“He’s The Only Brother You’ll Ever Have”

 Parenting  7 Responses »
Oct 032011
 

This morning, before I had finished my first cup of coffee, I had the joy of reiterating one of my most-oft-used sentences.

“He’s the only brother you’ll ever have.”

This statement is reserved for a post-argument or post-cruelty or post-aggravation lecture. This morning the cause was a verbal fight over a toy which quickly disintegrated into a kick from one brother to the other. I don’t know who started the argument. I don’t know who initiated the kick. I don’t care who did what or in what order. It doesn’t matter. It needs to stop.

I stood in front of them as they both sat on the step, looking up at me with big, sad, tear-filled eyes. I sighed.

I know that they love each other. I see it in the way that they take all of their pillows and pile them on the living room floor and act out crazy imaginative stories. Or how when one puts on a firefighter costume, the other one has to as well. Or how when one is Buzz, the other is Woody. Or they’re both Buzz. Or how BigBrother has taken to teaching LittleBrother how to play various things on the computer, above and beyond what I’ve taken the time to teach him thus far. Or when they just randomly tell each other, “I love you.” I know that they love each other.

But for Pete’s sake, I’m tired of the arguing. And the nit-picking. And that tattling. And the “he won’t let me watch him play Leapster.” And the “but he got to pick the game last time.” All of it. I’m tired of it.

And so I repeat, “He’s the only brother you’ll ever have.”

This is a true statement, and I say it like I mean it. I use my serious voice. Not my yelling voice, but my serious voice. The I Mean Business Voice, reserved for Making a Point. The only brother. This is it, boys. No more. None. The only brother.

They look at me, from behind their wet eyelashes, with a bit of confusion in their eyes. You can see their thoughts. “The only brother I’ll ever have? Yeah? So?!” And I want to make them sit nose to nose and imagine life without the other. I want them to realize that the other one currently acts as his best friend. And that it won’t always be that way and they’ll go through periods of something akin to pure hate at one point or another, but that they’ll always be brothers. And that not everyone has this luxury. I want them to recognize how important the other is in his life.

But mostly I just want the arguing before I finish my first cup of coffee to quit.

“You two. Oh, you two. Hug each other and get your butts in the car. No arguing.” They hug, get up off of their bottom step and make their way to the car. Before they’re there, they’re giggling about something and I breathe a sigh of relief.

They’ll be okay, these brothers. They’ll be okay.

Fall Boys

[Stop, Drop & Blog is now on Facebook.]

I Wish This For You Always

 FireFamily Talks Sports, Parenting  6 Responses »
Apr 212011
 

It’s not easy being the younger brother. I know. I mean, I don’t know-know.

I was the older sister… the much older sister. By the time my younger brother was doing stuff, I was sooooo over it. I had been there, done that. He followed me everywhere and I thought he was annoying. In fact, he’s still kinda annoying, but that’s another story.

I’ve watched you watch your brother for three years now. At first, you thought the sun rose and set on his head. You would stare and smile and coo and nom on his face. You rolled early to get to him. You talked early to talk with him. You walked and ran early to keep up with him. And you haven’t stopped trying ever since.

You’ve sat on the sidelines for two years of t-ball games, watching your brother hit the ball, run the bases, throw the ball and laugh with his teammates. You’ve run out onto the field, desperately wanting to play. You’ve stood on the sidelines with your glove on your hand. And on your head. I’ve watched you be patient about it. I’ve watched you be impatient about it, throwing spectacular tantrums to voice your displeasure at riding the bench of brotherhood.

That changed today.

Your first t-ball practice was uneventful, really. You guys didn’t even get to bat. Your coach recognized the young team and thought it would benefit everyone if we spent an hour working on throwing the ball. We’ve been working on that with you, of course, learning that — once again — you are like your Daddy: You throw right-handed and you bat left-handed. That’s pretty cool.

You kept up today, with minor encouragement from me. You stood next to your brother on the line and threw to your coach. You came to me a few times, but you always went back. Even when the ball freaked you out a little bit.

Oh, HA!

And then you got to run the bases. For the first time ever. We practiced the song. You knew where to go. And you went.

Running bases

The joy on your face was something I want to remember forever. I wish I could approach new things in life with the same joy that you were exuding as you ran from first to second base. It was a pure joy. You didn’t care what other people thought of your open-mouthed grin as you ran your little legs. You didn’t care. And man, that was fantastic.

I wish that for you always. Whether you’re doing something just to keep up with your brother or doing something new just because you want to do it. I hope you run at it with your mouth hanging open and your laughter floating on the spring breeze. I hope you embrace it fully, even when you’re scared it’s going to hit you in the face. I hope you know that you have our support as much as your older brother does and that we’ll love you even when you throw yourself on the ground at the end of that something new because you simply don’t want to leave, for it to be over.

I wish this for you always. I wish this joy for your life.

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