Archive for the ‘sibling love’ Tag
December 12 2011
It was during dinner, which always seems to be a rambunctious time for my kids. I’ve retired the notion of ever achieving a relaxing family meal for now, we’ll work on that later, but I do prefer they sit somewhere and at the very least pick at their food. This time, however, Abby and Buzz were more interested in playing. Jumping on the chair, running around in circles, screaming songs, and pretending to bite each other. Their food sitting on the table untouched.
They were driving me crazy.
That entire meal was spent trying to separate the two deviants to no avail. Sit down and eat your food was my main subject of dinnertime banter, with each instance the words escalating louder and louder until I could envision the top of my bright red face coming off with steam blowing out.
I was already in this mood when, after I had enough and the plates were put away, Abby knocked a basket containing an assortment of pieces off a living room table. And I may have yelled, more at the situation and the day and myself than at her. But it was not one of my stellar parenting moments.
When, as if he knew exactly what I needed, Buzz picked up the handle of a play phone and dialed.
“Hello, Grandma…”, Buzz greeted.
Why yes, now would be a perfect time to call Grandma. And tell her to send reinforcements. Wine would work.
November 30 2011
Earlier this week the kids made their Christmas lists.
Well, Jedi wrote his. I penned what Abby told me. Which went like this:
1. Dolls
2. Princess toys
3. A duck
4. A doll that looked just like Abby
5. Drawing stuff
None of it very outlandish and most of it were suggestions from others. Aside from #3, which she came up with all on her own. A duck? I laughed, remarking then that I didn’t think Santa would bring her a duck, but I put it on the list anyway.
A short while later, it was time to get ready for bed. Which has turned into Buzz’s cue to stall for 20 minutes in the bathroom. As we were giving him his privacy outside the door, Abby began to whine. At first I couldn’t understand what the problem could be, since she was safely held in my arms. Her complaint soon began to register, however.
“Santa hasn’t brought me a duck yet”, she whined softly.
“He what? Listen…”, I continued letting out a light chuckle before trying to explain. “It’s not time for Santa yet. He doesn’t come around for another month. But remember, I already said he probably won’t bring you a duck when he does come.”
But I was mistaken. Because Buzz opened the bathroom door at that moment, taking to heart the true giving spirit of Santa Claus. “Here you go, Abby”, he offered, handing her a rubber duckie from the bath bucket. “Quack, quack.”
October 06 2011
You know what I said the other day? Hold on, we’ll get to it.
While I know they love each other, my kids bicker. They’re siblings, after all, close in proximity, and they have the little tiffs that most do. This one took that toy. That one got more M&Ms. Why does he always get to go first? She’s in my spot. Life is a constant contest to them, always rigged in another’s favor. So unfair.
Abby and Jedi were sitting together at the computer while I fixed dinner. As most instances happen, they were nice at first. Then Abby didn’t want Jedi sitting next to her anymore. So she tried to kick him off. He screamed at her. She cried. And it escalated.
“Both of you stop it!”, I intervened when it was obvious this wasn’t going to resolve on its own.
“But she started it!”, Jedi countered with Abby still determined to push him off the chair with all her might.
And then, after a few more minutes of this back and forth, I said. Wait for it.
“I don’t care who started it, if you don’t stop it I’m the one who’s going to finish it!”
Yes, I did.
I’m pretty sure this goes up there with the wise yet reluctant sage gem, passed from generation to generation, because I said so. Which I’ve uttered before, too, and most likely will again. Because I’ve now realized that while children despise it, there actually is no better parental excuse. It’s alright, I’m rolling my eyes at myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
September 22 2011
Rule #1 in the little sister handbook: Thou shall blame her older brothers for everything.
Case in point:
Abby’s mouth had been colored all around in yellow. Like a clown in thick make-up. It spread past her lips and to her cheeks. A burst of sunshine in the middle of her face.
“Why are your lips yellow?”, I asked her.
There she sat, with the crayon she used guiltily gripped in her hand, looking at me with a smirk on her face. I could tell she was thinking of an appropriate response, one that would take the focus away from her. Then, she remembered the rules from the sister handbook. “Um…”, she started, pausing. “I think Jedi did it.”
Normally, yellow is not the color of fire, but it could have been since Abby’s pants were in flames.
“Oh, you think he did?”, I stifled a laugh. “Even though you have the crayon in your hand and Jedi has been in his room?”
“Yep, Jedi did it”, she insisted.
On cue, Jedi emerged, seriously countering with his own version of events. “And Abby started lying now. Just great! Because I didn’t do anything!”
Rule #2 in the little sister handbook: Thou shall stick with the story, even when the truth is brightly colored all over one’s face. Which leads to rule #3: If thou is cute enough, thou just might get away with it.
September 01 2011
If there’s one thing my daughter loves, it’s brushing her hair. The more you run a comb through Abby’s curly strands, the happier she’ll be. Momentarily, anyway. She doesn’t want you to stop. And after you say enough, your hair has been coiffed to perfection, she’ll purposefully tousle her still not very long crown of locks just so it can be swept in place again.
If she can’t have her hair brushed, however, next in line is to brush yours.
Or, her model of choice, Buzz’s.
I can tell it’s that time when she goes in search for her favorite comb in the bathroom drawer set aside for hair clips, bows, and bands. Then she stomps throughout our relatively tiny abode in search of Buzz, her favorite makeover victim. Where he’ll sit still, if not happily, and lovingly allow his sister to pull a comb through his short hair. For a few minutes. Until he’s had enough. Because Abby could play that game all night long if he let her.
“Buzz, get back here! Sit there!”, she’ll yell after in her normal bossy tone, as he stands, attempting to dart away in an open opportunity. Last night, for instance, he tried to hide under a pile of pillows. But he doesn’t like to listen to her cries, so he complies, sitting back down again as told. And the hairdressing continues. Thankfully, she has yet to try to dress him in sparkly pink headbands.
What that boy puts up with for his sister. I’ve been sure to tell him that he’s such a good big brother. Truth is, I’m just glad it’s him and not me.
