No, Steven, I'm not talking about you.
This is an approximation of the speech I gave not 20 minutes ago out on my deck, to my children.
When I had my first child, I was delighted. I was a MAMA! Then, a few years later, I was getting ready for my second. I was so happy that I'd be able to give a fantastic gift to my oldest: a sibling.
Siblings -- not too far apart in age -- can be the best friend you need when you're growing up. Nobody else will have grown up with the same parents, the same dogs, the same house with the funny noises at night. Nobody on the planet except your sibling. Nobody on the face of this big old planet will know you and love you quite like the person who saw you go through puberty, or learn to swim, or go to the hospital when the grill fell over and pierced your thigh.
And right now, it's a gift that's being wasted. You are wasting it. I spent an hour weeding the garden. The chorus of "you can't make me" and "you're lying!" and "don't touch me!" was in the background nearly the entire time. Then, when I came in to wash the kitchen floor, I asked that you work together to gather the weeds and toss them in the compost. I was met with stomping and whining and mewling and then? You started on each other. Tattling. Irritating. Pestering.
I am here to tell you that enough is enough. I had the two of you not only so I could have children, but so you two could be friends. So you would know what I knew growing up: that there's someone out there on your side all the time. Ok -- not ALL the time, but mostly. Someone who you can roll your eyes at when mom and dad do something irrational (to your pubescent minds). Someone who -- eventually -- can tell you whether or not the guy you're dating is a jerk. Or if maybe the mustache isn't the best idea.
So, go. Go work it out. Together. Look long and hard at yourself before you blame the other. I'm not going to be around either of you until I can be around BOTH of you.