...When You Remember High School Physics

I can still hear Mr. Abbott's monotonous voice: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."  I was one of the very lucky students to have had Mr. Abbott for both Chemistry and Physics before he passed away in 2001.  May he rest with God.  He was the real-life Hollywood version of the classic lab-coat-monotone-thick-glasses teacher.  He was awesome.

His voice carried little to no intonation, but if you tuned in, you found yourself laughing at his dry humor.  Mr. Abbott was also great on the board.  His diagrams were drawn with such precision, and his equations were elegant.  You often hear that when you become a teacher, you adopt all the things you liked about your favorite teachers and (try to) leave all the qualities of your awful teachers behind.  When I became a teacher, I consciously adopted Mr. Abbott's philosophy of test-taking.  Mr. Abbott strongly believed that all students work at their own pace; some of the brightest students can be the slowest.  As a result, he offered "unlimited" time to finish an exam.  As a competitive student, I thought it was unfair until it worked to my advantage; as a teacher, I realized it was a sign of deep understanding and compassion.

For Every Action, There Is an Equal and Opposite Reaction
Yes, Mr. Abbott, you branded this into my memory in my junior year in Physics class.  So much so, that it haunts me in my parenting.  Yes, Sir Isaac Newton, your third law of motion most certainly does have a direct correlation to parenting.  Well, not parenting, per se... more like sibling interaction.

My husband and I have absolutely loved watching the relationship between our son and daughter develop.  When Noah was born, Miriam was only 15 months old.  And, though it brought me great pain, (and even pains me to type it now), Miriam hated Noah for at least nine months.  Being a mother of two for those first nine months was emotionally difficult.  Miriam would physically attack Noah any way she could whenever she could.  There was little to no sibling affection shown on her part.  I think we only have one picture of Big Sister holding Baby Brother... because it only happened once.  Don't even think about a picture of her hugging or kissing him.  It doesn't exist.


Miriam holding Noah, August 2012
(This was probably a "force hold," as you can see.)
 

About nine months and many prayers later, Miriam must have realized that Noah wasn't going to disappear.  Or maybe Noah just got more "fun."  Either way, they slowly began to interact positively.  The pushing/kicking/hitting/screaming/biting only occurred when Noah "got in her way."  Okay, this made sense.  A little brother totally gets in the way of a two-year-old's play.  Still, I felt like I was constantly reprimanding, disciplining, and time-out-ing. The vigilance was exhausting.  After the really long days, I would say to my husband, "I can't wait until Noah can hold his own ground and fight back!"

This is where you, Mr. Newton, come in.  Now, at the ages of one-and-a-half and two-and-a- half, for every ten minutes of play, the equal and opposite reaction is ten minutes of fighting.  In fact, it has become so predictable, I was able to sit back and take a picture just the other day:


January 2014
Noah and Miri fighting because Noah is the "Destroyer," as Miri has nicknamed him

My husband and I love it.  The playing, mostly, but in all honesty, we do find humor in the fighting.  Noah can hold his own now, so, with close observance, I often let them "duke it out."  I know many parents don't subscribe to this philosophy, but I feel that it is equally natural for siblings to both play and fight, so we ought to provide them with a safe environment in which they can resolve their conflict.  Now, don't get me wrong, they often can't resolve their conflict on their own, so we definitely step in to coach (or discipline) them... just not right away.

As we continue to watch their sibling dynamic develop, we get glimpses of their unique bond: they are teammates, competitors, adventurers, companions, explorers, and partners in crime.  "Yamo" has already predicted the mischief to come once Mommy is distracted with New Baby.

So, what's the opposite reaction of ten minutes of mischief?  Ten minutes of cleaning?...

Huntington Gardens, August 2012
(I just found this -- looks like genuine sibling affection.  Love it.)

... When You Dream of a Vacation

Do you dream of a vacation?  Where would you go?  If you were to have asked me this question years ago, I would have answered, "Outer space!"  If you then had rephrased it to say where on Earth would you go, I would have answered, "Greece."  That was before I had kids.  Lately I've been fantasizing about a cave.  To sleep in. Now I'm not talking about the romantic type of cave, where you sleep behind a waterfall on your honeymoon and listen to the monkeys in the trees and watch the butterflies flutter by.  (Yes, we really did do this on our honeymoon to Costa Rica.  And it was romantic... until the tour guide took out his flashlight and insisted on showing us this

Huge spider with whom we shared a cave

ten feet above our bed, ten minutes before we were going to sleep.  "It's cool," he had said, "It's the same type of spider in the Harry Potter movie."  Well, mister, I've never seen Harry Potter, and I certainly don't think it's a cool adornment to our night chamber).

Picture of the waterfall we slept behind on our honeymoon to Costa Rica.
(Thanks to EC for the recommendation!); July 2010

No, I fantasize about a dark cave, far, far away that no tour guide or whining toddler can find.  A cave where there better be no birds chirping, monkeys climbing, or waterfalls falling.  A dark, dark, absolutely silent cave, where I might actually feel at one with that monstrous spider.  So I can sleep and not do a thing more.

Now, my St. Nick-of-a-husband is making me feel like a Grinch.  So I'll play Santa tonight and wrap more presents and make more fudge.  Ho, ho, ho!  Merry Christmas! -- no stuffing needed.

 

20 weeks, due May 6th

I really am excited for our first Christmas in our new home.  Thankfully, I made it to confession yesterday, so I can enjoy Christmas that much more.  Tonight, we lit all four candles on our Advent wreath and sang "Shepherd, Shepherd" with the kids.  That was neat.  Nick and I can't wait to wrestle Miriam into her cute new Christmas dress for Christmas Eve Mass (though I'm most certain she'll wrestle right out of it and end up wearing something not as cute).  Miri and Noah will look at the Nativity in the church and point, "Jesus!"  (Hopefully they won't just say, "Sheep!")  We can't wait to see our little ones run to the tree in the morning to see what Santa has brought and spend the day with our extended family.

So, no.  I guess I don't really want my cave yet.  I'll quietly anticipate Christmas night by the fireplace with my husband, after the kids are in bed.

...but a cave for New Year's sounds awfully nice!