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Broke Wife, Big City
Welcome to Thunderdome
By Aprill Brandon
When I was in high school, I read “Lord of the Flies.” Good book, I thought. But totally unrealistic.
Children aren’t like that.
And then...well, then I had a child.
Worse yet, after having that child, I decided to have another child.
Meaning I now had children. Plural. More than one. Creating, blindly,
siblings. Because in my baby fever, I was so obsessed with if I could,
I never stopped to think if I should.
And now every day of my life is spent pulling apart two feral creatures
who are trying to rip each other to shreds. Of all the things I was
woefully unprepared for as a parent (and there are a lot), the savage
sibling fights is the one that perplexes me the most.
Part of this might be because I spent most of my early life as an only
child. My mom had me when she was young so it was only after 17 years
that I finally got a sibling. By that point, I was more like the fun
auntie than any kind of sister. My role was to roll out of bed, play
with him for a little bit and then run off with my friends to hang out
in a cornfield somewhere and definitely not illegally drink bad, warm
beer.
So I never got the traditional sibling upbringing. And, sure, I also
grew up with a lot of cousins. There was plenty of fighting there. But
it was different. With cousins, there’s more of an involuntary
manslaughter vibe. With siblings, it’s premeditated.
Were they born mortal enemies? I do remember on the day she was born,
his little toddler fingers immediately found the soft spot on her skull
and he tried pushing it in. That should have been a pretty big red flag
of what was to come.
It’s not like a favor one over the other. I ignore them both equally.
Is it the age difference? Everyone told me, oh, two years apart is the
perfect space between ages. I can only assume now they meant the
perfect ages to inflict similar wounds on each other.
And, trust me, they can turn anything into a weapon against the other.
This one time my son nibbled on a Dorito until it became a neon orange
shiv and then he stabbed his sister with it. She, being more of a
naturalist, once threw a giant rock at his head. He pushed her into a
pool last summer. Last Thanksgiving, she jumped off the couch and
landed directly on his face.
As for reasons why they fight? Well, breathing is a popular one. He got
the purple sippy cup. Her leg accidentally touched his. They both got
the EXACT same numbers of M&M’s. One day they both punched each
other in the face because they got into an argument about goats.
I’ve seen barroom fights in dive bars that were more civilized than the
fights that break out at the dinner table night after night.
Truly, we don’t give kids enough credit. We treat them with such gentle
hands, talk about how innocent and loving they are. But I’m pretty
convinced my kids would straight up slaughter each other if only they
could figure out how. Thank god they have awful hand-eye coordination
and hardly any upper body strength.
Because nothing stops these fights. I’ve tried intervening. I’ve tried
bribery. I’ve tried distraction. I’ve tried “let’s sit down and talk
about our tiny murderous feelings.” No matter what, five minutes later,
one is chasing the other with a hammer (where the hell did she get a
hammer?) because he called her stuffed kitty cat stupid.
It’s exhausting. Which is why I’m currently trying the benign neglect
method of our ancestors, just pretending I don’t hear the screams of
attempted bloody murder, but making sure I’m close enough should I need
to rush anyone to the emergency room.
Say what you will about the parenting methods of the 70’s and 80’s, but I now know why they always sent us outside.
Plausible deniability.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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