When I was about five my cousin of the same age in the Netherlands asked for large photos of my brother and I for her bedroom wall.
My mom took us to a professional photographer – the only time that ever happened in my childhood – and insisted I wear my brother’s sweater. I refused. She ignored that and put it on me.
I refused to smile. No matter what the proferred reward. In the end my cousin got two poster-size prints. One of my brother smiling so intensely it resembled a grimace. And one of his stony faced sister wearing his sweater.
A few weeks ago the miracle toddler and I saw cheesy holiday sweaters on sale. I asked him if he wanted to wear a different one or a larger version of the same sweater as his baby brother. He chose the same. At five months baby Azulito had no say.
I’ve never bought a cheesy holiday sweater before. Now we own two. And some cute family photos of the children I fought tooth and nail to being home.
I miss you Mom. And I’m sorry I was such a turkey that day.
This post was inspired by Rarasaur.