Sibling Rivalry

“MOMMY, DANIEL TOOK MY DOLLY!!!!”  Hannah whinge/yells to me on pretty much an hourly basis.  Except it’s not always the doll, but whatever she happens to be playing with when Daniel decides to strike.

He quickly grabs whatever it is Hannah has and runs off in a fit of giggles, not to play with it, he just throws it to the side, but to annoy Hannah, get extra attention from me, or I don’t really know why.  He just does it. All. The. Time.

If I praise Daniel for anything, Hannah will jump in as fast as she can with “What about me, I can do that too.”

Sibling rivalry is rife in our house at the moment, so I am very happy to get some strategies with todays guest post by Tracey Lewis, co-author of 1-2-3 Magic for Kids:

 

My kids are fourteen and sixteen and are graduates of 1-2-3 Magic, which isn’t surprising, as I have co-written two of the companion books to the original 1-2-3 Magic!  I’ve been doing this parenting thing for quite some time and I will tell you that the behavior that my kids exhibit that drives me the most bonkers is fighting with each another.  I’ve never been a fan of conflict.  In my own life, I tend to avoid it (for better or worse!) like the plague.  Since I try not to engage in battle myself, it makes me slightly nuts to listen to my kids engaging in it with one another.  I can’t stand it.

I have good news and bad news for you regarding sibling rivalry.  Bad news first—you simply cannot eliminate it completely.  Believe me, I’ve tried.  Siblings have been going at each other since the dawn of time (Cain and Abel, anyone??).  Siblings will continue to go at each other until the end of time.  My two teenagers still regularly spar.

Now, having said all of that, I do have some good news for you!  While you can’t eliminate this behavior from your children’s repertoire, you can manage it.  You can keep their little spats from escalating into all out wars.  I have some tips that will help you.

If you’re familiar with 1-2-3 Magic, you’re familiar with the counting technique.  When a negative behavior (or what we refer to as a stop behavior) occurs, you simply say, “That’s 1.”  You don’t scream.  You simply state it.  If the behavior continues, you say, “That’s 2.”  If the behavior continues after that, you say, “That’s 3”, and you provide a consequence (usually a time out).

Now, how does this relate to your little George Foreman and Muhammad Ali?  When they start fighting, you generally count them both.  Here’s a scenario starring two kids who are watching TV:

Chad:  Quit looking at me.

Heather:  I’ll look at anything I want.

Chad:  I said stop it!

Heather:  Nope.

Chad:  Mom!!!!!!  Heather won’t stop looking at me!!!!

Heather:  It’s not against the rules for me to look at him!  If he wasn’t so ugly, I wouldn’t have to stare!

That last comment causes Chad to go for Heather’s jugular.

Do you see why we count both kids?  Heather probably WAS looking at him.  Was she looking at him with malicious intent or did her eyes just accidentally land on Chad?  Was Chad being overly sensitive or was he responding to Heather intentionally staring at him for the sole purpose of making him angry?  Who really started this fight?  Who knows?   Frankly, who cares!  Count ‘em both.

Most often, even if you are right there to witness the altercation, you won’t be able to determine with 100% certainty who is the guilty party.  Kids can be very subtle in their aggression.  They can provoke without you being able to see it occur.  If you count them both, usually by the count of 2, one party is going to leave the scene of the crime to avoid getting into trouble.  Sure, he’ll grumble a bit as he’s leaving, but that’s ok.  The argument is coming to an end.

Now, there will be times when you are absolutely certain as to “who started it.”  If that’s the case, by all means, count only the aggressor.  Otherwise, count them both.  Here are a few tips that will help you when dealing with sibling rivalry.

 

• Never ask the world’s two stupidest questions:  Who started it? or What happened?  You are almost assuredly going to receive two different answers from two different kids.  Are they liars?  No, most often they just perceive the situation differently.  It happens on occasion that one kid will fess up, but most of the time, asking these questions is an exercise in futility and will only serve to prolong your agony.

 

• Don’t expect the older child to be more mature.  Most likely, if you have a five and ten year old who are fighting, the ten year old is going to revert to her five year old self!  Anyone who has ever had a younger sibling (me included) will tell you that no one can drive you to a complete meltdown faster than a younger brother or sister.  It’s not fair to expect that the older sibling be more mature.  That’s a very difficult burden to bear when your little sister is holding her finger one millimeter from your face and saying, “I’m not touching you.”

 

• Let’s file this last one under, “Lessons Learned the Hard Way”.  If you do get to a count of 3 with your kids, do not send them up the stairs to serve their time outs at the same time.  Why?  One kid is going to be flung down said stairs and you will have another problem to handle!  Send them up one at a time.  One more thing; if your kids share a bedroom, send one of them to another room to serve the time out.  You don’t want them in a room together with the door shut while they’re already fuming mad.

