Tornado S is teething, which is the toddler equivalent to PMS. Add to that Tornado S was upset that he couldn’t go outside with his Uncle M to feed the dog. Tornado S is a pouter. His temper tantrums include him falling to the floor, face first, sometimes crying. Tornado S had yet to fall to the floor, but he was pouting. Tornado E, being the tormenting older brother he was, couldn’t help let the opportunity go by without getting into Tornado S’s face and being . . . well, a brat.
So Tornado S did what any naturally pissed off, irritated, annoyed person does when confronted with a bully.
He hauled out and punched Tornado E in the face. When I mean punch, I mean Tornado S cocked his fist back and threw his weight behind it. Tornado E landed on the floor.
For a minute the world stood still, and the four grownups, Papi, Uncle M, Daddy, and me, didn’t know how to react.
A family story reemerged.
T was T, which is to say T was a tormentor. He tormented me from the moment he could crawl, and then when M was born, well, it was just one more child to torment. T just knew how to get under people’s skin, could see the weakness, knew this would get him attention. So one day, T picked on M, who was just a mere toddler, over and over, ALL DAY. M was a good natured little guy, enduring it with the fortitude of a rock, until the evening. T was at M again, which probably wasn’t smart as M was as big as T, though two years younger. Then in the midst of the teasing, M pulled back his fist and cocked T in the face. My mother felt her hands were tied as T really did have it coming.
I wanted to laugh but knew it wouldn’t help.
Papi: Tornado S. It’s time for time-out.
I snapped to action.
Me: Tornado S. That was a wrong decision. That was not nice. Now you have to go into time-out.
I scooped up Tornado S and placed him in the make-shift time-out chair. I set the timer for a minute and half. Turning towards the crying Tornado S who was being reminded to stay there by Papi, I saw Tornado E going in for the kill as now Tornado S was a sitting duck. I swooped in and sent Tornado E to play with Uncle M, rather than taunting his imprisoned little brother.
At the end of the time-out, where amazingly Tornado S stayed sitting the whole time, I placed Tornado S on my lap and told him I loved him and that he needed to hug his brother.
Tornado S went toward Tornado E to hug him. Tornado E raised his arm, holding a stuff dragon. I stuck out my arm to block the blow before it hit Tornado S. Tornado E’s momentum kept going, sending him face first into my arm. With a wail, Tornado E shouted “MOMMY HIT ME!” DON’T HIT YOUR BROTHER.
Begun, the clone war has.