Surviving Siblings

Why oh why did I think that two kids would get along and play together? I had visions of tea and slumber parties. Dress ups and playing babies and Barbies. I had some ridiculous notion that Maisey, being the big sister, would protect and take care of her little sister Evie. I envisioned her showing Evie everything--how to pour tea, how to paint, how to play Barbies, and yes, even dinosaurs. And I thought Evie, oh fragile dainty child, would be ever so willing to do whatever Maisey wanted. To adoringly toddle around after her.
She does toddle around after Maisey. But mostly they snatch, they scream, they tug of war. Most of the Polly Pockets are headless. Toys spend more time in the "Saturday Box" than they do being played with. And I find myself having to raise my voice above the din just to try to retain the peace. When does it get better?
Some days it starts first thing in the morning, and doesn't seem to stop until Evie's in bed. Sometimes I feel like they're gladiators, circling the living room, eyeing each other, and the same toy, waiting to strike.

I don't remember much about how well my sister and I got along when we were little; we always shared a room. We always shared. We always took turns. We didn't fight over toys. That's what my mother says when I ask her about my own childhood. But I know my sister and I fought. I know we had times when we wished we could be alone in our bedroom, that we didn't have to share anything, that we didn't have a sister to deal with. And I am trying to teach my girls that sharing is important, and while it doesn't always come easily, it will always be worth the good feelings they will get from giving.

Rest in Peace Miss Kitty

I knew when I met you in 1999 that you were special. I was eating a bagel at the little coffee shop across from my work when you siddled up to me and sat down, daintily flicking your tail out behind you. You were begging for a bite of my bagel, and I obliged. You looked hungry, and determined. You were such a strong cat. Able to fend for yourself, and still look like a sweet little kitten, even though you were over two years old.
I remember your first week at your new home at Clint's, when you were sleeping at the foot of the bed, snoring as if you hadn't ever slept. And then the sound of birds twittering around the open window at the head of the bed, you were across the bed and out the window and back inside with a bird in your mouth. What skill!
I remember when you surveyed your new territory, swatting your giant Hemmingway paws at an intruder cat while running full speed on just your hind legs.
And when you first met Pickle, how you literally scared him down the steps.
I remember how tough it was to share that tiny pink house with Puddy and Pickle, but you perservered, and carved out a territory for yourself, always happy.
I will miss your head snuffles and snuggling on my chest with one paw stretched up over my shoulder. I will miss your little meow greetings, and sleeping on my hair.
You caught so many mice and moles and birds, and rolled and sunned yourself to your heart's content on the back deck, and wherever you are now, I hope you get to enjoy all of your favorite things and more. I miss you very much. We all do.