Brother-Sister Language

Having a second child was a carefully considered event for my husband and I. In our dreams as ignorant and clueless optimistic parents-to-be, we had always hoped for two children – you know, the old “the first child should have a playmate” concept. We’re not exactly revolutionary in our parenting philosophies! But after the mind-left-my-body-after-it-was-ripped-in-half experience I call my first childbirth, only to be followed by 6 weeks of horrible breastfeeding, overlapped with several months of colic, followed by developmental delays – we reallllllllllllllly thought twice about Kid #2. Actually, we’re still thinking twice about it.  I jest. Sort of.

Anyway, one of the things that has pleasantly surprised me about having two children is getting to be a voyeur of sorts on the brother-sister dynamic that has evolved between Little CEO and Boy Wonder. I was the youngest of 3 children, separated by 10 years from my next oldest brother. I was basically an only child, so I never got to experience that special language that exists between siblings.

When Boy Wonder is not performing roundhouse kicks on Little CEO, and when Little CEO is not stealing things from Boy Wonder’s room and hiding them in that Hoarders-episode-ready room of hers, they really do have moments of collaboration and camaraderie that delight me. [Sadly, these moments usually happen when they have been told to go to bed]. Conspiring like two thieves in the night, they concoct elaborate schemes and plans together. From our room, we hear little feet pattering back and forth between the bedrooms, hushed whispers and giggles. There is rustling in the playroom as they gather supplies of one type or another. Oddly, they believe they are being sneaky and stealthy.

Sometimes, these excited and secretive assemblies go on for over an hour, interrupted only by shouts from us to go to bed. They work through peaceful negotiations over who is in charge of the plan du jour. On other nights, the discussions turn quickly from joyous cooperation to all-out spats. These power struggles pit the size and age and reasoning of Boy Wonder against the lightning-fast, tenacious brain of Little CEO.

Either way, eventually we are forced to go to their rooms and catch them mid-connivance.

They are sad when we must bark at them and stop the reindeer games. They plead for us to let them have sleepovers,  “nighttime meetings” and “all night dance parties” together. I want to let them play through the night because it fills my heart to watch this, but I cannot. It’s a school night. After they’ve fallen asleep, we find the remains of their highly creative plans scattered about their rooms:  there are blankets and pillows strewn about from a failed attempt to make a spy fort. Markers, paper, scissors and other craft supplies prove they’ve been trying to design their own signage for a lemonade stand.  Little CEO is asleep, MP3 player headphones in her ear, still listening to music from their dance party. A scribbled note appears next to Boy Wonder’s bed. He has written a love letter to his Daddy.

Long after the toys have been broken or given away, after each of them have survived heartbreak,  after the tiles of their lives’ mosaics have started to fall into place, they will still have this – this language that only they understand. I am a faraway observer; interested, but not involved in this secret life. Yet, it was husband and I who were able, and privileged, to give them such a  gift.

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