Helping a Fallen Brother

Those of you on Facebook are likely familiar with notices like these that pop up every so often when you log in: “Kate, we care about you and the memories you share here. We thought you’d like to look back on this post from [x number of] years ago.” For me, most of my old posts are stories about the boys—funny stories or milestones or events. I actually do look forward to seeing what new memory Facebook has selected to remind me of, and a recent one was so sweet (from July 1, 2014, when No. 6 was three months old and No. 4 was four): “No. 4 was outside playing when I put the baby down for a nap upstairs in his cradle. This is a new thing — the baby has mostly slept on me or in his chair in the kitchen until now — but I’ve been trying to move him toward sleeping upstairs as much as possible both because he’s getting older and will eventually have to nap upstairs anyway and because loud noises often wake him up (not a great trait in this house!). Just now I saw No. 4 scurrying around the TV room, playroom, and kitchen whispering, “Baby?” I saw him looking first in the baby’s chair in the kitchen, then in his chair in the playroom. Inexplicably I saw him then look behind the big armchair, and then in the TV room where there’s no place for the baby. “Baby?” he kept whispering. “The baby’s napping upstairs,” I told him. “I put him up there while you were outside.” Over to the monitor he scurried, and whispered to it, “Baby?” Then he put his hand on the monitor gently and said, “Baby,” before running off to play. Be still my heart.” So sweet, right? It reminded me of something I’ve been smiling about lately: moments when my boys actually act like the brothers they are. My boys fight like wild dogs. Or like mosquitos. If they’re not snarling and snapping and clawing and biting, they’re buzzing and itching and annoying each other. I’m as likely to hear, “MOM! So-and-so hit me!” as “MOM! So-and-so said my drawing was stupid!” I see boys with their faces contorted by fury and angry tears as they really go at each other, trying to beat the other into a pulp, and I see boys sitting quietly in a chair with a book, apparently behaving, but then I realize they’re relentlessly muttering just loud enough so the boy nearby can hear the insults and be driven completely crazy. I know you all know what I’m talking about. But sometimes I see them playing together nicely, or treating each other kindly, and I would gladly endure all the brother-fighting for one moment of brother-love. Such a scene happened just recently, though it started out as a disaster. During the school year, when we’re all walking from the school building to the van, the boys always ask if they can run to the van when we get close enough, and I’m always torn—on the one hand, yes! Go! Run! Stretch your legs and shake off the school day and let your hair down! On the other hand, though: ugh! Because it’s actually just a contest to see who can get to the van first and it’s always accompanied by screaming and tears no matter what happens, and while I have no problem at all with well-matched competition, big, fast boys versus small, slower boys is not a fair match, and it’s so hard to get them all to understand that (both the big boys, who need to realize they have an advantage the little ones don’t, and the little ones, whose time to be the fastest has not yet come). This one day, though, they all took off running, as usual, picture of happy boyhood (though I knew differently), and halfway to the van No. 5, who is four, tripped and fell. It was so so sad, because not only was he hurt and crying, but his brothers blew past him, running as fast as they could, which made No. 5 cry even harder, because now he wouldn’t “win.” Before I could say anything, before I’d even reached No. 5, his brothers had stopped and come running back, helped him up, and hung back while they encouraged him to keep running to get to the van first and be the day’s winner. Be still my heart. I find it easy as a mom to worry that the way my boys are in the heat of a scuffle is the way they’ll always be, but honestly, one moment like this restores all my hope. Pitting strength against strength, as when they’re all equally bothering each other, or strength against weakness, as when a bigger boy is bothering his little brother, concerns me quite a bit—it’s a misuse of strength; there’s no way to peace there, and I’m constantly trying to teach them that. But those who are bigger, stronger, and faster watching out for those who are smaller, weaker, and slower? How many of our problems and worries would be solved with more of that? And we have it in us, America! I saw the most moving picture in the media coverage of last week’s horrors of people surrounding a baby carriage in protection when the shooting started. That impulse—to protect those who are weaker and more vulnerable with our very lives if need be—is what we need to bottle up and use to quench our thirst for peace. So says this mom of a bunch of unruly+wonderful boys, anyway, for what that’s worth. Happy belated Independence Day to all of you! Kate and her husband have six sons ages 11, 9, 8, 6, 4, and 2. She can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..