I can see his point. Based on this sole experience, birthdays mean presents, sweets, and a lot of adult attention regardless of whether it's his birthday or his brother's.
Sam gets a blanket, Jack gets a Transformer. Sam gets a set of onesies, Jack gets a Transformer. Sam gets a rattle, Jack gets a Transformer. Why shouldn't Jack think sibling birthdays are the best? He definitely won in the good present category. I'm curious to see what he thinks of it a year from now when there's no matching present for him each time Baby Brother gets a package.
Then again, knowing these grandparents, this double-spoilage may continue for a while. Neither set seems inclined to give up an excuse to buy things for the grandchildren. In fact, it seems to be something that continues even into one's thirties, for my parents arrived Friday night with a present for me as well.
Rachel gets a baby, Manda gets a taser:
My dad was
terrified by inspired by my recent run-in with the criminal world of tissue distribution. "I'm seeing a blog entry all about 'My Paranoid Dad,'" he joked as I examined my new weapon. But, just like when he used to claim we were so embarrassed by our goofy parents in high school (We weren't. My parents are awesome. I knew that even in the midst of my worst pink-glasses-and-tucked-in-t-shirts teenage years), I assured him that I didn't think that at all. I'm actually rather glad to have a good defense system next to my bed. It sure beats my old system of Prayer + The Golf Club I Found on My Balcony.
Don't knock the golf club too much, though. It delivers a blow of greater concentrated force than your usual baseball bat; although it does require you to get within swinging distance of the Bad Guy, unlike this:
As if the gift of safety isn't good enough, it came in my favorite kind of packaging:
|Peace, Health, and Happiness indeed!|