Monday, February 8, 2010

Battle of the boys

My boys are only eighteen months apart.
What does that mean to anyone not cursed blessed with boys so close in age?
This means they fight.
All the time.
Over everything.
From the color of the sky, to which one of the identical booster seats is theirs, to who is one fraction of a second away from touching whom.
They fight.
I used to get involved when they fought. I used to try and find a just, fair compromise that would have made King Solomon proud.
That was before child number three made an appearance and I gave up.
Now, unless there is bloodshed or breaking of my housewares, I just don't' care.
As long as I don't have to hear any noise, such as indignant cries or screams for mercy, I turn a blind eye.
And when hear those things? I make the Man handle it.
Being the boss is very good.
Anyway, I used to interfere back in the day.
But that was back when there was a huge size difference between the two.
Now, I just let them have at it.
Bug fights like the tall boys he is, all arms and legs. He reminds me of Olive Oyl, truth be told, all swinging fists that rarely connect with anything.
Boo fights dirty. He'll tackle you when you aren't looking just because you may have glanced at him wrong when you passed him by.
Today, they fought because Bug looked like he was thinking about spitting on Boo. Boo's words. Not mine. I can't even follow the logic of this one. What does a child look like who is thinking about spitting? And what prior experience made my youngest son recognize that expression today?
Yesterday, they fought because Boo had the letter of the alphabet Bug wanted. Bug couldn't tell me which one out of the 25 others it was, but Boo had it.
Day before, they fought over who belched better. At least that one made some sense.
And I ended the fight by outdoing them both.
I don't know where it will end. Or even if it will end.
But I'm sure that last big knock down drag out fight will be at my bedside while i am gasping my last, and someone will breathe wrong.
I will spend my last moments on earth trying to separate my battling offspring while gasping, "Boys! Stop this right now! Are you trying to kill me?"

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