This is MY Brother...But Not My Friend

OK, so that might not be a fair assessment.  If you were to ask her, SweetPea would tell you that Lil Buddy is her friend...but apparently  "friend" means "I'll play with you when I feel like it and when I don't you should just go away and be happy with it."

Back when SweetPea was an only child, we grappled over whether we should have another baby.  Our number one reason for having another...so she wouldn't be alone.  It seemed like a logical move...and from the day he was born, SweetPea made a point to tell everyone within earshot "this is MY baby brother."  Bottom line, I'm pretty sure she likes the kid....or most of the time anyway.  For his part, he adores his big sister.  If he had it his way, he'd be everywhere she is.  Unfortunately...she doesn't always see it that way.  They've both reached that magical age (almost two and almost four) where they're both mobile and want to play with other kids, which is right at the point where I figured I was home free...where they'd entertain each other for hours and I'd be able to sit back and enjoy doing...well whatever it is I thought I'd be doing.  Instead...I get this... "MOOOOM...Lil Buddy is touching my Polly House." or "MOOOOM he won't stop following me!" or even better, I hear Lil Buddy screeching at the top of his lungs after his sister snatched something away that she didn't want him to have.  Of course, the battle goes both ways...and Lil Buddy has learned that he can get his sister's attention...albeit negative attention...by taking his sister's things and running, which he thinks is a totally fun game. SIGH!

So now...we're trying to teach them how to play nicely together....how to share toys...how to be more patient with one another.  We're also trying to teach them that they each have special toys (the Polly house for one) that each needs to respect...and ask permission before they attempt to play with them.  Of course, this sounds all fine and diplomatic, but the truth is, at least half the time it ends in tears and little people being sent to their rooms.

Then...for maybe five or ten minutes each day, something miraculous happens...out of nowhere they will start playing nicely with each other...the sound of giggling will hit a fever pitch...they will have a good time...then someone will cross that invisible line of "too much" and it will all fall apart...and I'm left daydreaming that maybe tomorrow it will be fifteen or maybe twenty minutes of "playing nice".

Hey, I can dream can't I?