Big J spent the morning creating a comic book. The first frame is about Little J’s basketball practice yesterday.

“Here’s Little J playing basketball. He likes to play basketball.

The second frame is also true-to-life, but a little different.

“Here’s Little J hitting me. He likes to hit me.”

The rest of the comic book features Little J saying things like “I hate you” and “You’re a stupid brother.”

The comic book ends with a picture of Big J. Out of his mouth comes the bubble: “Sometimes I don’t like Little J very much.” The epilogue of the book has a picture of me, my husband and Big J under a sunny sky. It reads “Me, Mommy, and Daddy before Little J.”

Sigh.

One of the major reasons we adopted Little J was because we wanted Big J to have a sibling. I’m not sure what we expected. Blissful moments of the boys playing together? Best friends forever? Someone to keep the other out of our hair so we can finally get something done around the house?

No, no, no. That’s NOT what happened.

From day one, moment 1 ½, these two have been at odds.

Big J, normally a gentle, friendly guy, morphed into a horror after Little J had been home for 2 weeks. He couldn’t walk past Little J without pushing him down. Luckily that went away, kind of. Now Little J is the one who whacks Big J every time they get near each other and Big J is constantly dissolving into tears. Sibling rivalry, anyone?

Little J is the type of kid who’s into everything, including all his brother’s precious collections, books, toys, whatever. Big J builds a Lego castle? Little J knocks it down. Big J finishes his homework? Little J grabs a marker and scribbles on it.

We are really, really hoping that as they mature things will get a little better.

But sometimes something happens that makes me think it’s going to be all right, eventually. A little while after the comic book was completed I was rushing around, trying to straighten up the house and do laundry and all the various things that need to be done before someone comes to look at our house (our house is on the market - anyone need one?). Big J and Little J were squabbling, doors were being slammed, and much screaming was going on. It culminated in Little J picking up a book of puzzles and throwing it at Big J’s shut bedroom door. The book, which has 10 different 50-piece puzzles in it, exploded all over the carpet.

I exploded too.

Little J started crying and started to pick up pieces, tears streaming down his face. I had little sympathy, but not his brother.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ll help you. Mistakes happen to everyone.” He knelt down and started picking up the puzzle. Little J stopped crying and took a place next to him on the carpet.

Hope springs eternal.