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The following story has nothing to do with publishing, and everything to do with parenting.
My girls are at the ages now (12 and 11, respectively) where sibling rivalry is a real thing. I’m an only child, so I never experienced this, and it really is kind of foreign to me. For example, recently Julie packed the last 4 cookies in her lunchbox. I noticed and said, “Hey - what about Haley? Can’t you split that, 2 and 2?” She replied, “Mom, she did it to me last week.”
But that wasn’t the incident that sent me into a tailspin. It was bigger than that. For the past 3 years or so, Julie has wanted a horse. If you’ve been with me for a while, you know that my girl can ride. We spend a fortune in lessons for her because a) she enjoys it, and b) she has dyslexia, so school is a real effort for her, and it’s important that she knows that she can excel at things. Haley has dyslexia too, but she had me at home with her during covid, and we did all this work to remediate it, so you’d never really know by looking at her academics: she’s a great student.
Anyway.
There was an issue at the barn where Julie takes lessons, where the staff decided to take the horse she is the most comfortable on away from her. It felt pointed and intentional, and left her crying at the end of the lesson. She came home miserable. I looked at my husband with a Mama Bear fierceness as if to say, “This shall not stand.”
For reference, I live on Long Island, which is dumb expensive, and I send my kids to private school, a move which threatens to bankrupt us every year. So to add horse to the list, we’re talking an extra $120 a week. To make my kid cry? No thanks.
So, off I go to the internet to learn everything in the world one needs to know about leasing a horse. And, naturally, Julie picks up on this a few days later. “Mom, are you actually thinking about getting me a horse?” she asks me, tentatively. I explain that I’m just looking, that this is just something I’m considering, that the stars have to really align for it to happen, yadda yadda yadda. All this kid hears is that I didn’t say no.
Within minutes, Haley is in my bedroom. “Are you actually going to get her a horse?” It’s the same question Julie asked, only with an entirely different tone. She might as well have asked me if I actually am running a drug ring out of our basement.
“Why?” I shoot back. “Would it be bad if I tried to do something nice for your sister?”
“No,” she backpedaled. “No, that would be great. I hope you do get her a horse.” (Make sure you read this with 12-year-old tone.)
“Yeah? Even if you don’t get anything out of it?” I ask her this because I know that in her head, the scales have to be even. If Julie gets something, Haley has to get something equal (or greater to) the thing Julie got.
Another few volleys like this, and Haley breaks down. “It’s just so obvious that you guys love Julie more than me.”
“Wow,” I say. “Okay. Well that sure puts me in a quandary, now, doesn’t it? I have one daughter who has an issue, and I go to solve it, but I can’t do that because it will create an issue with my other daughter. Does that seem right to you?”
She sulks, but in a way that also delivers just the right amount of silent sass. I’m reminded of the cookies, and somehow I end up with a baking metaphor. “Sweetheart, listen to me. Love is not pie. A pie is a whole thing, right? And if I take a piece of it, then there’s one piece less that you could potentially have. That’s why you always want to have the bigger piece of pie, right? To make sure you got your fair share and then some?”
“Yeah,” she relents.
“So if Julie went to take a second piece of a really delicious pie, you’d get upset, right?”
She nods.
“But would you get upset if she took a second glass of water?”
Haley looked at me skeptically. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can always get more water.”
“Exactly. There’s endless water in this house, right? We’ve got bottles of water, a dispenser in the fridge, even sink water. Haley, my love for you girls is not pie. If I do lease a horse for Julie, it doesn’t mean that I love you any less, or that I won’t try my best to give you everything you dream of in this life. My love for you guys is water. It’s endless. It’s every day, all the time. But you and Julie are not always equally thirsty at every second of the day. Believe me, when you need a second glass, I’ll be right there to give it to you. Right now, your sister needs a little extra. What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t give it to her?”
And that squashed it.
It may not sound like rocket science, but I thought it was a pretty smart metaphor.
Love is not pie. Love is water.
Guaranteed, you’ll find that gem in one of my books someday.
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