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- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Archives Revels Classifieds Real Estate Guide Weather Subscribe Contact Us March 20, 2005 Tales From The Crib Sibling rivalry Jennifer Margulis Two summers ago, a visit to the Herkimer, N.Y., diamond mines - quarries where you can excavate quartz crystal "diamonds" - seemed like the perfect trip. The advertisement boasted A+ gold rated campsites, a playground, a pool, hayrides, and the promise of "Good Clean Fun." As my 4-year-old daughter Hesperus spent hours collecting rocks, I thought I had found an activity that would nurture my child's passion and also let us spend some time with my brother and his family. Plus, Zach and I had a history of successful road trips: when we were both single we met in Atlantic City for an impromptu overnight and took our younger cousins on amusement park adventures galore. "Mommy, Hesperus hit me and I don't like that!" Athena, two and a half, screamed. Their seats on opposite sides of the car, my girls still managed to fight. The campground turned out to be a lawn packed with cars, and the playground a sand pit with a set of broken swings and a hornet's nest. When we went to mine for crystal it became clear that this was not an age-appropriate activity. The pickaxes were too heavy for the children to lift, the safety goggles did not fit around small heads, and the quartz was so tiny that my budding geologist, to her frustration, could not find any. Although Zach's daughter Miranda loved being babied by her older cousins (Hesperus helped her put her shoes on - backwards - and Athena led her around gently by the hand), the trip was a disaster. The pool was too deep, the hayride too scary, and the excitement of being in a tent too much for any of us to sleep. But the real blow came the next day when Zach called. "I think Hesperus is really mean to Athena and it's all your fault," he began. "She needs to go to daycare, be around other kids. You need to intervene more. I'm telling you this because I know you can take it." Zach and I have been best friends most of our adult life. But once we both started having children our lives diverged at the very time when we should have had more in common than ever. This phone call was in keeping with the tension in our relationship that flared up over the different parenting choices we had made. Zach and his wife were corporate lawyers who put their careers first. My husband and I had chosen a more creative but less lucrative path. We were both writers, we shared childcare, and we had flexible schedules. For my brother, the behavior of his "good" kid in the presence of my "bad" kid was evidence that he was making the right choices - choices that he may have been more ambivalent about than he was willing to admit. A year later, we met at a science museum in Connecticut, halfway between my brother's Manhattan-area home and my western Massachusetts farmhouse. This time I left Hesperus and our new baby at home. Athena and Miranda, just shy of three, wanted to stay in the turtle room, spinning together inside the tortoise shells. "Let's go change your pull-up and put on big girl underpants," Zach suggested. "Noo," Miranda whined. "Time to give someone else a turn." "No! No! No!" came Miranda's belligerent reply. "We can't go have lunch until you put on your shoes," Zach's patience was starting to crack. "Noooooo," shouted Miranda. Three-and-a-half-year-old Athena studied her cousin's behavior like a sociologist trying to fathom another culture and cheerfully suggested accompanying Miranda to the potty, putting her shoes on for her, and sitting with her to wait for another turn. Zach treated for lunch. I bought dessert. "See how nicely Athena's eating?" Zach said pleadingly as Miranda painted her face in chocolate. "Why can't you be more like that?" "Don't compare them," I scolded him. "It's OK if she makes a mess." "You're right." He put his napkin down, defeated. I was secretly gleeful that Zach's daughter was causing trouble, and that "victimized" Athena was acting nicely. I realized then that our views of each other, and our children, was shaped more by our own childhoods than by any empirical truth about what was best. My brother and I are still learning to accept everyone in our families as they are. Jennifer Margulis is the editor and co-author of "Toddler: Real-Life Stories of Those Fickle, Irrational, Urgent, Tiny People We Love." 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