At times, my mom seemed to deeply despair when we went at it. I never fully understood why until I had kids of my own, and realized how awful it can be to watch your children do battle.
For me, there's a whole other level of concern involved. I mean, it's good to see the kids acting like typical siblings, assuming they don't permanently disfigure each other. I like that Sabrina doesn't baby Max, and that Max can defend himself. Even from an early age, when he had so much difficulty manipulating his hands, he was amazingly accurate when he'd swipe Sabrina's pacifier out of her mouth.
But it pains me to see Sabrina being mean to him, or just plain ignoring him. It's normal, of course. Yet it's the opposite of what I yearn for: That she'll be kind to him. That she'll help him if he needs it, without prompting from me.
I do not expect Sabrina to care for Max; she's only 8, and I'd never put that responsibility on her still-growing shoulders. Sometimes, sure, I'll ask her to do small things, like picking up something for him if he's having trouble. Or when Max is saying something I don't understand, I'll ask her if she does. But when she does something for him on her own, that's just bliss.
So Sabrina picked Max up and carried him through, both of them cracking up. Me, I laughed and laughed, for a different reason: I was so amazingly happy to see her doing that. And then, feeling brave because his sister had shown him the way, Max walked through all by himself.