her baby brother candies. (she snarls at her other brother, and snaps at him for nearly sitting on her candy, and for even-thinking-about-touching it, but she is very generous with the little brother). She asks to be tucked into bed.
Son, child #3 dresses up in his costume to show his little brother what fun trick or treating will be so as to encourage him to eat the two regulation bites of spaghetti if he wants to join in the candy hunt. When it becomes increasingly clear that Sammy will not have any of his dinner, Micah tells him, "Don't worry Sammy. I will go trick or treating, then when I get home, I will give you some candy". He heads out into the snow, and after about ten houses, says he has enough candy and wants to go home now. Micah comes home, dumps his cache on the living room floor, and equally divides the loot between himself and his brother, taking care to tell Sammy about which ones are really good, and not dreaming of hoarding those for himself.
Son, child #4. Refuses to eat any of his dinner. Knows that it means he will not go out. Knows how insanely he is loved. Gets to stay indoors, watch some telly, play in peace with his brother's dollar store rifle, and wait for the candy to come to him. He has talked for two weeks now about being spider man. Its all talk. At the end of the day, he is well fed on ketchup chips and spider man candy sticks, and is thrilled senseless that I let him go to bed wearing his favourite sweatsuit.
I swear that Dr Suess, Dr Dobson, and all those other wanna be parenting gurus are all retarded. You get what you get, and its as simple as that.