In Andrea's estimation Danny was born for one purpose only and that was to torture her. She had thrived for three years as a virtual princess in an adult world and she enjoyed her status. She was a pensive, quiet child who loved to read, look at pictures, watch television, do puzzles, and "write." She would grab any of the kid-sized chairs from around the house, place it where she was most comfortable and watch her favorite videos over and over. Her absolute ideal state was sitting on a never used potty chair, filling the built-in "bowl" with "Cheese Balls" and watching another almost 3 hours of "Julie." "Julie" was actually The Sound of Music which Andrea watched it at least once a day. She knew every line and every action. I can still picture her singing the songs from the family entry into the talent show just prior to their escape. She would sit in her chair with her hands clasped in front of her with her elbows out straight as she sang the songs. In her mind, she was part of the vonTrapp family at that moment. Life was that simple until about 9 months after April 22, 1990. And then it changed - forever.
Danny couldn't have been much more different from Andrea. He was colicky, not a sleeper, was going to crawl, walk, run, etc well prior to being physically ready to go. Danny always reacted differently to Andrea than to anyone else. For as much as she felt she was another mother to him, he looked at her as the perfect playmate. His face beamed whenever he saw her or heard her. He would literally shake with excitement and "talk" up a storm with her. As much as Andrea's world was about mental challenges, Danny's was about physical challenges. His day was long and was all about motion, constant motion. Danny's very being questioned how things work, cause and effect, and what makes Andrea tick. And so their journey together began.
It was evident that sitting in the little chair in front of the TV was not going to continue to work for Andrea as soon as Danny was mobile. The fact that she could sit and seemingly ignore him, just egged him on more. She would sit, oblivious, which he viewed as invitation to pull her hair, tug at her, or enter the zone between Andrea and the TV. She implored help constantly. The more we "stopped" him, the more fun it was for him. This went on from 9 months until he went to school. We would hear the yell from anywhere in the house or the neighborhood, "MOM, he's hitting me... MOM, he's bugging me...MOM, he he won't leave me alone." And he wouldn't. Andrea was Dan's built-in playmate and play was rough.
One day when Andrea was about five, I heard the yell. I went to the living room to find her standing in the middle of the room, crying, "He won't stop hitting me. I just want to read." Therein lay the problem. He didn't think he was hitting - he was just getting her attention. I was running out of options. "Hit him back," I heard myself say. "You want me to hit him?" she asked in confusion. "Yes, maybe if he understands that it hurts you, he'll stop." She looked at me as if I had lost any brain I ever had. I probably had, but I went on about my work in the house. When I rounded the corner into the kitchen awhile later, there she was just standing in the middle of the kitchen. "I can't do it," she said. "Can't do what?" I asked. "I can't hurt him." I reached out and pulled her into me. I should have known better.
Once as they were approaching pre-teen years, there was another disagreement of some sort. This time we were "enjoying" a family party at a beach and the disagreement involved seaweed. There is no need to say more. When I caught up with them both, I sat them down, issued the proper reprimands and then asked them to consider the other sibling and the strong attributes they each brought to the relationship. I thought we had moved to the teaching moment of the episode so I finished with "My hope is that someday you can both draw a little of the other's strengths and take them with you in life." Andrea sincerely looked at me and said, "He doesn't have anything I want."
Now we advance the story by ten years. Andrea now lives out of the house; Dan is trying to launch his adult life. Andrea visited the other night with her wash in hand and scoured the kitchen cupboards for "good" things to take to her own cupboards. She knocked around the house a little, making small talk and using the computer until her wash was done. Finally, she questioned the quiet in the house. "Where's Dan?" My answer was the standard, "Out with friends." "He's never here," she said. "I never see him or talk to him. I miss the old days."
As a mother, do you laugh or cry at this? I did neither. I savored the moment, and know that they are both well on their way to adulthood and possible sibling appreciation. Alleluia.
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