Wait, what? Did that actually work?

For about a year now, James has taken charge faithfully, of his own accord, of one daily household task: bringing in the newspaper. About as soon as he could toddle, he began toddling out in the mornings to hunt it down. For the last two weeks, for no obvious reason, Henry has been contesting James's ownership of the job, although he never thinks of it until James has already started outside. James is understandably aggrieved.

Sometime last week, probably the day after our very bad morning, I started using one of the child-rearing  strategies I have been reading about for god knows how long without adopting. Instead of trying to adjudicate--a lose-lose approach that all former children, at least ones with siblings, know won't work, yet one that has proven incredibly difficult to drop, because it's so bloody obvious to me what justice demands--or ignore the skirmish, which has a lot of superficial attractions right up until the moment I'm daubing bloody wounds with hydrogen peroxide, I asked each boy in turn questions to help figure out what he actually wanted to say, then encouraged him to address his brother directly.

Because of their different personalities and ages, this most frequently plays out like this: Henry snatches something away from James, James howls, I say, "Henry, you want the car. James, you don't like it when Henry grabs the car. Henry, can you ask James for what you want," at which point Henry says, "Give it to me!" and I say, "Can you ask him nicely?" and Henry, in dulcet tones, says, "James, may I please have the car?" and James says, "OK, Henny," and hands it over. Then Henry is overcome with emotion and says, "James is so cute! James, I love you," and embraces him so hard it makes him cry.

It's been harder to make it work the other way. James manfully repeats "No like that, Henny!" when Henry mugs him or thumps him, at which Henry screams with simulated outrage, "I don't like you saying that! No fair!"

For reasons I might want to interrogate my own heart about one day, I have been incredibly pessimistic about the chances that I can intervene usefully--but not abusively--to change any of my children's habits that annoy or trouble me. So it was with considerable amazement, almost incredulity, that I listened the other day as James opened the door to get the paper and wailed, as usual, when Henry pushed him aside and ran out ahead of him. I paused in the kitchen, nerving myself to go deal with it without yelling or taking sides, when I realized that the tone of their conversation had changed.

"Do you want the paper, Jamie?" Henry was asking.

"'Kay," James sobbed. (What he says instead of "yes.")

"How about this?" Henry proposed. "I will put the paper down again, then I will get it again, and I'll give it to you, and you can give it to Mama."

"'Kay," James agreed again, happily this time.

And that was that! I almost thought I heard angels sing! Of course, nine times out of ten, we continue in our usual way, but it makes such a difference to know that what sometimes sounds even in my own ears like the rote utterance of a shibboleth might actually be teaching Henry and James (and me) that they truly can solve their own problems.