Shelby

When it come to writing about my kids, I think Shelby often gets the short end of the stick. Sienna is the youngest, which means I can write all the cute things she says, the goofy things she thinks, the funny faces, you know, all the youngest kid stuff. The twins on the other hand, are the oldest, which means there are stories before any other kids were around, and now they are starting to have teenage problems, which are interesting and infuriating. Shelby, though, sometimes is just Shelby. No teenage issues, but too old to think it is funny when she mispronounces something. It is a problem of age and circumstance.

This, though, does not mean there is nothing to write about. In fact, if anything, there is an abundance of personality.

Dinner was excellent. My wife made spaghetti with her doctored sauce and pieces of Italian sausage and garlic bread. It was one of those meals you go back for seconds, even as you are full. Cleaning the table, for the most part, it is hard to tell what has been eaten, that is until you get to seat nearest to the stairs. Shelby's seat. In front of that chair is a plate you don't want to touch. Sauce is pushed not only to the rim, but over and onto the table. When I remove the plate, it leaves a shadow, where it protected the table from the abundance of tomato sauce and breadcrumbs which have fallen through the meal. This eating style has caused her no shortage of problems, as we tell her to use a fork, not to go crazy with the dressing, ask her what she spilled on her shirt or pants.

I wasn't there, but I was told, Shelly walked into the parent teacher conference to meet Shelby's teacher and even before the conference began, the teacher said something along the line of, "Well, there is this." On the desk was a heaping mound of crumpled papers, plastic bags and broken off pencil erasers. Her desk had been packed with trash and she had been asked to take stuff our so Shelly could see it on her visit. My wife responded, she was not surprised. Yet, teacher, nor Shelly, nor I were worried. I remember kids who were so messy other kids would avoid them for fear of getting sticky or their messiness was a sign of stupidity, but there was not even a slightest concern of this.

Leo's Coney Island is not far from where we live and the food is always good, so for a while it was a default place to eat when we couldn't decide where to go. The evening I'm thinking of, is just such an evening, so the six of us walk through the door. Even before we sit down, Shelby is wondering away from us, getting to an angle she can wave to the far corner of the restaurant where someone she knows is. We sit and I ask about it, and it is some girl who was in her class last year. Then, as if on cue, anther family comes in and Shelby is waving again. We have four kids, but it is her, every time, who knows someone in the restaurant. Before we leave, she gets up to go to each of her friends' tables, talk for a few minutes and then it is time to go. She not only remembers all these kids, but they seem to remember and like her.

Last night, when I got home, all of the kids were off doing their own things, except for Shelby, who was still working through her homework. A book report sandwich. The meat is a red page with certain information, the lettuce a green page with other information and so on. Anyway, I ask if it is due tomorrow, expecting it is. She tells me no, it's not due until December 3rd, but she wanted to get it done. Then she tells me about the math work she is doing super well on.

I tell her she is doing good and I walk away thinking to myself. I wonder how she got this collection of traits. At that age, I was a mess, but not getting my stuff done early or so friendly I would know a bunch of people in a restaurant. Then I think about what she will be capable of when she figures out how to get organized. The thought scares me a little bit. It occurs to me, it is a good thing she is a little unorganized, or no one would know how to keep her occupied. One more way I am blessed.