Hey Little Sister

I’ve been lucky; for the most part, my kids get along okay. That’s not to say that they don’t fight, because they do, and their fighting has worsened as of late. But they have their tender moments; Maya pats Ben when he’s sad, and I saw Ben go over and “kiss it better” when I told Maya she couldn’t have something she wanted. It’s surprising, these bursts of tenderness, and somewhat amazing as well. Once when they were driving each other crazy, I made Ben move to the other side of the car. He immediately began to protest, and I said, in an exasperated tone, “Why do you want to sit next to her if she’s bothering you?” Marti replied, “Because they’re siblings.”

A few days ago, I noticed Ben had taped something to his door, about at Maya’s eye level, but I didn’t pay much attention. Finally I decided to crouch down and have a look, and this is what I saw:

I had noticed he was closing the door to his room more frequently — it sticks, so Maya can’t push it open — but I didn’t realize he had made, and then cut, and then taped a keep out sign on his door especially for Maya.

It was unbelievably cute.

Even though it was rotten. Because I was a little sister once, too, and I know the glory of a big brother’s room. My big brother had lots of trophies, and they were shiny, and I loved to stroke their shininess. Except that my brother is seriously OCD, and whenever he came home, he checked for fingerprints. Ben is following a long tradition of big brotherness; he even has Hulk boxing gloves. My brother didn’t have gloves, but he did have an Incredible Hulk doll (sorry, action figure) that could be stretched to unbelievable proportions (probably made from some kind of material since outlawed for safety, I’m sure) and a miniature shark with a jaw that moved up and down, complete with rows of sharp teeth. I loved those toys, which sat, like the trophies, in very particular spots. My brother knew if I had touched them, no matter how careful I was, and there was a lot of yelling involved when he came home from school and found his shark .01 cm to the left of where he left it. And, believe it or not, he would move it .01 cm back, back to where it should be, that secret place where the shark must always live. I’m 32 and my brother 39 this year; he hasn’t changed much, I have to say, except that now he has a wife to drive crazy, too.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at Ben and Maya’s relationship with each other. After all, my brother taught me boxing by making me stand still while he punched me, but I still remember sobbing in my room while he got a spanking in his room next door. I guess that’s just the way siblings work — I’ll always be a little sister in my mind.

Just like Maya.