Go:

“Quail-eee! Quail-eee!” her small chants echo down the hall as I carry her from the bedroom in the morning light. During the week Zuzu and I are gone by the time Sugarplum wakes up. On the weekends though she and I are usually the last to rise. The older girls wake before the sun most days and if I’m lucky, Lovey does too and corrals them in the front of the house. Grasping the ancient glass doorknob leading from the pantry into the dining room, I feel it thread loose and come out of the door into my hand as I try to open the swollen rectangle from its frame. Swearing under my breath I hand the knob to the baby who promptly drops it with a clank to the wood floor. As we ease through the rooms where the other children sit, it’s unclear who is more delighted to see whom. The girls jump up and start hollering each other’s names with enough gusto that one would think they had been separated by weeks and miles rather than soft snores and blankets. It is clear however that I need coffee and I attempt to hand the baby over the girl’s clamoring hands into the lap of Lovey. They pounce, Zuzu leaning in too close to press her hands into Sugarplum’s solemn face.  The baby protests the release from my hip, reaching for me and hollering over the Quail’s approximations of the words describing her morning:

“Momma. Sleep. Sug. Sleep.” She signs sleep as she says it and pats the air down with her hands indicating they were trying to be quiet while mom and baby slept.

“Maddie. TV. Me. Paa” Indeed, Netflix is set to Zuzu’s latest obsession, My Little Pony and the Ipad shows a handwriting app open to the letter H. Lovey puts aside his laptop and stands up with the baby heading into the kitchen to warm a bottle for her. We trail after him the Quail chanting, “Eat. Drink.”

Sugarplum peeking back at us starts chanting again over his shoulder, “Quail-eee! Quail-eee” now safely up high on perch in his arms to call to her sister without risking being sat on in excited response.

The relationship between these three is something to watch grow. As the baby becomes more verbal, she has managed to learn the Quail’s name before Zuzus. Yet, she often seems understandably more comfortable with Zuzu’s handling of her than her exuberant four-year-old sister’s attempts to “mother”. I would guess it stems from the fact that the two younger girls spend their mornings together when Zuzu and I head out into the day. She physically hears the Quail’s name more frequently than Zuzus, so it comes more easily to her.

Yet there is no denying the bond that threads the triad together. When the Quail first moved into the one-year-old room at her pre-school she started spending her recess time out on the sandy playground just a fence away from her idolized big sister. In turn, Zuzu would frequently bring her own gaggle of girls to the fence and holler for the Quail if she wasn’t immediately there. This group of girls would keep their eye on the Quail and were loud and quick to flag down a teacher at the impending threat of a big kid snatching the Quail’s toy or playing too roughly with her. Often when I would arrive at the end of the day to pick them up my heart would be warmed with stories of how they would hold hands through the fence during their recess-time.

Then one day one of the gaggle girls approached me at pick-up eyeing my very pregnant belly.

“Ms. Cole- what if Zuzu likes the new baby better than the Quail?”

I stared at her silently, reminding myself that this was an innocent only-child’s question. Not something to be read into with a deeper meaning and concern regarding sibling relationships when a disability is involved. This was not a question of the Quail’s worth in our family, the community, our home or this school.

She simply wanted to know if it was possible for one sibling to like another more.  

“I don’t know dear. Zuzu loves the Quail AND she’ll love Sugarplum (Zuzu had already named her this by my third trimester). Sometimes sisters get along and sometimes they need some time apart.”

My voice trailed off as the friend raced back to the swings that had opened up and Zuzu came running towards me letting me know which of the therapists visited the Quail that day at school and how she had said hi to them and wanted to know when they could come to babysit her.

This past week though, a new chapter in their story started to unfold mirroring the past. As I stood holding Sugarplum to have her face wiped down her teacher told me how Sugarplum now comes to the fence and hollers “Quail-eeee!” AND “Zuzu!!” until she catches their attention and they run in tandem to her to reach their small hands through the metal into hers.

These girls, they love each other. Their relationship is tender and volatile and intimate and easily taken for granted for now. They don’t question who loves whom best and who can do what. They slow their own pacing naturally to catch each other up in their play. They carry one another, physically and emotionally. They fight. They resist. They love. They depend.

They just are.

Stop.

