As I have mentioned before, I grew up in a family with five kids. My ex-husband was one of six and Paul, my current husband, was the second youngest of seven. I did not have the good fortune of meeting Paul’s mother. She died several years before I met him. But her memory lives on in the stories I hear from his five, wonderful, loving sisters who are all now devoted mothers themselves. I am assured by all of them that “she would have loved me.” And I am most certain, that I would have adored her too.

I was, however,  lucky enough to have had a very close relationship with both my mother and my first mother-in-law, who both passed away in the same year five years ago. I think both of them, in their own way, gave me advice that I didn’t understand at the time, but I SURE AS HELL DO NOW.  They told me in their own words that,  “Sometimes you have to give some of your children more attention because they need more attention. You can’t always be fair.”

Having been a neglected middle child myself, I am sensitive to the fact  that my own over-attention to the most vocal and needy children in our family, which happens at the moment to be the two oldest, Sam and Sophia,  and the youngest, Cheryl,  is giving short shrift to the seemingly happy, well-adjusted middle kids in our family; Mark and Eva.

Middle kids, by the very nature of their birth order, tend to be easy going and low maintenance.  While their younger siblings are screaming for attention, (and getting it because they are the adorable baby of the family)  they tend to follow  sheepishly and quietly into the foot steps of their trail blazing older siblings. They don’t make a fuss, therefore they don’t get much notice.

This is the case in our family. And I should know better. As I said, I myself, was a neglected middle child. While my mother was wringing her hands over my sisters and their motor-cycle-riding-long-haired-boyfriends, I was solving all my problems alone. When I felt snubbed or left out at school, I didn’t take my gripes to my parents because they had bigger “I-think-my-kid-is-smoking-pot” fish to fry. I was determined to not make the same mistakes as my parents, and guess what? I did.

This past week, both Mark and Eva had their own mini melt downs. They have, in their own way,  expressed to me that their needs are not being met. Mark is struggling in school with some subjects and could use some tutoring. He’s afraid to speak up because he does not want to be a burden. He also feels unrelentlessly picked on by his older brother, Sam,  who does not know when a joke is no longer a joke. Mark needs support. He needs to know that his feelings matter and are heard. I listen and have learned some new vocabulary. For instance, when someone does something particularly offensive, it is called, “really douchy.” I now know that “douchy” is bad.

Eva, for her part, wants to learn how to sew and she wants me to teach her. Long ago I promised her I would, and we even went so far as to buy patterns and material, but the life got away from us and we never got around to it. I was too busy. I neglected my easy going middle child to meet the needs of my ever demanding older and  youngest children. This past week I asked her why she didn’t sign up for the after school fashion design class at school and she replied, “Because I was afraid I would suck at it. All my friends know how to sew and I don’t .” I felt horrible. If I could have crawled into a hole and hid I would have. Instead I vowed to her that I would indeed make good on my promise to teach her to sew and last night we cut out a pattern and this weekend we are going to put it together.

I may be slow, but eventually I get the message. And in the end, hopefully, all of my five children feel special, unique and equally well-attended.