A. wandered out of his room first thing this morning and, with his eyes still full of sleep, had an announcement: He was going to put his sister in federal prison.
She deserved to be put on trial, he said, for annoying him.
So began another day in our house, where 3-year-old C., who is just acting her age, spends a good amount of time getting into her 8-year-old brother’s head, driving him half crazy in the process.
She gets into his Legos, draws on his homework and messes up his room. The other day, she threw a small remote-controlled car and hit him in the brow, but no serious damage was done. The trouble for A. is that when he retaliates, he gets in big trouble. He is, after all, a lot bigger and stronger.
As parents, we find ourselves in the role of referees all day long, separating them often and taking one or the other on errand trips just to keep the peace.
Other parents say this love-hate thing is all just normal, and really doesn’t let up until they are, say, 25 years old. Dang, that’s a long haul for us.
It’s been this way for awhile. A. told me yesterday that the day C. was born, he felt deep anger. It was sort of funny to hear this coming from such a little guy. I remember him asking shortly after her birth if we could get a baby cannon and shoot C. out of town.
When I grew up, I was the only one, so this is all new for me. I’m still trying to figure it all out. It’s enough to drive me batty.
As for A. and C., things improved this morning when we put a “Scooby” video on.
They both settled in and all was blissfully mellow.
“I love you,” A. told C. as they sat down to watch.
I think he really meant it, which makes this whole thing that much more strange.
Before he wanted to see his sister in a prison jumpsuit. Now they were best friends.
I didn’t try to over think it, and just enjoyed the quiet.