We've been struggling with Justin's relationship with Emily. He's been hurting her on a daily basis. He is barely five; she just passed her first birthday. She is a very active, social child, always coming over to say "hi" to Justin. He is a child who likes his space. It's been a struggle for him to come to terms with this baby sister who has crashed into his nest.
      Many times each day, he shoves her, hits her, kicks her or grabs things away from her. Regularly, she is experiencing violations Justin never once experienced when he was her age.
      We've tried all kinds of things to get him to stop. We've given him room to vent his frustration. We've been sympathetic with his anger and honored his grief at having to share our love.
      We've encouraged him to pound pillows and kick his bed, and have taught him to get centered spending time alone. We put a gate on his door so he could have a Emily-free zone, a place where he could be free to scatter small toy parts by the dozen.
      We've created opportunities for both kids to appreciate and enjoy each other. We've made efforts to build family spirit by doing things together. We've solicited Justin 's ideas: "It looks like you're feeling really frustrated. What's another way you could have said that to Emily?" We've given him time-outs. We've yelled at him. On occasion, I've lost control and hurt him myself. None of it has helped.

      Joan and I sit down to discuss the situation. We review everything we've tried and decide to try a "kindness chart." On a sheet of poster board, I draw a big snake with lots of little boxes coiling around its body. Pictures of Justin and Emily adorn the poster. Every ten boxes there is a red dot, which corresponds to a matching card. The cards say things like, "This card entitles you to ten minutes of wrestling with Mama Vicky," "This card entitles you to pick out a crazy mixed-up outfit for Emily," "This card entitles you to one chapter of James and the Giant Peach," or "This card entitles you to a purple bath with Emily." I stick with rewards he'd get anyway.
      When Justin comes home from school, I explain the rules: "If you start to feel that angry feeling in your body, and you manage to walk away, you get a sticker. If you and Emily are struggling over something and you find a creative solution that works for both of you, you get a sticker. And if you're kind and generous toward Emily, you get a sticker. Do you understand?" I ask.
      I see the wheels turning in Justin's mind. A smile of recognition spreads across his face. Then he says sweetly, "I just really wanted to hurt Emily and I didn't. Can I have a sticker?"
      "No, Justin, it doesn't quite work that way. You can't just make it up. It has be something that's really happening."
      "That was really happening, Mama. I did want to hurt Emily."
      I drop the subject, wondering if this is ever going to work.

      Later that afternoon, I'm leafing through the mail. The kids are at my feet. Emily stands up. Justin deliberately trips her. Her legs go out from under her and she collapses in a heap, crying. Then he smiles at her solicitously and pats her head gently, all the time looking at me. "Can I have a sticker now, Mama?" he asks.
      This is not working at all.
      I tell Justin that he can't ask for stickers, that a grownup has to notice something he has done and offer him one. He readily accepts this new twist on the rules. Over the next few days he accumulates a sticker or two a day — for the time he talked sweetly to Emily, for the fantasy game he made up that included her, for suggesting something that would keep her safe, for coming up with an activity she'd enjoy. (If he lost stickers for each transgression, he'd be at minus one-hundred-and-fifty. But we keep our focus on the positive.)
      After five days he gets his first red dot card — three hugs and six kisses. He savors every one.

      A week after we put up his chart, Justin is playing with play-doh at the table. Emily stretches up and snags a piece. Justin takes it from her, more gently than I've seen before. He says, "Mama, when I first had my chart I really did feel like I needed to hit Emily."
      "And how do you feel now, Justin?"
      "Pretty good."
      "I mean how do you feel now about hitting Emily?"
      "I don't want to hit her. I usually don't do it. It doesn't even matter if you're watching me or not."

      Several more weeks go by. Almost every day, Justin gets at least one sticker. One miraculous spring day, he gets five. Each time he gets a new sticker, he counts all the ones that are already on the chart, "1, 2, 3, 4....26, 27, 28, 29....Mama, what comes after 29?...33, 34, 35. I've done 35 nice things for Emily!"
      He is proud of himself. And slowly, his behavior is starting to change. He gives her a sip of his smoothie without being asked, he offers her something in exchange for the toy he's taking away from her, he initiates games and enjoys making her laugh. There are always setbacks, but there is steady improvement as well.
      It was Justin's idea to make Emily her own kindness chart (he gives her stickers for relinquishing dangerous articles, announcing that forbidden doors have been left open, and bringing us our shoes), and Justin assures us that we, too, need kindness charts. As a wall of charts springs up at our house, it becomes clear to us that kindness, is indeed, a family affair.