Lego Wars

My daughter just came to me crying: her eldest brother had been calling her names. After a little investigation, I discovered that she had been playing with a piece of Lego belonging to her middle brother and my eldest son, ever the one to be the law keeper in the family, had felt it necessary to intervene. He was convinced that, although no-one else wanted the item at the moment, she would not give it back when they did. It took a little untangling and apologies were made and my little girl went back to her breakfast. My son, however, was walked away muttering, holding back tears. I called him back and we talked more. He told that yesterday she had taken a particular Lego piece belonging to him and hidden it. He had still not found it. "Sometimes," he told me, his fists tight, "I wish she didn't exist."
A tough way to feel.
I called my daughter back and she hunted for it, but it was lost. However, she did discover a Lego mini figure she had previously abducted. "Sometimes," she told me, sadly, "I just want what the boys have got."
A tough way to feel.
They are such little people and yet have such big emotions. The most apparently trivial of sibling fights are often an outworking of underlying passions. It is hard for me to hear of their jealousy, dislike and irritation. I imagine that in years to come they might say the others got more than they did, were listened to more, understood more, even loved more and I am anxious about whether I manage it the best way, whether I get it right. I hope that by listening to, acknowledging and encouraging awareness of these emotional storms, I am encouraging my children to navigate them more successfully. But I'm never sure.
A tough way to feel.