The Report Cards....

Two report cards hang on my fridge.

One white, pristine, with barely a wrinkle or crease on the corners.  It's as if it was given out and safely tucked away within a protective folder until it made it's way home.

The other blue, folded into 16ths, then crumpled in a fist, tossed aside on the coffee table, most likely to be discarded later as a random piece of scrap paper.

Still, side by side, they both hang there on the fridge, tacked up by the "Yea Bacon" and "Yea Narwhals" magnets respectively. One a beautiful pristine, the other a beautiful mess. But, upon closer inspection they have nearly the exact same grades.

All A's and two B+s.

The same, and yet so different, not unlike the boys they belong to.

So many times I have secretly (and not so secretly) wished they'd be more like the other. I have wished Oldest to be more flexible, less black and white.  I wished he'd understood sarcasm, be less worried about what other people thought,  to be less detail oriented.  I wished Youngest be more responsible, less unpredictable, more focused, and less of a handful.  He's killing me slowly that one, I tell you.

Oldest cares about his appearance.  Matches his clothes, styles his hair, matches his sneakers to his outfits.  He strives to find a balance between what he likes and fitting in. He is a parallelogram trying to fit into a bunch of square holes.  Sometimes he makes the edges fit, sometimes not.

Youngest throws on whatever is clean, or whatever he thinks is clean, and heads out the door.  On mismatched day he wore a perfectly matched outfit, right down to his sneakers, just to be different. He could care less who likes him, wearing his weirdness like a badge of honor. He's like an octopus in the mesh bag of life... barely containable and full of surprises.

Oldest learns by order and rules.  He's in honors French, Algebra, Science and History.  He excels with facts and figures.  He keeps score and needs things to be fair.  And while the system doesn't always fit within his comprehension, he has figured out ways to make it work for him.  Sitting in the back of the class so he can move around, picking his lab partners wisely, picking his friends brilliantly. He's manipulated the establishment to work for him, to keep him interested, and help him thrive.

Youngest learns by doing, by moving, and by interest.  If it can become a competition it's even better. He's a bit of an enigma inside of a riddle.   He loves the books, but most often hates the movies.  He loves to read but hates to write.  He's an incredible storyteller but can't expand a paragraph beyond facts on paper.  He stays after twice a week to do his homework because he likes to work in a small group or on his own, but hates to work alone at home. He will ultimately fail with any chaos or noise around him, but is the perfect storm of chaos and havoc at home.

I can always depend on Oldest to get things done around the house, to understand when I have to disappoint him, and to pitch in when asked.

Youngest is often the reason things need to get done around the house, leaving his stuff everywhere, and having a schedule that requires two calendars and several reminder alarms. There is a very distinct butt groove in the couch from his lack of voluntarily pitching in.

But they both love their family.  They mentor.  They teach.  We all learn together.  Because of these differences we have all become better people, a better team, a better family.

So different in how they appear and function in life.

And yet, at the heart of the matter, exactly the same.

Not unlike the report cards.