It's Boxing Day. Thankfully, The Kids are at the age where they care more today about playing with their new gifts than they do simply rolling about in the boxes. Despite their encroaching 'maturity', on my list for Santa next year I'm wishing for one thing only: a bucket load of collaboration to be shared equally among my offspring.
I don't know if it is their difference in age or their opposite sexes which tinkers with their chemistry, ensuring it's never quite a homogeneous mixture. There are patterns which seem to repeat, all of which end with a bicker-fest:
1) THE BATTLE OVER ARCHITECTURE:
My son (the 7-year-old wanna-be engineer), begins tinkering with a new build-it-yourself something-or-other, my daughter (the 4-year-old Passion play) enquires about the possibility of collaborating on this new construction project. The Boy expresses concerns – rightly so – about possible breakage; about wanting to tackle this challenge on his own, and simply about this being his, which by definition forbids her grubby hands from coming into contact with it. Of course, it's not so much about what is said, but rather how:
"Can I help you build that?"
"No! It's too hard for you, you're gonna break it…"
She goes from 0 to 100 in 3.2 seconds, like the Mustang she is:
"No, I won't!!! I can help!!! I know how to build things!!!!"
"Oh yeah?!?! How do you build a bridge?!?" There is a fraction of a second of silence, after which he continues: "Seeee???!!! You don't know!"
Tears, yelling, call for Mom and Dad.
2) THE WAR OF ONE-UPMANSHIP:
This is really just a question of who won't give whom a break first; example: My daughter (the budding performer) begins singing at the breakfast table. My son (the professor, always looking to correct his student) asks her to stop; she's bothering him.
She sings more quietly.
"Stop singing!!!"
I – not being fully awake and not ready to deal with yelling – make the mistake of intervening: "Sweetie, stop singing please, just while we're eating."
She stops.
The Boy, like that classic scene in National Lampoon's European Vacation, begins tapping his spoon.
"Can you stop tapping your spoon!?!?"
"Why? I'm not tapping it near you?"
"It's bothering me! If I can't sing, you can't tap you spoon!"
"Yeah, but when I asked you to stop singing, did you?!?!"
"Yes!"
"No! Daddy had to ask you to!"
Tears, yelling, call for Mom and Dad.
Of course later on, he'll want to sing, or play with her toy, which she will now not allow him to do as a result of the constraints he put on her earlier that morning; and so on, and so on.
I assumed it was just some rite of passage, part of a coming of age. Then I walked into our friends' house yesterday morning: their sons, similar in age to our children, were sitting side-by-side at the kitchen table beginning their second hour of collaboration building the entire Hogwarts School out of Lego.
Later in the day I spoke to family in Ontario. They have two girls, similar in age to our kids; I asked if their girls bicker. There was hesitation while they thought about it (the fact they had to search for the memory already hints at the answer):
"Well, they have their moments, but for the most part they get along."
Is it a male-female thing? An age thing? It couldn't be just an age thing, look at these other angels…
This leaves just one explanation: we're lousy parents. Of course, our kids are great with other kids, great with adults, great in school, and polite to elders; that certainly counts for something, no?
One of our close friends says I'm too quick to intervene; I should just let them work it out. Fine, but at what cost to my sanity, and theirs?
Mind you, I fought with my sister Ad nauseam during childhood, now we're copacetic.
Ok, then, I'll call it just a stage, like one of those things which explodes away after a space shuttle launch, and burns up upon re-entry to the atmosphere. In the meantime, while these two rocket boosters, filled with flammable liquid, are sitting side by side on the launch pad, I'm writing to Santa:
"Dear Santa,
I've been very good this year. I wish for valium, therapy, a quiet meal……"
KennyBodanis.com 
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