The One About Siblings, Part II
My sisters and I, from left to right: Me, Katie, Kelley (and a little of mom, behind Kell)
As I observe the interactions of my little dudes, it makes me pause to consider my relationship with my sisters. Growing up my sisters and I fought, for sure. But with girls, there was little physical violence. We much prefer verbal assaults or petty theft. If you wanted to hit where it hurt you either stole something they valued or you came up with a quip that cut. When we were little that meant taking each other's Barbies or using a weakness to formulate our insults. My sisters called me Hail the whale; we called Kate, ‘bait’. It made zero sense but it rhymed and it drove her crazy so we got a kick out of it. We were a little meaner with Kelley.
When Kell was younger, she had a tough time spelling and reading. If we were in an argument and we’d want it to end, all we had to say to Kelley was “Oh yeah Kell, why don’t you spell it.” I know, low blow. What can I say? We were young, we were sisters and we were bitches to each other. As we grew up, we stole each other’s makeup and clothes; we argued over borrowing the car or, and I’m dating myself here, whose turn it was to use the internet. We all got to be too busy to bother with clever retorts and defaulted to traditional name-calling like “bitch” or we managed a final flip of the bird as we left the house.
Us as we got older, from left to right: Me, Katie, Kelley (and a little bit of dad, behind Katie and I)
Once we were bonafide adults - real adults with jobs, bills, and actual responsibilities - our relationship with one another became more…complex. We no longer had to be around each other. We no longer shared a house or even a zip code. Being in each other’s lives was now, more or less, a choice. And this decision often correlates with an unspoken investment. Time, effort, money. And because there is this “investment” the stakes are higher. Gone are the days of casual arguments where you could fight like cats and dogs at breakfast and be back to sharing bunkbeds by bedtime. I don’t know why that is but I think it has something to do with our brain’s whacky ability to retain seemingly useless information.
For instance, my brain decided that knowing that crocodiles cannot stick their tongues out is information worth holding onto. I don’t know where I learned this and I don’t know why I’m remembering it now but, in any case, I know this information. I’ll probably never think about it again, unless I should find myself in a precarious situation with a crocodile. And only then would I, hopefully, remember this information and I’d be pretty pleased that I did because that little neuron nugget would likely save my life. This is not unlike how our brains work when we find ourselves in arguments with our siblings. The situation triggers something in our brains, making us remember something that happened 15 years ago and rendering that information somehow relevant to the present argument. We can then use this as ammunition and fuel for the fire. Suddenly the thing that you were fighting about becomes much bigger.
Because, let’s be honest, the “thing” that we’re fighting about is never what we’re really fighting about. If you’re fighting over the type of cheese your sister brought over for your monthly movie night… chances are it’s not really about the cheese. It’s about the fact that she knows you hate that cheese. That you have hated that cheese ever since that one night, at Camp Whats-It-Called’s end-of-summer dance, that year you turned sixteen when you saw her kiss that boy you liked and you dropped that cheese. She should know that you hate that cheese but then again why would she know that? She’s always been too wrapped up in herself, too selfish, that man-eating-cheese-whore.
And now you’re not speaking until, either you come to your crazy senses or, she somehow figures out that the fight was never about the cheese. See what I mean? Complex. Complex AF. The good news is that siblings have an uncanny ability to forgive and forget. It may take more time than it used to, but it’s one of those superpowers siblings share. We can have an all-out raging, loony toon fight where accusations fly, the past is dredged up and we swear the other off forever… and somehow move on from that. How we’re able to move on, move forward, I’m uncertain. Maybe, in addition to being able to hold on, our brain is also able to let go.
Bonafide adult-versions of us, from left to right: Kell, Me (prego with Cole), Katie
As I’m writing this, I am struggling to recall all of the fighting. I know it happened because I remember our parents reminding us to “be nice to each other because your sisters will be your best friends one day.” Of course, I remember the doozies. The ones were so painful that you had to grit your teeth, squeeze your fists, and scream to get through them. But those were the ones that would change the course of our relationship. And those were really few and far between.
What I remember more than anything are the times that now make me laugh and smile. I remember Kelley and Katie thinking they were too old to play with their Barbies and promising “just this one time” before they ran off to hide out in their room, playing pretend with their Dream House until it was dinner time. I remember riding our bikes past Mrs. Butler's house as fast as we could, trying to outpace her three German Shepards who would run the length of her property line. I remember playing manhunt on Cape Cod with the kids next door until the sun retired for the day and the fireflies led our seekers to our hiding spots. Playing in the tidal pools at Nauset Beach and riding back over rolling sand dunes in the back of our dad’s Wagoneer, freshly powdered and lips stained from grape soda. Walking the gravel road, with flashlights in hand, to the end of Walker’s Dock, where we’d tell scary stories as we dipped our toes in the warm, salty water.
These memories give me a warm, satisfying feeling. Comfort, familiarity. My sisters were there for every one of them. I’m sure my nostalgia is rose-colored. I’m sure in one, or maybe all, of these memories there was some sort of drama that led up to it, or happened during it, or followed it. Or maybe the details aren’t quite as I remember them. But, regardless of what actually happened or how it actually was, what I remember is that my sisters were there. And I don’t hate it.
Us littles on Easter, from left to right: Me, Kelley, Katie. You know some drama happened around these hats, for sure.
That’s the funny thing about sibling relationships. You spend the majority of your youth arguing that the person(s) isn’t related to you, only to spend your later years grateful that they are. If you’re lucky. After all, they’ve been through it all, and seen it all, with you. Truly. And as a result, they know you better than anyone else. They know what can break you… and what can fix you.
When I think about the magnitude of having three kids under five, my thought process isn’t unlike the evolution of a sibling relationship itself. Initially horrified. Then grateful. We didn’t plan for a third. But, after the shock wore off, I was genuinely happy. I want my kids to have with their brothers what I now have with my sisters, for better or for worse. And the more I think about the Smash Brothers and their competition over my attention, the more confident I am in knowing that this is just a phase. I know the day will come when they won’t want my attention, not even a little bit.
So, for now, I’ll have to continue to do my best to show them that I love them. Equally. If fifty percent of my time is spent tending to the smaller humans, then I’ll spend some quality 1:1 time with Cole when they nap. Probably reading snake books until I “accidentally” papercut my hands off. If Theo has beef with Ethan… then I guess he’s just gonna have to figure his shit out because I can’t change the fact that I’m also Ethan’s mom. And I guess I’m going to have to get comfortable with how they navigate their relationships. They need to figure out how to be brothers to become friends. And if that means they need to rough each other up once in a while to do so, then consider me a referee. Do I think that they’ll get there? When they don’t know I’m looking, I see them low-key appreciating each other. I see Cole trying to teach Ethan different words. I see Ethan playing peek-a-boo with Theo through the playpen. I have countless videos of every one of them making the others laugh. So it’s not a question of whether or not they’ll get there, I know that they will. The question is whether or not Ethan’s hair will still be there when they do.
