I’ve been a bit quiet lately because it’s been a bit noisy.
I’ve been trying to stop Six and Three from inflicting grevious wounds on each other while playing with toy fire engines, sticks, swords, or even soft pillows. Yes, the nippers are on their two week winter holidays.
For me it’s a full-time gig aside from when they’re asleep at night though even that often turns nasty with one or other of them variously falling out of bed, coming down telling me they’ve had a nightmare involving a dinosaur, a chicken, some honey and a badly rising souffle (they’ve been watching Masterchef), or they simply want to stay up and watch So You Think You Can Dance.
They argue all the time about the most inane things.
The other day Six had a friend over for a play morning, The mother decided I could have him all day – well thanks for that madam – and basically I spent all day separating the three of them. Boys.
When we took the friend home his younger brother Nate was there at the window. On the way home in the Bentley Three said, “I waved to Nate.” Six said, “But I waved to him first.”
Three: No you didn’t.
Six: I did. You just didn’t see me.
Three: I saw you fine.
Six: You didn’t. You were too busy waving.
Three: I waved more times than you.
Six: I waved eight times.
Three: I waved even double the times you waved.
Six: No, I was wrong. I waved sixty billion times and I saw him first.
Three: Did not!
Six: Did!
Three: Stop looking out of my window.
About then I’m gritting my teeth and holding the steering wheel so tight if it were a living thing it’d be dead, and I stop the Bentley quickly, usually sliding it off the road into the verge (and once into a ditch, but that’s another story) and give them a good talking to.
Of course it does no good and soon another subject is being argued about as though it’s an Olympic sport.
Roll on next week, I say.