Owlet has been sick. A fever that hit 105.2 at one point yesterday, to be precise. She’s doing a bit better today… Better enough to be grumpy with her little brother for running into their bedroom to see if she wanted to play outside.
“Go away!” She shouted peevishly. “I’m trying to sleep!”
Thor and I had just asked Platypup not to pull on the curtains while playing “I’m a jertain in the curtain,” jump on the bed where baby Cria was lolling about, or use the windowsill to climb the wall above the bed. His sister yelling at him was the last straw, and he thumped sadly down the hall away from his family, giving what Owlet last year affectionately dubbed his “choo-choo train” sob.
Thor tried to go comfort him but Platypup yelled at him to go away so after a few tries he and I switched places; he flopped down next to a chipper, chubby, rolling baby and tried to keep her from the edges while I followed the howls toward a tear-stained face peeking out from a tightly wadded blanket.
He let me share his blanket and sobbed into my armpit. As we snuggled, I said all the right things for once, about how hard it must be not to be able to play with Owlet and how he must miss her and be worried about her, and that gave him words to then articulate those things back and cry it from his system.
The tears soon tapered off. We sat up and had moved on to an animated discussion on the dietary habits of walruses (as googled for him by Daddy at daybreak) when Owlet came in and joined us in our blanket nest.
After a companionable lull, Platypup mumbled, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“That’s ok,” she said with that odd mixture of frustration, chagrin, and deeply abiding love known to parents everywhere. “I wasn’t asleep. I was just trying to fall asleep.”
“I wanted you to come play with me. I miss you,” he added quietly.
She grinned at him. “Want to play now?”
He instantly lit up, and off they scampered.
That is far from the way most of their arguments go, of course. They are four and six, after all. But I was able to just sit there, doing nothing at all, and watch them make up with as much grace and honesty, if not more, than I have ever done.
This is a gift moment, I thought as I sat there, stunned, a glimpse of their future selves. This is one of the most useful skills a person can have, and they have already managed it once. The day will come when they or someone they love has really messed up badly, and this is how they will show up.