I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant parent. I don’t mind spoiling. If my kids don’t want veggies on their plate at dinner I don’t force them to eat it. And I don’t limit their television viewing all that much as long as they read just as many books.

There are a handful of things, however, that can tip me over the edge into that dangerous place of rage, sadness and self-doubt. Not listening is a big one. Whining is another. But nothing frustrates me more than when my kids fight with each other.

They fight over whose turn it is with the iPad, who has more time with the iPad, and who is better at whatever game they are currently playing on the iPad. They fight over who got the bigger piece of cake, more frosting, the better plate. They call each other names and dole out insults like “you’re a butt” and “no YOU’RE a butt.”

Sometimes the fighting makes me want to scream, or cry, or both. I wonder what I’m doing wrong as a parent, and I lament the fact that two of the people I love the most don’t seem to like each other at times. There are days when it seems like the vast majority of their interactions are acrimonious, hostile and exasperating.

But every afternoon at 4:04 p.m. when my son gets off the school bus from kindergarten, this happens:

They greet each other with hugs and kisses, and walk home arm and arm saying things like, “You're my favorite person.” “Thanks. You're my favorite person, too.”

As a parent that’s the best I can hope for. That my babies will fight and forgive. That they will practice what it means to be human with each other. That they will learn when to stand their ground and when to let something go. That they will learn to be siblings, maybe even favorites. ❤️ #Love

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