 

Dealing with sibling rivalry is just part of being a parent.  It’s one of those “not so much fun” parts, like scrubbing vomit out of the carpet at 2 am and watching your child cry because someone was mean to him.  You do have to deal with it, but you can make things more manageable for you and your children.  Chances are, your kids will wind up being best friends in adulthood.  All of the arguing is just part of the process involved in getting them there!

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The apartment

The new apartment was almost done.  Ours is on the very top floor.  As we walked by the site, we could hear hammering, power tools, and filthy mouthed tradies.

“Who’s actually watching him though?”  I asked Aaron.

“The builders I guess.  He’ll just be in the apartment.”

My eyes bulged as the weight of what he just said sunk in.  The new apartment came with childcare, so we’d handed Daniel over while they built.

“But they are busy building.  Who’s going to read him stories? Who will put him down for his nap? Who is going to feed him and change his nappy?  Who will play with him?  What if he wakes up in the middle of the night? No one will be there! He’s probably screaming right now, confined to a tiny playpen with no one watching him!”  I started freaking out.

“He’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“He’s NOT fine!”  I started crying.  “I’m going to get him right now! I’m going to go up there, listen outside the door, and then burst in and get him when I hear his cries.”

Hang on.  Why were we buying a new apartment? We just bought a house.  And we need our yard.  A penthouse apartment doesn’t have a yard.  And why would I give Daniel to strangers to look after the whole time they built it?  Something wasn’t right.

My eyes flew open.  It was a dream.  Daniel was safe in his cot asleep, I was safe in my bed, and the whole, horrible thing was just a dream.  I looked at the clock.  4:11am.  No matter how still I laid, I couldn’t get back to sleep after that.  I guess I’m going to be tired today, but at least Daniel is safe, it was only a dream.

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Daniel and the laundry hamper

This is Daniel. It’s not Daniel being super silly, or Daniel all hopped up on sugar or something, this is just everyday Daniel doing everyday Daniel antics:

Yes, the house was messy.  The couch cushions were on the floor because the kids were having fun jumping on them and making forts with Aaron, and Daniel dumped out all the stuffed animals so he could use the hamper they were in.  But you know, that’s what happens when you have kids; the house is never ever clean.  Not for more than 30 seconds anyway….

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Boogers

Some days, with increasing frequency, Daniel doesn’t nap.  He just sits in his cot, playing and giggling for a couple hours.   Who am I kidding, I’m sure he’s not sitting, but more like jumping up and down, attempting to pull the curtains off the wall, tearing a book into tiny little pieces and then throwing them as far as he can, and/or shoving his hands down his pants and painting with poop on his cot rail.  I’m just lucky that he happily stays in there during nap time without actually napping.

“A booger.” I heard Daniel say to himself from inside his cot.  I was doing the dishes in the kitchen.  I stood still, listening.

“Picking my nose.”  Maybe he was talking to his toys.  I’m not really sure. “A booger!  Mommy, a booger, a booger!”  He clearly wanted me to go in his room and wipe the booger from his finger.

When he’s not in his cot supposedly napping, he walks up to me, holds his hand out and says “Mommy,” with an I-have-something-nice-to-give-you, sweet puppy dog-ish look on his face.  I hold out my hand so he can deposit something lovely in it.  Maybe he wants to share his snack with me? Or perhaps he’s picked me a flower.  He immediately wipes a booger on my hand whilst gleefully announcing “A booger!”

I did not go in his room to collect a booger from him though, I just ignored him and continued washing the dishes.  Going in means he will want to come back out with me, ruining any chance of sleep. After a short time, the calls of “booger” stopped.

I’m sure when his nap is over, I’ll find crusty, dried up boogers wiped all over his sheets or cot rail.  Oh well, better than poop.

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Why I started university

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know that I started university this year.  I may be 30 years old, but never in my life have I attended uni.  I always knew I’d be a stay at home mom, so what was the point? I’d get in a whole lot of debt just to work for a couple years and then be at home?  Instead, I did a one year photography course at TAFE.  Ok, so that was mostly to be able to stay in this country, but not the point.

I didn’t think about what would happen when my eventual kids started school.  I guess I assumed I’d still be at home, cooking and cleaning and maintaining everything (FYI, this is not Aaron’s expectation of me or anything, just what I always assumed for myself, and how I always thought I’d live my life). But I didn’t really think about it.  I didn’t think about how mundane life as a stay at home mom really is.  Don’t get me wrong, I love being with the kids and I love nurturing them and caring for them, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s often mundane.  I’m lucky that I have things to do everyday; the gym, bible study, playgroup, and the kids go to daycare/preschool twice per week too.  When they are both at school though, I will be so bored here by myself all day, with no conversation and no interaction with other people.  Plus there is only so much cooking and cleaning a person can do in a day.

