The situation I wrote of earlier this month was obviously not permanently solved by the solution offered in that post. The solution to the sibling conflict was to not be around each other. How long can that last, right? About as long as grandparents don’t have to go in to work. What eight hours? And what about if you don’t have grandparents nearby? And what if you have more than two children engaged in the battle? A fallible plan indeed.
Last week, while attending an event that only seemed to bring about great discouragement about mothering, in spite of the best intentions of event planners, I sat in a seat and quietly despaired. My own brother and I had fought mercilessly growing up. We were evil to one another, like the fruits of the devil. Not only did we, I am sure, cause our own mother much grief, we created an air of general unease in our home. I don’t want the same for my kids. I want them to be able to get along. I want them to know how to work together, even if they aren’t really friends. I want our home to filled with peace and for the people in it to give each other grace when disagreements arise. A tall order, for sure, but one that I was beginning to think of as more than just illusive. Perhaps it was impossible.
And yet I knew of homes where things were calmer. How? What was going on there? Were their children more easily tempered? Were their personalities stifled? Were they robots? No. None of these, I was pretty sure [The last time I believed people to be robots was the first grade, when I couldn’t bring myself to believe that the teachers were actual humans who left the building and went home to perform mundane tasks like making dinner and doing laundry. I formed a rather elaborate idea in my brain about a hidden room in the school where the teachers would plug in to recharge for the next day of teaching. Pretty sure this was to blame for that thinking:]
I related the crazy making that was going on to a few women just before quietly succumbing to the desperation. At least I’d asked for help, I figured. At least I was attempting authenticity, even if the root of it was to glean ideas from others. At least.
And then a mother, whose children I have always loved being around, sent me an email. She had help for me. John Rosemond help! Complete with a link to an article originally published in 1995. I thought it might help you too, so here I am writing about it again. Implementation is, of course, the key, but so far, I am seeing improvement. Gentle reader, I hope you will too.