Go:

I roll my eyes to the ceiling as I hear the squabble start down the hall.

“Momma!!!!! The Quail spit at me! I wasn’t doin’ ANYTHING!!! And she just spit! MOMMMMMAA!!!!”

Sighing, I pull my flat-iron through my hair once, twice, three times. The sound of feet running in two different directions fills the office.

Just as I see the ruffled edge of the Quail’s nightgown through the cracked bathroom door I hear another door slam and Zuzu scream in frustration. Leaning my head through the door I look the Quail in the eye and raise my finger to my lips. She answers in return with her own raised finger, “Shhhhhhh….” Too late, the baby cries out from our room and we all stand still as statues pretending we weren’t the one to make that last sound that roused her. I want to tell Zuzu to stop storming. I want to tell the Quail to never spit again. I want to tell them both that it isn’t even 7 a.m. yet and I haven’t even finished one cup of coffee. I want to drink three cups of coffee. I want to send them all back to bed and start over.

Instead I reach out and the Quail’s hand locks in mine automatically. “Come on, come say sorry to your sister.” I feel the slight pull as she considers refusing and the release as she decides a stern Momma’s attention is better than none at all and follows me silently back to her room.

When to intervene and when to let them work it out is a riddle to me. I talk too much. I say the wrong words. I say them too loudly. I say them too often. I nag. I coddle. I cajole. I threaten and I warn. I take away privileges. I step in. I turn away.  I say I’m sorry. I instruct them to do the same. I lift them up and I let them go. I mother. I parent. I boss. I love. I’m at a loss.

Zuzu, she’s bossy with her sisters. And she’s loving. Her voice has turned from hard edged to charmingly coaxing when they aren’t following her pied piping these days. She takes the model of her kindergarten and first grade teachers and plays out her own school days in little dioramas of her toy-filled bedroom. The change is noticeable. I’m fairly certain it hasn’t come from my instruction either. She’s learned the power of honey over vinegar and is harnessing it in her own time. Still ever so delicate in heart, she’s not one to be mean. Bossy. Instructive. In charge. Yes. Mean no. When someone takes her toy, calls her a robot, says they don’t want to play My Little Ponies or Barbies, her heart is truly crumpled and she pulls back with a sour look until she can find her way to melt back into your side.

The Quail on the other hand. Is usually the first to follow the teachings of Zuzu. Where Zuzu goes, she goes. What Zuzu does, she does. What Zuzu eats, she eats. What Zuzu dresses up as for Halloween, she dresses up as for Halloween. On the other hand. She’s not one to be told what to do. That decision to take her sister’s lead- that’s all her. Should Zuzu take her toy. She shouts No and takes it back. Should her sister’s turn on the swing go on too long. She stares her down till she “chooses” to give her a turn. Should someone say she can’t come in the sandbox to play , she pulls their pigtail down to the ground and sits on them. Should her sisters include her in what they are doing, her grin cracks wide open lighting up her eyes and the hearts of those around her. She may not always be able to articulate exactly what she wants, but she is crystal clear in what she loves and hates.

And then along came Sugarplum. This sweet and quiet plum of a baby woke up one day this summer and came into her own. What was once a quiet, serene, easy-going little sweetie-pie was no longer willing to give up her toys and books at the whim of an older sister.  Much to everyone’s surprise one day when the Quail sat down on the pink Dora couch next to her and reached over to pluck the book she was looking at from her pudgy hands, her own cheek was met with a small slap and a quick, “No!” The pause in the room was palpable as Zuzu looked up from her Ramona & Beezus chapter book and the Quail let go. Even Sugarplum seemed surprised at the effect of her small might. 

Strong-willed they say. In equal yet different parts. The Venn diagram of what that means in their relationship is still being worked out among them.

For now, we kneel down between this triad and issue reminders that we don’t hit, we don’t spit or bite or sit on our sisters. We are kind and gentle and helpful to our family and friends. That it is ok to be angry, and to be sad and to be scared and frustrated. But it isn’t ok to take it out on each other or to take what’s precious to one another away. We ask for a turn. For now, we hug and sign our apologies and move on with our day. Until the next storm comes, the next squabble erupts; the next rascaling match needs to be broken up and sorted out.

Stop.