I know two sweet, loving, awesome kindergarteners who fight constantly.
“It’s my turn!”
“She’s copying me!”
“He hit me!”
“She’s bugging me!
“He won’t let me have a turn!”
Except when they don’t. Then they play together with great enthusiasm.
Last night, for some unknown reason, they claimed the task of doing the dishes. They slid a counter stool over to the sink and both climbed on…together.
They shared the scrubber. They picked out their plates and bowls and pots and pans without dispute. They spoke only when they needed to, serious in their work. The pressure of their effort kept pushing the stool back from the counter, and the two of them, practically entangled, sleeves rolled up, water splashing all over their shirts, never noticed me pushing them back in every time I passed behind them. He never noticed that her elbow jabbed him in the ribs. She never cried that he got her wet.
There were a lot of dishes. Taco night. And when they were done, the pots were perfectly clean. A little extra soap to rinse off, but clean.
I know two sweet, loving, awesome kindergarteners who fight constantly, except when they don’t. Give them a job, and they are team that cannot be beat.