It has started. Started big time. Moms of older kids will nod, sigh, and smirk – trying to remember that time before. The time before the children fought. Constantly fought. With words. With fists and kicks. With the power to annoy. Is this really what life is going to be like for the next 15 years, until only one of them remains under my roof?
They fight over what music to listen to, what show to watch, what book to read, which Legos to build, whose stuffy this is, whether or not said stuff is an actual Beannie Boo, who sits next to mom, who sits closer to mom, who sits on mom – and that was just this morning before school.
The 6-year-old uses her worldliness and elder status to tease her poor 3-year-old brother, using terms and names he doesn’t understand, and I’m not even sure that she understands them either.
But he can strike back with the most dangerous weapon of all: the power of being a toddler – a devil in pull-ups. He can throw a tantrum at any unsuspecting sister if needed, and he knows this action will end in a win. The 6-year-old has no choice but to relent.
And if this fighting receives any of my attention, the sweet little baby will get in on the action too. “Mom! Mom! Look at me,” say her piercing screams as she launches her body at the couch upon which her siblings are beating each other up.
Today I told them to go to their rooms; I just couldn’t stand listening to their arguing which concerned who had a more advantageous view of the book we were reading. They refused so I simply threatened that I would go to my room. “Nice try mom, but we’ll find you,” they sneered. “There’s no escaping us.”
So many moms blog about this shit and some are quite good and have even managed to make some money from their musings on the mundane. So what can I offer by putting my daily soundtrack of sibling drama out in the world? It’s all been said before . . . or has it? Women are struggling with the same problems and questions despite all of the articles and books and seminars and retreats that offer insight and respite. It might just be possible that my words could help, or reaffirm that others are asking the same questions, facing the same problems, experiencing the same struggles. And even if it has all been said before, it hasn’t been said by me in the way that I will say it.
I am not the only mom who has had to shout threats to the back of the minivan to stop fighting “or else”, but I’ll write about it like only I can. And even if the words are only for me, and no one else reads them, it still helps to write. It can lighten these painful daily experiences, help me find some humor in them and maybe even show me how to survive 15 f-ing more years of fighting.