Sibling Wars: The Unplugging Chronicles

This morning started out beautifully. I was in the Den, coffee in hand, a little Billy Joel in the background (because of course), and for once, the sun and my mood were in sync. I even had the nerve to think, "I might actually get some productive work done." Ha. Ha. Ha.

Enter: Child#1 (E) and Child#3 (J)

What began as low-level sibling tension — the kind of bickering you learn to ignore, like a persistent fly in the room — quickly escalated into a full-blown, multi-front emotional war. It wasn’t just noise. It was energy. Toxic, charged, possibly demonic.

He looked at me. He whispered under his breath. He stepped on my mouse.

And yes, we’re talking literal mouse. For reasons that are simultaneously my fault and nobody’s fault, it was on the floor. Don’t @ me. I’m not a monster, I’m just a woman trying to manage four children, a consulting business, a wall board system, and possibly her sanity.

Then came the coup de grace.

He unplugged all the computer stuff.

It wasn’t subtle. It was vengeance. A sibling-level tech takedown that would make any Bond villain pause and nod with respect. Of course, E screamed. Of course, I got dragged into it. Of course, it fell to me to restore peace in the Middle East of our hallway.

So I called J into the Den.

And I didn’t yell.

Instead, I channelled all my inner drama, my ISO stress, my parental exhaustion, and I said:

“Don’t say anything. Don’t bother lying. I already know what happened. You and E were bickering behind me earlier. You left in a strop, angry, slamming doors. You went in the house and you unplugged his PC out of revenge.

The consequence is that I am now more stressed than when I actually work. You’ve turned this morning — that started out so very well — into the intro to Game of Thrones, and it feels like World War III is about to break out in our house.

So what are you going to do to make it up to me and show me you care about your impact on my wellbeing?”

Honestly, I deserve an award. Or at the very least, a chocolate biscuit I don’t have to share.

Because in that moment, I didn’t parent like a rulebook. I parented like a woman who’s been through it, who knows that sometimes the unplugging is funny, but also not okay, and who’s sick of being the emotional shock absorber for other people’s drama.

I didn’t demand an apology for his brother. I asked him to account for me. To recognise the cost of his chaos. Because guess what? Mums are human too. Even when we have capes. (Mine is just currently covered in cat hair and probably trail mix.)

So yes, I may have survived another chapter of the Sibling Wars. But make no mistake: this war has sequels.

And I’m charging them rent.

Postscript: J did, eventually, offer to tidy the kitchen and bring me a fizzy water. E stopped sulking after three minutes of dramatic sighs. Peace was restored.

Until tomorrow.