I can remember fighting with my sister throughout my childhood. We were mean. We would punch and kick and hit each other. One time I even tried to push my sister out of a window (in a particularly regrettable moment). I can remember sitting on an airplane and torturing each other if one crossed the “line” into the others’ space. We walked off that plane battered and bruised and everyone around us was horrified. Then we grew up and by our teen years we bonded and became pals. To this day she is one of my best friends in the world. 
Now that I have two small children of my own I am starting to pay the consequences. As my father always said, “paybacks are a b*@&%.” So here I am with two children who just cannot seem to get along. My daughter is only 1 1/2 and she looks so sweet and innocent. But she is at least 25% Italian and that sometimes angry blood is coursing through her veins. She often starts the fights. She kicks, bites and pulls his hair. I have learned that girl is a bully. When he fights back I look over and rarely catch her in the act. Instead she looks at me like she never did anything wrong. Her favorite word right now is “MINE” and she tries to take everything from him. Last night we had a huge fight over Legos. Yes, something there are tons of in our house and you would think could just be split up between children. But NO! That’s not good enough. And there is no reasoning with a toddler. I have heard it is easier to negotiate with a terrorist.
Recently we took a trip to mountains which, in typical Beaumont fashion, involved a 20 mile bike ride. The kids loved it. My son rode on the back of pop-pop’s bike and helped peddle while I towed my daughter behind my bike in the trailer. We made it 85% of the way before my son complained that his “butt hurt.” So he hopped in the trailer and World War III ensued. They fought and screamed and every time I looked back one was hurting the other. What started as a lovely morning ride ended in disaster.
My son is no angel. He always w
ants the toys she is playing with and fights her for them. He pushes her down when he wants her to get away from him. He is not afraid to hit or kick his younger sister. Once I even caught him trying to push her down the stairs. That mean Italian blood clearly did not miss a anyone in this next generation.
It feels like we are living in a war zone. From morning until night there is constant fighting over everything – who sits where in the stroller, who eats what for breakfast, who plays with which toy, who colors with which crayon, who reads which book, who sits on whose lap. The squabbles are endless. But then, just when I think I cannot take another minute of it, I look over and see my son cuddled up “reading” (more like reciting) a book to my daughter before bed and my heart smiles. I know we will get through this phase and they will grow to love and appreciate one another. Suddenly I imagine the big brother looking out for his little sister and turning to her for advice in love and life. I am glad they get to share so many experiences – their first time dipping their toes in the ocean, their first time climbing a mountain, their first time jumping off a diving board. And they will be there to cheer each other on as they grow together. Or at least I hope they will grow together and not apart as time goes on. Because I know firsthand that there is no bond like that of siblings.