There’s a five year age difference between my boys. The first two years as brothers were smooth sailing. My oldest had no jealousy over the new baby. There was no acting out, no rivalry, no conflict at all. I inadvertently gazed smugly at all those parents talking about how their kids didn’t get along. Mine were peas in a pod.
I paid for that. By ages three and eight, the fighting began. Now, at five and ten, we could probably hold Pay-Per-Views.
Sometimes it feels like all they do is fight, and all I do is referee and reprimand them. But sometimes it gets quiet, and I take a peek.
When they aren’t fighting, they are challenging each other to games of Mouse Trap and Yahtzee.
When they aren’t fighting, they are dueling with balloon swords.
When they aren’t fighting, they are giggling so hard it reverberates through the vents.
When they aren’t fighting, they are saving their money to buy a surprise for the other.
When they aren’t fighting, the oldest is sitting next to the youngest’s bed because he is too scared to sleep alone.
When they aren’t fighting, they are pushing through the door to tell the other exciting news.
When they aren’t fighting, the youngest is watching the oldest in awe, taking in the wisdom being imparted in today’s big brother lesson.
When they aren’t fighting, they are worried about each others’ well-being.
When they aren’t fighting, they are trying to make each other proud.
When they aren’t fighting, they are chasing each other around the playground in whatever new game they have invented.
When they aren’t fighting, and when they are fighting, their love for each other runs fierce and strong and true.
They are rivals, and sometimes enemies, but they are brothers. And they have each others’ backs.
This post originally appeared on Facebook. It has been reprinted with permission.
