We've been dealing with a bit of bickering in our house lately. Which is to say, pretty much every waking minute that two of the boys are in the same room.
One pokes. The other screams. One grabs a toy. The other whacks him. One makes a face. The other yells as though he's been gravely wounded.
I warn, I chastise, I lose my temper. I put them in time outs (the older two). To no avail.
Last night, it came to a head in the bathtub. One took a toy, the other teased, the yelling began. They yelled, I yelled, I couldn't take it anymore.
Their father stepped in. The four of us had a long talk. Today there have been a few prods, a few yelps, but it's been pretty subdued. For the moment.
Does it ever end?
Parenting sometimes seems like one endless slog. Along the way, the clichés pop up like cheesy billboards to alleviate the boredom.
The days are long but the years are short. Things like that.
How did my parents ever put up with this? My brothers and I definitely did our share of bickering.
Anyway, E. and R. finally went to sleep. They have twin beds, but they've pushed them together, and usually end up cuddled together in the same one.
When I see them like this, I know that at least on some level, they're happy they have each other.
If only they could remember this when they're awake.
Uncle George won lotto tickets in the Yankee swap, and Aunt Nikole instructed E. in the evils of gambling.
