One of my favorite podcasts is Backstory with the American History Guys. I’ve been listening to the archives during my afternoon chores and let me tell you, the time flies.
Anyway, recently I listened to their show about how wars end. Okay, it doesn’t sound riveting, but it was. If you had to guess how many years the US has been at peace since WWII, what would you say?
It’s a single digit number if you need a hint.
NONE. Zero. Nil.
It blew my mind. Really? Not one single year of peace? The explanation made sense (listen to the show!), but it was so hard to grasp until I started to pay attention around this joint. Don’t get me wrong, our kids really do love one another and enjoy each other, but as of late, there has been a proliferation of squabbling, bickering and all out fighting. It starts as soon as they wake up and I call it a good day if no one cries before they leave their rooms. It usually just gets worse from there. We have our long-standing fueds and petty spats and everything in between. They seem to never tire of it and, short of physical violence (The girls act out on the boys with alarming frequency and Gemma bit Ellie over a coloring book today), I try to let them handle it.
But it makes me crazy. And a little desperate to think that we might just have the same pathetic record of sibling peace in the house until they’re all grown and gone. Maybe not even then. Lord have mercy.