Do the Math

It's Sunday morning, post-television and post-breakfast, prime time for siblings to resume their cycle of play/annoy/play/fight/cry/apologize. This cycle repeats itself every 45 minutes.

The current cycle: Andres and Celia are tying yarn from the staircase to a chair 4 feet below. It is a project of utter enjoyment for them. Andres sees a small stuffed animal that Celia has placed on the stairs, and tosses it down into the living room. She takes offense and complains to me.

Celia: "Daddy, brother threw my animal down there."
Me: "Andres, can you please go get the stuffed animal?"

This is small potatoes compared to the regular arguments that I am refereeing. Only twenty minutes earlier, I was on the phone with my dad as Andres skimmed a book across the ground, hitting Celia in the foot, eliciting wails from her and laughter from the other end of the phone. But as Andres dutifully (and slowly) walks over to pick up the animal, I decide that this is a good time for an honest-to-goodness father-to-children talk. It's Sunday morning, after all, and we have a whole day of togetherness in front of us. I call them together on the steps.

Me: "Guys, I know you are going to have arguments sometimes. Me and uncle Adam would fight too when we were younger." (I say this and immediately know that it is a mistake. What was my point?)
Andres: (Eyes lighting up.) "Ooh what did you fight about?"
Me: "I don't know. Probably Legos. But the point is that you don't have to get along all the time, but if you see that your brother or sister is upset or hurt, then you have to check to see that they are ok. Right?"

They nod. I have somehow pulled wisdom out of the hat of confusion. I am expertly playing the role of Dad. I continue. Now, I will convince them that they do truly love each other, and that they should really see beyond their petty differences to lead lives of grace and companionship. (Totally ignoring the lessons learned over 34 years of having a younger brother.)

Me: "Andres, how much do you love your sister?"
Andres: (Shrugs) "I don't know."

Ok, not the answer I was expecting. I'll get something better from Celia--I know it.

Me: "Celia, how much do you love your brother?"
Celia: "Five."

She looks at me with both deep understanding as she says this. Five. No units, naturally--just "five." I realize I am defeated. They have won again; they have unwittingly outsmarted me at my own game. I hang my head. I mumble some half-hearted lessons learned from this morning...don't hurt your siblings, love each other, blah blah blah, but it is clear that my voice is going in two ears and right out the other two. I can't blame them. Did I listen whenever my own father sat me and Adam down for similar lectures? Doubtful.

I release them and they bounce down the stairs, best friends again. No doubt the cycle will happen four or five more times today. But I think it's best for everyone if I just let it occur, keeping the post-fight analysis to myself.