It's. Not. FAIRRRRR!!!!!!!!!! Siblings...

It's never going to be easy when a new cuckoo of a sibling arrives in the family nest. Firstborn children are not known for their Mother Theresa-like qualities where new siblings are concerned - my own beloved sister had to be bribed daily with Smarties to keep her from lamping me one! And G could certainly have benefitted from the Milkman of Human Kindness leaving him an extra pint when J was born. Quite frankly the credits that were afforded by the shiny new Playmobil fire engine that was J's "new brother present" to G did not last long when faced with the often-crying, mother hogging babe that was J. We weren't overly worried at the time, given that most siblings have an unwritten set of rules that goes something along the lines of:

1) Fight like tigers

2) Make sure you shout "mum, he hit me" the fastest and the loudest

3) Never bite - it leaves too much in the way of incriminating evidence. Hair pulling is much more effective as long as you can detangle the hairs from your fingers before your parents get to the crime scene.

4) If you must bite your siblings, then go for a quick nip to the toes when everyone's asleep at night, then get back to bed pronto and do that fake sleep-breathing thing when your bleary-eyed mum arrives to console the screaming sibling.

5) Play dirty - watch your siblings scoff all their Easter eggs at one sitting and then carefully hoard at least half of yours for future bargaining/ taunting tactics - how can your lack of gluttony be punished?

6) If you happen to come off worse in a fight, make sure you remind the offending sibling at least once a year for 35 years or so that the scrubbing brush that hit you in the head is still giving you migraines (sorry Sonj - it slipped out of my hand - honest!!).

The problem here is that this sibling-specific variation of the Queensberry Rules goes out of the window when only one out of two brothers is able to understand and adhere to them.  All the parenting manuals prescribe equality and consistency when raising your children but in our household there is one parental tolerance setting for G and another, way more lenient setting for J. "It's. Not. FAIRRRRR!" is frequently screamed at us by G.

And no, G, it's not fair. And every maternal molecule in my body is truly and terribly sorry about that.

J has just done a Banksy on the sitting room wall and I'm faux-calmly telling J that this is not acceptable, then luring him away from his crime with a rather tempting game of "spot the missing even number" over the other side of the room. G watches carefully and knows that if he'd decided to unleash his creative talents in a similar manner, he'd get the eye-popping wrath of a fire-breathing dragon and a week-long ban from the X-Box.

And no, G, it's not fair when we're stuck in a cold rainy playground and J is making like a limpet on the swing and no amount of countdowns, bribery, pulling and, ultimately, crossness will prise him off. G wants to go home to pixellate himself in front of the computer. The dog wants to go home to inhale his dinner. I want to go home and assume the foetal position on the kitchen floor. But J wants to swing. And then swing some more because it makes him feel nice. So we wait in the driving rain until J eventually capitulates. 

It's not fair. Poor G - this can only make him feel powerless and ignored but it also highlights the gaping chink in my armour when I am sometimes (actually quite often) powerless and ignored too. And that unfairness and lack of control makes for an explosive cocktail of emotion in a 7 year old.

So how do I explain to G that if I get all "Supernanny" with J and put him on a naughty step when he draws on the walls, that he will repeat the offence over and over again, but if I quietly direct him to an acceptable pastime, the misdemeanour is less likely to recur? And how do I explain that sometimes J's Autism is just too big for me - his mum, his hero(?!) - to contend with? We've always been honest with G. We gently explained to him when J was having multiple seizures as a baby that his brother was poorly and that the many, many hospital appointments that were taking his mum and dad away from him so often, were helping to make J better. We thought that we'd explained J's diagnosis of Autism to G, but it turns out that we forgot to explain what this would mean to G. It took a call from G's headmistress to say that he had told her that his brother was "very ill and might die of Autism" to make us realise that our efforts had done as much good as a chocolate teapot in terms of helping G to understand what was happening in our family. So we took it down to basics with G and made a little book for him, telling him in age-appropriate terms, what J's Autism meant.

So G now understands his brother a bit better. Does this make him feel better when J reduces his just-completed, Foster-esque brick structure to Ground Zero. No it doesn't. Does this stop G screaming like a Banshee when J has yet again ignored the "Keep Out" notice on his bedroom door? Nope. Does this make up for J struggling unceremoniously out of G's occasional brotherly bear-hugs? Absolutely not. Having a brother with Autism is an absolute shitter at times. In G's words, "It stinks!"

But the amazing thing is that G is a kid. And he can't remember things being any different. It certainly helps that G has cousins whom he loves like brothers and who do run with the sibling  rules (J and B - you have no idea how important you are to G - you're brilliant!). My point is that kids adapt to situations that would have us adults popping Valium and wearing our underwear as outerwear. Kids just get on with it. G has recently started communicating with J like a professonal Speech Therapist. He uses short sentences. He pauses for extra time to let J answer questions. He speaks slowly and clearly. He gets J to look at him first. And it works - they chat!!!!! Ok, so he's taught J to say "Mummy's a poohead" which I'm not ecstatic about and J adopts a mockney accent when he counts to "Twenny" these days but, call me rose-tinted - I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship. I'm not saying that my computer-obsessed, boundary-pushing firstborn is getting soft but it's a ray of hope that they might eventually have some kind of relationship. I've even heard G boasting to his mates that J can read and write better than them (grossly exaggerated, but rooted in truth!) and his head nearly span off in rage when I told him that some kids in the playground had been mean to J. 

But the thing that makes me the happiest is when they are following to the letter the aforementioned Rule Number 1 - Fight like Tigers. There's proper, equal brotherly wrestling, accompanied by shrieks of enjoyment and giggles. Always ends in tears, but "Go boys! - that's what brothers do!"

So G, a little footnote to you: I will always keep you safe when J is upset and out of control. Me and Dad will do all that we can to help you to understand and accept that your brother is a little bit different to most. Your achievements are every bit as important to us as J's small victories. And G, I've said it many times, but I'd like to etch it into cyberspace to make you believe me - of course I love you every bit as much as J. He may take up more than a fair share of my time but my heart is equally divided - I think you're amazing!! xxx