JUST as lifelong bonds are cemented under times of extreme duress—Ironman triathlons, Outward Bound excursions, Mommy and Me yoga classes—so do my children grow closer when I refuse to resolve all of their disputes.
This is what two weeks off school has taught me.
Unhinged by the sensory overload of Christmas gifts and amped up on an endless supply of cookies, my 5-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter will go from a literal arm-in-arm embrace to howls of injustice in 3 seconds flat.
No slight is too benign to inspire tears. No act of aggression is too small for retaliation. No quarrel is too minor to request my counsel.
This year I refused to go gently into that good fight.
I armed myself with calm directives and steeled myself against their cries of anguish.
“I’m going to let you guys work that one out on your own.”
“You have such bright minds. I know you can figure this out together.”
“That’s a toughie. Let me know what you come up with.” At the beginning of winter break, I pulled out my dog-eared, yellowing copy of Siblings Without Rivalry (Norton), Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish’s 1987 masterpiece, and reacquainted myself with the highlights.
“Our attitude and words have power,” the authors write. “When the battle of the siblings begins, we need no longer feel frustrated, crazed or helpless. Armed with new skills and new understanding, we can lead the rivals toward peace.”
Swooping in to referee every dispute is problematic for two main reasons, they argue: First, it gives your already-fighting kids another thing to vie for—your favor. Second, it robs them of the opportunity to hone their conflict-resolution and problem-solving skills.
“We can accelerate the fighting,” Faber and Mazlish write. “Or make cooperation possible.”
The book advocates for parents to avoid intervening unless absolutely necessary—and to let your kids know your policy.
“One father…told his kids that he expected them to really listen to each other and work out their differences on their own,” they write. “But if they’ve made a good faith effort and they’re still stuck, he’s always there to help. He was careful to add, ‘If any one of you sees someone doing something that could be dangerous, then you’re to report to Mom or me as fast as your legs can carry you. We all have to look out for each other’s safety in this family.’”
I love that. It lets your kids know you hold their feelings and safety in high regard, and you trust them to do the same. It absolves you from fixing, “He said cartwheels are stupid!” But it leaves room for you to step in when things get too heated.
And it allows kids to enjoy the benefit of wading through treacherous waters with someone at their side—someone who can bring them down or lift them up, depending on their approach.
After my son’s epic meltdown over where his sister placed a certain Hot Wheels car, which I politely declined to track down, they begrudgingly got to work finding the thing together and created a new memory game in the process. Tears gave way to laughter.
They seem genuinely more grateful for each other when I’m not stepping in. They appear to enjoy each other’s company in times and ways I haven’t seen before.
Maybe it helps them to view me as the common, unhelpful enemy instead of the ultimate judge, jury and rescue squad. Maybe they’re just tired of their own bickering. Either way, I’m encouraged by this development.
“Children have a right to argue,” Faber and Mazlish write. “And you have a right to protect your eardrums and your nervous system.”
And if my children’s bond grows stronger along the way, all the better.
Heidi Stevens / Chicago Tribune