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Category: Sibling Rivalry

And It’s Not Even Lunchtime Yet

The wail erupted like the scream of a firehouse siren.  “Nooo!  No, Mommy, no! I don’t WANT Quinn to play with my toy!  No, Quinn, no!  Nooooo!” Saoirse, I told her, calmly.  Quinn’s playing with the turtle toy right now, and then you can have a turn. And then: “AAAAAAiiiiiiii-eeeeeeeeee!” So into time-out Saoirse went, except this time she was thrashing around like a caught fish on the deck of a boat, which reminded me exactly why we temporarily abandoned the time-out system months ago (yeah, I know consistency is key, but do you have a three-year-old?!).  So I did what the nurse at the pediatrician’s office mentioned once and sat down with her, arms wrapped around her, for the duration of the three minutes.  Oh-so easy, according to the nurse.  “You just have to hold her,” she said. Well.  When your kid is the size of a six-year-old, and has muscles like some sort of ox on steroids, and she’s squirming around in your hold like a cat about to get its claws trimmed, and she&#8217…

Yeah, About That

I was cleaning up some dishes, getting ready to finish dinner.  It’d been a glorious, brilliant fall day–like something out of a movie, with a clear blue sky and leaves crumbling underfoot and the smell of someone’s fireplace in the air.  I’d just come in with the girls, where we’d been outside, pushing them on their swings in the backyard.  They were playing together (together!) with some cars and books in the living room, quietly, contentedly. “Hey, Saoirse,” I said, suddenly curious. “Yes, Mom?” “What do you like to do most in the world?  What’s your favorite thing?” “Swinging!” No surprise, there.  I smiled at the two, sitting side by side, rolling the cars around the coffee table. “What’s your least favorite thing?  What do you not like doing at all?” “Sharing.” I looked a little more closely.  Saoirse had taken Quinn’s toy and replaced it with one of her own.  Another moment later would find her throwing a train across the room and hip-checking her little sister away from the…

Becoming Her Wingman

I sat down with Quinn last night to read her a book before bedtime. It was quiet, her room was lit by just one tiny lamp, and she was all warm from her bath and comfortable in fresh pajamas and just-washed hair that, thanks to her new shampoo, smelled just enough like honey to be pleasant without reminding me that I planned on making waffles for breakfast this morning. I could actually hear my brain sigh with relief as we settled down in the glider together for a few restful moments. Yeah, right. No sooner than we closed that book did my beautiful child start grunting and twisting in a pretty impressive effort to wriggle her way from my arms, out of my lap and down my legs to the floor, where she took off way more quickly than a child who still crawls should ever be able to move. She opened her door, threw one glance at me over her shoulder with a laugh that sounded an awful lot like “Bwahaha–gotchyou again, suckah!” and went careening down the hallway–her arms and legs going thumpthumpthump on the hardwood like a car that&#8217…