It’s become a familiar scene lately: my nine-year-old son, Lucas, sitting just outside his sister Ava’s room, engrossed in a game on his tablet. Whenever I check in, he tells me he’s just waiting. Waiting for Ava to finish her video calls with friends, as she promised to play with him afterward.
I invite him to join me while I work, but he simply shrugs it off, content to wait there for his sister, who is nearly 11. I knew this moment would eventually arrive—the day when she would outgrow building LEGO structures and creating imaginative scenarios with her little brother. I anticipated that her friends and the allure of her private space would take precedence over their playtime in the vibrant playroom overflowing with toys. I understood that my son would linger in the realm of LEGO bricks and action figures a while longer while she transitioned into her teenage years.
What I didn’t foresee was how heart-wrenching it would be to witness him losing his companion, or how deeply I would yearn to hold onto those fleeting moments when she still chose to play with him.
Ava and Lucas share a close bond, both in age and emotional connection. Together, they’ve navigated challenges that many kids will never face—starting with their father’s cancer diagnosis, followed by his passing, and now their mother’s tumultuous journey of single parenting amid a pandemic.
Yet, Ava is slipping into a world that Lucas can’t access, and it’s evident he feels lost without her, uncertain of how to engage in play by himself, or whether he even wants to. So, he tries to negotiate. He tells her that if he gives her ten minutes of solitude, she will join him afterward. If he watches the show she prefers, then they can eventually return to that pretend game they started weeks ago. I even see him trying to enjoy the things she’s drawn to—video games and series favored by her friends—hoping to maintain that connection.
He would never admit it, though. If you ask him, his older sister is simply annoying and he doesn’t care about her activities. To be fair, their sibling dynamic isn’t all sweetness; they argue—a lot. It often feels like they bicker all day. He knows how to drive her crazy, and she can effortlessly push his buttons. Yet, despite their squabbles, he remains steadfastly outside her door, waiting and negotiating for more of her time.
Sometimes, he even seeks my assistance in coaxing her out of her room. While I understand that it’s entirely normal for her to want to connect with friends online, I can’t help but advocate for his cause. I reason with myself that imaginative play is beneficial for her development and that excessive screen time is not. Ultimately, like him, I wish to cling to the time we have with her. I’m not ready to relinquish the sounds of their laughter and the imaginative games they create together. I want to savor every last bit of her childhood innocence before it fades away.
Ava doesn’t complain much. She usually agrees to entertain Lucas—humoring him out of kindness and doing me a favor since I can tackle my endless single mom to-do list while she’s busy with him. However, I notice that when she plays with him now, it’s less as a child and more in the role of a caretaker.
This transition reflects a maturity that goes beyond simply wanting to retreat to her room to text friends. We can lure her out with requests to “go play,” but the reality is, she’s growing up even when she indulges him. Lucas and I have to accept this change, even though we’ll miss the playful “little kid” version of her. The truth is, the “big kid” version of her is pretty remarkable too.
I have a strong sense that their bond will endure a lifetime, but right now, it’s evolving, and all I can do is watch as he waits outside her door, hoping for the moment she opens it to reconnect with him, even if just for a short time. I too am waiting for the day when they are both tucked away behind closed doors, creating worlds and lives of their own, needing me less. That will bring its own kind of heartache—a new normal that is inevitable, yet no less filled with nostalgia for days gone by.
It’s the circle of life. And although I will always miss their “little kid” selves, I am eagerly anticipating what comes next.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, a mother navigates the bittersweet transition of her tween daughter outgrowing playtime with her younger brother. As their sibling dynamic shifts during a challenging period of loss and transition, she grapples with the emotional impact of watching her children grow up and change. While she recognizes the importance of this development, she also longs for the cherished moments of childhood play.