I’m not sure, but I’d be willing to lay money that I’ve stepped into an alternate universe or another dimension or there was a rip in the space/time continuum or something science fictiony happened. Because my two kids, the two who have never gotten along in the history of their co-habitation, not for one iota of a second have they even stopped punching and biting and yelling long enough to acknowledge each other’s existence in a positive manner? Those two very same kids played together All. Day. Long.
The journey to the center of Not My Life began when I suggested to Eirinn that if she were to maybe play with Avery a little bit, or at least give her something to do that didn’t involve me carrying her around, I might bake some cookies. And if I got to bake these cookies, she could have some. From that very moment, the two actually played the entire day together. They played Drive Mommy Nuts for most of it, but for once it was Drive Mommy Nuts With Our Boisterous Happiness (Sheer Volume Edition). This is in stark contrast to their usual Drive Mommy Nuts By Making Her Act As Referee To Our Cage Matches To The Death. They played dolls and kitchen and coloured and holed up in the play room where Mommies weren’t invited (which means they were being bad). But I didn’t care, because that meant I could bake and clean and watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and shower. I even went to the store for an hour two hours and I wasn’t worried about AH’s reffing skillz.
On Saturday, during Eirinn’s in-class demonstrations at dance (classes with children aged 6 and under do this instead of a Christmas recital), her instructor at one point invited any siblings to come and pretend to be different animals with the class. Avery jumped at the chance. Up until then, she had been watching the class, with her eyes peeled, taking in every little movement. When she was invited to join in? She was all over that like a fat kid on cake, where Fat Kid equals Avery and Cake equals acting a fool.
And might I digress for a moment? Of course I might. I haven’t mentioned it lately, but if you’ve never had the chance to see a group of three-year-olds dressed like ballerinas, trying to follow instruction while harnessing the power of Being Three, you must. Cutest. Thing. Ever. Eirinn is…pretty good. She’s probably one of the better ones (not that I compare at this age. yes I do.) when she tries. But the whole Being Three thing sort of cripples her and she’s running full tilt when she’s supposed to be galloping and she spinning like a top when she’s supposed to do one turn. But what can you do. It’s the complete disregard for following directions that makes it so cute.
Digression over; back to today – I could see visions of my future that were the complete opposite to what they were just two days ago. Even at the end of the day, an hour and a half after I put them to bed, I can almost sort of imagine them becoming friends. Actually getting along as a regular occurrence. Up until yesterday, I was certain that before the year was up I’d have one of them petitioning for a restraining order against the other. Granted, the year isn’t quite up yet, but there’s a glimmer of hope. Now, of course, there were mild spats here and there. Eirinn even has a minor war wound, inflicted during a particularly rough game of “Where Are Eirinn’s Eyes?” (note to self: Avery takes that game one step too far; remove from repertoire), but overall it was almost as though they…liked each other.
If we had two good days in a row where neither of them got injured they came away without a scratch I didn’t have to physically restrain them from killing each other, maybe we could have more of the same? Perhaps a week? Maybe? Please?
I told Eirinn, as I was getting ready to leave when I was putting her to bed, that I was so proud of her and Avery for getting along today. I also told her that nothing in the whole world would make me happier than if they were to be friends. Because, really, isn’t that what sisters are supposed to be?