sunburnt wheatgrass

I am naturally a competitive person, although I do purposely try to tone it down except in the presence of close friends; otherwise, it’s all quietly raging in my head. Growing up I never really had a sibling to be competitive with, since there isn’t much to compete or fight over with a brother eight years older. As my girls enter the long journey of being sisters, and possess my fierce stubbornness (er, persistence) highlighted by a competitive spirit brought about in such a way that only a sister can, I can’t figure out the balance between letting their competition challenge and strengthen or fostering teamwork and partnering with each other’s natural strengths and abilities.

I know both are needed and valued, and that I can’t expect my girls to always get along or work together on everything. As great as my girls are to each other – hugging and kissing, caring and laughing often- they also fight so incredibly well. When pushed to their sisterly limits Ennyn will hit, bite and pull hair, Enna punch and pinch, and both scream. As as most siblings do, they have that instinctive knowledge of how to push each others buttons in just the precise way and with just the right amount of pressure to illicit that explosive annoyed and frustrated response.

Sometimes I feel that I’m reffing most of the day, tempted to put on my black and white striped ref shirt and a whistle in my mouth, throwing yellow or red flags into the middle of the living room. Other days, mostly out of sheer exhaustion, I sit by and let them try to work it out, finally stepping in when the blows have been exchanged, the screaming and crying probably heard by passerbys waiting for the bus.

As the older sister, Enna is the one that wants more space, clearly defining it with blankets, couch cushions or a parameter of toys or books. Ennyn, the little sister who was born into a world of mandatory-volunteer sharing is always in big sister’s space, cuddling up to her to read a book, lying right next to her on Enna’s blanket, always wanting to touch and hug and hold.

If Ennyn had her way at dinner, she’d be sitting on the same chair as her sister with her plate touching her sister’s. As it is she has the hardest time sitting in her own chair with her feet forward – her feet even have to touch the chair Enna’s sitting on. Most of the time, from what I can tell, it’s not to simply annoy Enna but that little sister delighting in big sister. But Enna will not have her cozy touches and cuddly laughter. One night, sensing that Enna was in desperation, Yucan and I told Ennyn to stop touching and bothering her sister. Without skipping a beat, her feet on Enna’s chair and her arms dropping to her lap, she replied with those big eyes, fluttery eyelashes and almost pouty lips, “But I waaaaaant to touch her. I just love her!”

Punctuating the times of who can sing better or faster or louder, jump higher or “this way”, say “watch this” more, or do anything to be on top, there are the times when their teamwork shine. After months of refusing to go to swim lessons, Ennyn decided that she wanted to swim with her sister today. A little unsure when the clock struck 3:30, Enna took her hand and slowly walked over together to their teacher. Usually the timid one, Enna jumped in first then helped Ennyn in and told her, “Mommy will sit over there and watch. You can wave to her when you want to but I will be here and can hug you if you want.” And sure enough Enna was true to her word. When Ennyn was dunked in the water and she came up crying, Enna swam over, put her arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

Likewise, Ennyn is fiercely protective of big sister, seeing it as her divine calling to take and pick up Enna from school. When others have asked to come along or suggested to me in passing that if I were caught up somewhere they would be happy to get her, Ennyn whips her head around and with those long bangs slightly covering one side of her face pronounces, “No you can’t! That’s my sister, not yours.” Enough said.

All this reminds me of a verse in Proverbs that says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man (or woman) sharpens another.” The sounds of iron sharpening each other hurt my ears and generally aren’t pleasant or enduring, but the long term effects are what count. Parenting is all about enduring the sounds of sharpening iron and waiting, hoping expectantly for that future when their characters are sharp and their principles unyielding. Hopefully I’ll still be around for that, or at least still have a head of brown hair.