Maybe if I were an introvert, I would thrive on being at home all day on my own 5 days a week.  But I’m not an introvert.  Staying at home all the time drives me nuts.  I do enjoy being on my own for kid free days twice per week, but I would not want that 5 days a week.

Needless to say, I needed a plan.  I don’t want to end up in a mindless job just because it gets me out of the house when the kids are at school.  I get bored too easily.  I could do photography again, but that was never something I wanted as a career anyway.  I like it as a hobby, doing it professionally takes the fun out of it.  Plus after breaking my wrist, even 5 minutes of photo taking with my big, heavy DSLR sends my wrist to the pain zone.

I also wanted to start using my brain now before it turns into mush from under use.  Talking to a 4 year old and an almost 2 year old all day is not exactly high intensity cognitive stimulation.  The solution: University.  My chosen course, part time, will take me 6 years to complete.  I get to use my brain whilst still a stay at home mom, and soon after the kids start school, I will be finished with my degree and can get a brain stimulating, part time (preferably during school hours) job, which will also help us pay off the mortgage faster.

I’ve always been interested in science, especially biology.  I remember when I was in 9th grade my class somehow received a grant to use equipment from the Fred Hutch Cancer Research centre.  As a 9th grader, I spliced a gene from one organism into another, turning a colony of white bacteria blue.  Don’t ask me how we did it, I can’t remember, but we did.  I thought nothing of it at the time, I mean it was only bacteria, but these days, how far will they go with genetic engineering?

I decided against a degree in biology for that very reason.  I had a look at jobs online and found that most biology jobs entailed some degree of GE, which I’m not quite sure how I feel about.  I know I don’t like it in food, but I’m not sure about for medical purposes, and where there is technology such as that, there is always room to go too far.

Instead, I applied for uni with Forensic Science as my first choice.  With that degree, I could use science to catch bad guys.  Awesome.  All of the other 8 courses in my preferences list were also science based.  What can I say, I like science.

Just before the early offers came out, I received an email. If I changed my first preference to Sustainable Agriculture and Food Security, I’d not only get an early offer, but also a scholarship.  I had one day to decide.

I hadn’t really thought a lot about Sustainable Agriculture and Food security prior to the email, it was just on my list because the title sounded interesting and it was a science course.  I started looking into it, liking it more and more with everything that I read.  There was even a program about sustainable agriculture on TV that night.  I stayed up late to watch the whole thing, fascinated.

I wouldn’t change my first preference solely to get a scholarship, but without that email, I wouldn’t have looked into the course.  I did change my preference, and I haven’t looked back.  This course is right up my alley, combining gardening (large and small scale) with science.  I love both.

The more I read about genetically modified food, the more I am against it.  Right now, the big agriculture companies, such as Monsanto (also the company responsible for agent orange), are at the forefront of “sustainable agriculture” solutions.  All of their solutions, though, involve genetic engineering (and for those of you who don’t really know about genetically engineered food, I’m not talking about selective breeding, I’m talking about putting the genes of bacteria, viruses, or even scorpions into plants to get desired traits, such as glyphosate tolerance and insect repellant). With my degree, I hope to help with food shortage solutions that have nothing to do with genetic engineering.  I hope to fight for the health of people world wide.

There are hundreds of students at my university alone doing forensic science, but sustainable agriculture? 11.  There are only 11 of us.  With this degree, I could actually make a difference.  I know I made the right decision, and I am so grateful for that random email.

A few weeks ago, I finished my very first semester of university.  In a couple weeks, uni starts up again.  I took two classes, Biodiversity, and Scientific Literacy, both of which are required for all science degrees, not just mine.  I thought I would struggle in biodiversity as the entire class is about evolution, how the diversity of organisms on earth came to be, according to evolution.  Why would I struggle with that? I don’t believe in evolution.  I am a creationist.  That is no reason to stop reading my blog or to hate me, you are entitled to your beliefs and opinions, and I to mine.  I don’t dislike people just because they have different beliefs to me, that is silly.

It was a hard class, not because of my creationist views, but because it was a hard class.  Lots of people failed.  In the mid-semester test, the average score was just above 50%.  I didn’t struggle though, I understood all evolutionary mechanisms thrown at me, and I got a high distinction (A).  I’m not telling you that to brag, I’m telling you that so you know I clearly understand evolution.

Did that understanding change my views? Did it convince me to believe in evolution? You’ll have to read my next post to find out.

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Wipe

“Mommy, ______!” I heard Daniel calling from his bedroom during nap time.  I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but from the tone, I thought it might actually warrant checking on him.  He’d been in there for an hour, but judging from all the chatter, laughing, and toys banging, hadn’t slept a wink.

I paused the science-y youtube video I was watching whilst doing the dishes (because if you’re going to do the dishes, you might as well watch something on the ipad at the same time so it’s not so mindless and boring) and put my ear to his door.

