My kids fight with each other…a lot. I’m sure, not any more than yours do – calm down – but man, some days, I feel like we’re just constantly on the battlefield. Even when I think we’re not, when I think we’ve finally arrived at greener pastures, someone decides to take a shot and within seconds, it’s pandemonium again.
Now, the bloodshed does let up from time to time, and they do get along; really, they do. They hug and play, they read stories together and laugh about who knows what, and it absolutely and unequivocally melts my heart into a pile of goo. But in the interim, we say sorry A LOT.
I would argue that it’s the most popular word in our household. Sometimes it’s just a knee-jerk response, as they aim to bypass the imminent looming doom. Sometimes it’s more gradual, as they painfully resist and dig in their heels. Sometimes, and somehow, they even manage to argue about who is MORE sorry *face palm*, and sometimes it’s a complete surprise, arising out of nowhere for no reason at all.
When all is said and done, we rinse. We try to reset. We have dance parties, we watch tv, we go out to the grocery store, we go for a walk or we take a bath, and for the most part, it generally works. We manage to get out of our heads for a moment and more importantly, out of our emotions. But that’s the trick, it’s usually just for a moment.
Sometimes it lasts longer then I anticipate, as I sit there almost motionless trying desperately to not disrupt the cosmic magic that has surrounded me. But soon enough, inevitably, everything starts up again and begins to repeat itself.
Sorry, Rinse, Repeat.
The screams and tears are the exact same ones I heard earlier that day. The “sharing” talk I had with my youngest apparently fell on deaf ears and the itch to instigate slowly creeps back in, something both parties can most definitely never ignore.
And I get it – they’re kids and they’re learning. They’re supposed to fight and scream and yell. They’re supposed to be incredibly frustrating, while at the same time, incredibly wonderful, and they’re not supposed to get it the first time around, or the second, or even the seventy-sixth. Just sometimes, it would be nice if they did.
But as it turns out, I’m not that great at it either. Even as an adult, I’m constantly cycling through it as well; sorry, rinse, repeat. Some days, there’s no amount of self talk or deep breaths I can take to help break the rhythm – and that’s ok. We’re in the thick of it right now but at least we’re in it together, and honestly there’s nobody else I would rather be in this bloodbath with.