Five For Fighting

I know I should have seen it coming.  I knew it was coming.  I should be more prepared.  I should have read books about this.  I should have talked to my mom about it more.  Heck, I should have-

 

What’s going on now?  Be nice!

 

Talked to other moms about it more.  But I didn’t, and now I don’t feel-

 

Knock it off!

 

Prepared.  Because-

 

Be good!  Stop harassing your bother!  Both of you!

 

I am now The Referee. 

 

Like I said I knew it was going to happen.  I mean my brothers and I harassed each other so much that I’m amazed my mom didn’t go prematurely gray, and my dad does blame his hair loss on it.  I just was hoping

 

If Evan is playing with the car, you cannot have it, Sean!  You have to wait until he is done.  Here take this car.

 

That I had a few more years, a few more months, just a few more wee-

 

Sean!  We do not throw cars at our brothers.  Time out!  Evan!  We don’t hit back!  Time out!

 

I need a goddamn whistle.  Hell, I need a penalty box.  F-it I need a drink.

 

I remember how my mom would point out other families whose kids never fought.  We explained to her that it was hidden, unnatural, weird.  Now I realize my words are coming back to bite me in the ass.

 

Boys!  You can play a duet on the piano.  Share!

 

Lately I have been barking the orders to share and to be nice.  And for the love of God, be good.  How hard it is to share?  How hard is it to play with another-

 

We have two guitars.  You can each have one.  Take turns then!

 

So my job description sounds a little like this: maid, chef, dishwasher, laundress, chauffer, personal shopper, doctor, nurse, reader, filer, garbage collector, decorator, librarian, camp counselor, teacher, babysitter, and now Referee.

 

As The Referee, my job disc-

 

Evan, you stay on this side.  Sean, you stay on that side.  Now everyone has room to play.  Evan!  Don’t mess with Sean.

 

Description is to make sure that all injuries are due to accidents and not malice, to keep life as fair between siblings as humanly possible, and to make sure all rules with their penalties are enforced properly.

 

Now what?!

 

I need a time out.

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11 Responses to “Five For Fighting”

  1. pinnythewu Says:

    You poor thing. I have no advice for you, I only have one kid. But I am sending peaceful thoughts your way.

  2. Ink Says:

    Oh, I feel you, Fae! This weekend, I turned to DH and said “You know, I just want to be able to stop saying things,” after hours of refereeing. (I love how you described the scene. Ha!) Hugs!

  3. Lindsey Says:

    I often send my kids to different rooms.

    Sometimes my daughter shuts HERSELF in the bathroom to make it stop.

    No answers here, just sympathy.

  4. Zeemaid Says:

    sending some mai tais over your way. Honey, it just doesn’t get easier until they move out and even then… it’s debatable.

  5. Steph at the Red Clay Diaries Says:

    Well you know that *I* sympathize. And I have pretty much NO advice.

    But I did come by to say ‘hey!’

    Getting away from being a referee? Good luck with that. 😉

  6. polymerclaysnails Says:

    Sounds a lot like what my telephone conversations have turned into …

  7. tlc Says:

    LOVE this post! I love the interupted thought format. Kind of reminds me of the very first post I ever read of yours, “The Day After…the Illness,” which is one of my very favorite blog posts ever.

  8. KathyB! Says:

    Oh faemom! Your description was hilarious. I’m sending you a tropical drink with a little umbrella in it… I love your blog 🙂

  9. faemom Says:

    pinny~ Thanks. I’m sure you have other . . . interesting problems. 🙂
    Ink~ I know sometimes I feel like a real witch. But they started it.
    Lindsey~ Ooo, that’s a great idea, since they are sent to their room for tantrums. I’ll try it. Thanks.
    Zeemaid~ Oh, Lord, I know. My brothers and I revert to our former selves when we’re at my parents’ house without supervision. At least we don’t throw punches anymore.
    Steph~ Hey. *sigh* I wonder if I’ll go prematurely gray from all the refereeing, and if I should dye it blue like I always wanted to.
    tlc~ Thanks. And Thanks again.
    KathyB!~ Thanks! Double shot please.

  10. Gibby Says:

    Oh Faemom. I wish I could give you some advice. Some secret weapon. But I’ve got nothing. I won’t tell you it gets worse. OK, I will tell you that. It gets worse. I don’t believe in sugarcoating. Let’s just say that after having the girls home all week for spring break, I opened our wine cooler pretty much every day.

    To refereeing. Cheers.

  11. faemom Says:

    Cheers. I just drink lots of caffiene; it helps me climb the walls after them.


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