“MOMMY I NEED A WIPE!!!!!!!!”  He yelled.

I couldn’t think of a single situation in which needing a wipe during nap time could possibly be a good thing.

As I opened the door, he held his hands out over the cot rail to show me, and then told me that he wasn’t wearing any pants.  Indeed, he wasn’t.  He was wearing a nappy though. At least that’s something, especially considering the smell that assaulted my nose as soon as I stepped into his room.

Here we go again.  This time, I immediately knew why he wanted a wipe.  I had no grand illusions about him getting into chocolate or Vegemite.  I knew those outstretched arms and parted fingers were indeed covered in poop.  Not from a leaky nappy, or a number three, but from my silly little boy shoving his hands down his nappy after doing a poop.  You’d think he would have learned his lesson last time, but no….

After disinfecting him, I went back to the scene of the crime to assess the damage.  There on the bed, sat his socks, covered in poop.  How exactly do socks bear the brunt of a poop incident?  The cot itself had a little bit of poop on the bars, clearly from him holding on as he called out to me.  The sheets had the tiniest bit of poop.  But the socks?  Covered in it.

I can only deduce that he thought socks bore a mighty resemblance to towels and used them in to clean his hands.  They would have already been off of his feet, he takes them off every singe nap time. Judging by the amount of poop on the socks, he did a pretty good job, but in the wiping process, smeared the little bit that remained on his hands all over them.

Seriously Daniel, please stop putting your hands down your pants!

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Big mess

“Choo-choo!” I looked over at Daniel.  He was laying on his side playing with his wooden train set.  He seems to think playing trains is best when laying on his side.  It’s his go to train playing position.  I smiled to myself at his cuteness and went back to washing the dishes.

“Big mess,” I heard him say a few minutes later.  As I turned around, he wiped his hands on the carpet and then stood back up, arms outstretched in front of him, staring at his hands.

What has he gotten into? I thought to myself. I didn’t leave any of Hannah’s paints or pens out.  Did he find some chocolate? Oh goodness.  No, please, not that.

But it was.

“DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I yelled to Daniel as I practically flew around the kitchen counter to where he stood, staring at his poopy hands.

“AARON, I NEED HELP!” I couldn’t help but yell, this was a dire situation.

His fingers were saturated in poop. The carpet bore streaks of poop where Daniel had wiped his hands, and somehow, there was a little mound of poop on a train track, with some scattered fragments  on another piece of track. Thank goodness we have a bathtub. And disinfectant.

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No Daniel!

“Happy the birthday to you,” we could hear Daniel singing to Hannah this morning in their room before they got up for the day.

“No Daniel!”

“Happy the birthday!”

“NO DANIEL!!! Not until the next day!”

“Happy the birthday Hannah!”

At least he remembered, even if it was a day early.  And just for the record, according to Daniel, it’s happy THE birthday, much to Hannah’s disgust.

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80s workout star

“Hannah, what are you doing?” I heard Daniel ask Hannah inside their room.

“You know what I’m doing Daniel.”

“What are you doing?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!”

I stood there, just outside their door, laughing quietly to myself.  I’d just put them to bed, and I knew exactly what Hannah was doing.  Just picture an almost 4 year old doing the running man in PJ’s.

The discovery of a head band led to the chain of events. Not the plastic kind, but the stretchy fabric kind.  For some reason, putting the headband on right at the top of her hairline instantly transformed her into an ’80s workout star.  How she made the connection between this:

Hannah’s headband is just like the one on the right (image courtesy of Wikipedia)

And this:

Transformation: complete (image courtesy of Hairstyletwist.com)

I’m not sure.  I don’t wear headbands to work out.  I don’t watch ’80s workout DVDs (or videos HAHAHAHA!).

But as soon as she put that headband on, she started running in place and intentionally breathing hard as if she’d been running for 10 minutes.  Unfortunately she inherited my natural running gait, which consists of flappy arms awkward legs, kind of like a baby bird trying to fly.  Basically her version of running in place looks like a slightly off-kilter running man.

“What are you doing Hannah?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!!”

And so it went around a few times whilst I tried not to laugh too loudly, visualising the scene in their dark room, listening to the fast pitter patter of her feet as they touched the ground, until Hannah opened the door because she forgot to take her clock to bed.  She must have taken her head band off when she went back in because the ’80s workout star didn’t put on any more performances.

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The princess

“I’m the king!” Daniel exclaimed excitedly as he put Hannah’s plastic tiara on his head. In case we didn’t hear him, he told us again, “I’m the KING, mommy!”

“I’m a princess!” Hannah said, wanting to play royals too.

Daniel looked at her for a split second before declaring “I’m a princess!”

“No, you’re the king.” I told him.

“I’M A PRINCESS!!!!!”

Sigh.

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