I happened across what is probably my new favorite news article on the internet the other day, and since the rest of my family apparently is too embarrassed to mention it, I figured it is my duty to bring it up. The title of the article is "Firstborns found to have higher intelligence." As if that wasn't completely obvious! You can read the whole article here:
But if you of lower IQ don't want to read such a lengthy article, let me sum it up for you. I'll use small words so you won't get lost.
Apparently, firstborns have a higher IQ than the 2nd born by like 2 points, and 3 points more than the third. If you think 2 or 3 points isn't that many, well, I would compare those points to, say, the Richter scale, where the difference between a 5.0 earthquake and a 6.0 earthquake is exponential. (Sorry, is that word too much for you? Let's just say it's really really a lot smarter.)
The article says that firstborns tend to get more Nobel prizes, get more National Merit Scholarships, have higher SAT scores, and their parents love them more. Well, that last part was just implied - it really says that the smarter first child is a result of more parental attention, more responsibility given to that child, and higher expectations. You see, my parents just pushed me to excel while you boys, sadly, were left to sit in your playpens for hours at a time, watching tv and drooling, and while I worked on my preschool SAT prep class. (You know I did take the SAT in 8th grade, right?)
It all makes me wonder if my 2nd brother joined Mensa just to prove something, kind of a compensatory thing? Although, looking at it in this new light of my superior brains, it must mean that if he can get into Mensa, I'm probably destined for some kind of Uber-Mensa, just for firstborns, where we can sit and chat about our poor, sad, younger siblings, and how we're going to have to support them at some point when society gives up on them. I'm going to have to look that group up.
Speaking of Brothers
My youngest brother, Tim, has arrived this week and has taken up residence in the room formerly known as my craft room. My kids have instantly taken to him, seeming to prefer him over their actual parents, which I don't blame them for, because Tim never yells at them and only rarely has to tell them to stop doing something (and it's usually, stop jumping on me, or something like that). They love him, and he seems to enjoy them too, maybe it's the unfettered adoration or maybe he does really like Legos and lightsabers.
Whatever it is, I'm totally impressed with the kid, because he seems to have endless patience for my kids and they are basking in his attention. So I've determined that the Burnout Clock is beginning it's countdown. I give him about 2 more weeks before the kids are just getting on his nerves, when he starts locking his door and pretending not to hear them ask where Tim is. When he starts hanging out at the mall or the grocery store or anywhere, just to get some peace and quiet and get the heck out of this madhouse. I won't blame him when it happens, though - there are many days that door locking or mall escaping sound really good to me too.
Tim made a funny comment yesterday, which should serve as a good reflection on what life is really like here by an impartial third party. We eat off of plastic plates and with plastic cups because, well, we're not stupid (see previous section - Ryan's a firstborn too). Saturday is our whole house clean up day, where everyone pitches in and we clean the bathrooms and the floors and end up with a clean house. It never lasts the whole day, and by the evening the kitchen was pretty trashed, with stuff on the counters and a sink full of dishes. Tim, in his eternal optimism, comments that the sink sure is colorful! You know, with the orange, blue, and red plastic plates and cups, and the gold and white of the cereal and milk fermenting in bowls, it makes for a rainbow of color. I'm glad that he can look at it that way. As a reward for having such a good attitude, I made him do the dishes. :)