One of the joys of parenting growing boys is watching them mature to into playing cooperatively together. Seeing them sit and help each other tear apart a LEGO set I spent hours helping them build, so they can mix the pieces irretrievably among the remains of other disassembled LEGO sets I invested hours in, is pure gold.
Seeing any two of them sit shoulder to shoulder in the chair, quietly intent upon the cartoon on TV is a gratifying experience. Even when Big Brother helps Buster through one of the difficult parts of a video game, though I’m kind of supposed to feel bad for letting them play so many video games, I get a feeling of pride for my boys’ desire to be friends with each other.
The boys are playing nicely together. Grab the camera!
Of course, nothing gold can stay.
The giggly roughhousing turns sour when somebody catches an elbow. There’s one, insignificant LEGO piece that every boy needs to have in his hand right now, though it’s only value to him is that his brother wants it. Big Brother helps Buster with his game to such lengths that his assistance has turned into a tug-o-war over the tablet.
Peace between young brothers is so gratifying because it is so fleeting.
It’s always fun until somebody loses a temper.
The two most common phrases in my house are currently, “I’m telling!” and “[Brother’s name] is mean!”
Even Big Man, who can’t pronounce any of the words, lets me know when one of his brothers is mean, and leaves no doubt about who is the culprit.
I most often overhear “I’m telling!” from the next room, but I have to look accusations of meanness right in the eye. It’s not always easy to do with a straight face.
It gets a little tiresome having to hear about mean people several times a day, every day. I’d like to hear about nice people every once in a while, but who notices, much less mentions, when his brother is nice?
Last time Buster came to me to file a meanness complaint against his big brother, I let out my exasperation with their perpetual denouncements. “I know, I know,” I told him. “Everybody’s mean.”
He shook his head. “Everybody not mean.” He held up a solitary finger. “Only one mean.”
“Who?” I asked.
He turned his little, bony finger across the room toward Big Brother. “That one,” he said in his best voice of condemnation. “That one mean.”
At least he didn’t call him stupid, that time. Three-year-olds love the word stupid. It’s their first insult, and insults and brothers go together like farts and giggles. Stupid is not a nice word, though, so we’re trying to get him to call his brother intellectually challenged instead. It will buy some time while he learns to pronounce it.
Meanwhile, we’ll continue acting like we’re listening to all the pleas and accusations that come running to us. In between, we’ll enjoy those fleeting flecks of gold that sparkle when brothers are best friends.
Snoozing on the Sofa 
At least they are not using the “r” word like we did.
How much of your waking time percentage-wise do you think is spent adjudicating your three?
Ah, the “r” word. We totally ruined it as an objective word to describe relative positions.
I know it can’t be this much, but it seems like I’m umpiring squabbles 90% of the time. If it didn’t happen EVERY time I try to relax or have an conversation with my wife, it would surely seem less.
There’s a thick layer of love between all these cute complaints. Your boys are sweet kids, and I love hearing your stories about them.
Thank you. I love telling them.
You know, looking back on my own childhood (three sisters, one brother), I LOVED the times when we were getting along. But, you know, it wasn’t my fault when we didn’t. THEY were mean!
It always works out that way. You try and try to be nice to them, but they can’t help being mean to you. You poor thing!
To add insult to injury, they remember things differently.
Sibling rivalry…the penance that parents have to pay for having sex. And it doesn’t get better my friend. They learn to pronounce ‘intellectually challenged’ but still prefer “stupid”.
There seem to be quite a number of prices to pay for having sex. It gets awfully expensive after a while.
It hard when you (Meaning me) has a sister who’s a big stupid head err..ummm I mean a big intellectually challenged head.
Yes. I can tell you’re still struggling with it.
Noooo
I have tears in my eyes, Scott. No kidding. Every time I read your blog, about your boys, I think to when mine were younger, little. My oldest just went back to college and at 6’4″ he’s no longer young or little. Yet he still wrestles with his brothers and they still get mad and I shake my head. When they were little I called them puppies, as in puppies rolling around on the ground constantly for no apparent reason. Yet there are reasons, mysterious reasons, maddening reasons because some how it does create best friends (pass the box of tissues, please <3)
But the good thing about having them all grown up is you can have them drive each other to the E.R. You don’t have to sit around in a waiting room for hours with all of them when one drops another on his head. I’d say that’s worth a tissue or two.
When a man is right, a man is right😂
Intellectually challenged! I’m still having a hard time understanding what that means, much less pronouncing it. Scott, I fear I may be your long lost son!
In that case, go mow the lawn!
Oh I see what kind of father you are. Anything for cheap labor. Can I have my allowance in advance, dad? :o)
J still thinks “stupid” is a bad word. Yes, it’s because I’m brilliant. My kids go at each other with the best of them. Mostly over stuff, and it’s always stuff nobody had any care for until it was brutally taken by a sibling. Then you hear:
“It’s MINE”
“I had it FIRST”
I don’t really hear what comes after that, I just tune it out. That’s what Mothers of the year do.
Childhood is a zero sum game. One kid can’t feel the win until he’s sure the other kid has lost.
Some day the moment will come when you’ll have to shout to your wife that the boys are being mean to you. Oh, man, Scott, three against one!
They already are mean to me, but I’m trying to teach them not to be whiners, so I have to keep my mouth shut about it.
You are a prime role model, my friend. 🙂