That’s jelly all over his face. And a cracker in his mouth.


You guys.
This kid.

I mean seriously.
This. Kid.

For the first 18.5 months of his life, I referred to him as my “sweet boy.”
Sweet Boy was always so happy.
Sweet Boy never cried (except through the night for far too long into his first year)
SB loved his sister and his puppy and his parents and his teachers.
SB never caused any trouble (except for that sleep thing)

Then.  A few weeks ago.
Presidents Day weekend happened.
I had that Monday off.
Daddy didn’t.
It was me, my 4-year old, my newly minted 19 month old,
and an iPad with a seemingly endless capacity for Mickey Mouse and Doc McStuffins.

It was barely 9 a.m. before the first fight.
She’s watching.  He wants it.  Scream.
I ask them to share and go back to my coffee.
Three minutes later.  More screaming.
She wants Doc.
He wants Peek-a-boo Barn
No one’s dying.  But the neighbors may think otherwise.
(Yeah, I don’t really know where that came from but it’s her current favorite insult.)

9:35 a.m.  iPad goes night-night and we find something else to do.

Similar scenes repeat several more times that day.
And haven’t stopped since.
He wants her cereal.  And takes it.
She wants his toy.  And takes it.
He wants to play with the blocks.
She wants to throw them.  At him.
He wants to exist.
She doesn’t want him to.
He hits her.
She yells.

I had two kids so they would play together.
I had such hope when Sweet Boy was… well, a sweet boy.
What happened to my SB?
How much longer til they are good friends?
18 years?

(No, really, I’m asking for real.)

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