Month: July 2011

The Siblings. The Rivalry. The Early Grave.

When I was a child my brother and I would fight like cats and dogs. It was all the standard stuff, one having something that the other had not even considered until seeing the other with it and then desperately needing it. The playing together until the rules changed one too many times, until you had been killed so often and so quickly in succession the humiliation and frustration was too much to bear, the play which got too rough and injury was incurred, and so on and so forth.

There was one incident where we were sent to our respective rooms and I was so angry I got a piece of paper (back in the day of foolscap as opposed to A4) and THUMB-TACKED it to his door (blu-tac wasn’t invented yet). I then, in a trusty HB (I didn’t have my pen licence) pencil gouged out “I HATE ___ and wish he was dead. FOREVER.” Such was my penmanship I IMPRINTED IT into the wooden door as well. For time immemorial.

I used to think it was because we are such different people. Or because we were a boy and a girl. Now I know it was, purely and simply, because we were siblings.

At the moment this house is full of screams, torments, intentional trips, name calling, verbal put-downs, hitting, pushing, kicking, pulling hair (because clearly that is not gender specific) AND MORE.

You know what? It’s like being a kid in a house of warring parents. Except I am the adult.

For all of that there is the constant reiteration of myself with some or all of the following phrases:

  • nice words or no words (in my head: SHUT THE FUCK UP)
  • loving caring brothers please (in my head: OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE)
  • ___ are you being kind and respectful? (in my head: UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE)
  • ___ NICE HANDS (in my head: WHAT THE FUCK???)

Clearly I’m talking on a frequency they can’t hear because it makes.no.difference.whatsoever.

No really, NONE.

Today I have read the riot act. Again. I think I’ve read this act every day for the last four years of my life.  This is also known as (in my head) OH MY GOD I’M TURNING INTO MY MOTHER along with WHERE THE HELL DID I GO WRONG and IS IT TOO EARLY TO DRINK and I REALLY NEED CHOCOLATE OR THE BIGGEST BAG OF CHIPS AVAILABLE. You know, where you use phrases like:

  • how disappointed you are,
  • how their treatment of each other makes me sad and angry,
  • that they should realise how lucky they are to have each other – that they always have someone to share the experience with, someone to play with,
  • that they should stop focusing on the negatives – about having to share and having someone to play with (in their heads) and focus on the positives
  • that they need to ‘use their words’  with each other rather than acting out
  • that they need to see the good in each other rather than the bad
  • that they need to communicate with each other (with helpful examples thrown in)

I do this, clearly, to make myself feel better because going off how they behaviour does.not.change. except for their avoidance of me. In fact, I believe this is what they hear:

 

Although I doubt mine even hear their name.

 

So today, just after tearing shreds off them and threatening to take away their wands* and to not only ban xBox for another weekend but for EVER, that’s right, UNPLUG IT and PACK IT AWAY, I stormed off only to see a piece of yellow paper on the floor of the – open – front door.

Why yes, the Census man/woman had been. They thought better than knocking.

Wise choice dear stranger, wise choice.

Tell me sage reader, what was your worst sibling rivalry moment – OR – how you handle your own offspring’s abhorrent behaviour to their siblings. 

Onward!

 

 

 

*again clearly not a gender specific issue

 

New absolute favourite

ONWARD!

As good as world peace in this house

In the last two weeks I have discovered:

1. That studies have shown using half the recommended dose of washing powder results in clothes being AS CLEAN as if a full dose had been used.

2. That our fancy pants water-saving power-saving awesome dishwashing machine does just as good a job on its 30 minute power wash as it’s 156 minute normal cycle.

3. If your bathroom constantly smells like the bottom of a urinal trough thanks to the ENTIRE male species being incapable of a) aiming and b) aiming, by actively ignoring (and thereby encouraging) your children splashing madly in the bath (and thereby basically flooding the bathroom floor) you not only save yourself from having to mop you also win bonus free time as children happily cause sibling near drowning experiences for FUN!

 

You’re welcome.

 

 

Onward!

How I know I’m getting older

  • I now panic less about losing weight and just approach it with benign resignation
  • I find myself voluntarily listening to and watching gardening programs. I’ve even been known to jot.things.down.
  • I now have a football team I follow with about as much dedication as a woman with four boys can muster. (Carn the Blues – and if you really want to know why this game is awesome watch the video on that page titled Andrew Walker’s mark. It is SPECTACULAR.)
  • There are things I will happily spend meticulous time on (removing pith off mandarins for marmalade for example) and others I no longer bother with (cleaning, ironing, dusting), guilt free.
  • I can vividly picture my life once my children have grown.
  • I have stopped most of the ‘I wish I had’s and ‘I should have’s and am now moving into the ‘what the hell, let’s give it a go’s. It’s far more enjoyable and exhilarating.
  • I know who my true friends are and can count them on two hands.
  • I worry – a lot – about my parents ageing.
  • While I still worry far too much about what others think of me I know who I am and like (most) of it.
  • Actors and singers who I loved (and lusted no doubt) over as a teenager are now old and I realise the passage of time shows on all (regardless of a surgeon’s hand). It confirms the age-old adage that all that really does matter is what’s on the inside.
  • My toes hurt. It is, apparently, the early stages of arthritis. I put this down to the accelerated aging they have mapped in mothers of children with disabilities (aging 7 times faster than the rest of their age group).
  •  I’m nowhere near as impatient or panicky about my life and where I’m at. Sometimes letting go is the best path to take. Am I where I’d thought I’d be at this age? Absolutely not. But that’s OK. We’ll get there.
  • The pelvic floor.
  • I have grey hairs. I’m embracing them, thereby acknowledging my long-standing inability to get my hair coloured in a regular and timely manner. I like them.
  • The ones that appear in my eyebrows on the other hand…
  • The hairs on the chin.
  • I have met specialists and medicos who are infants.
  • I can’t be bothered to get too worked up about politics any more. What goes around comes around.*
  • I only want to work for myself.
  • The painful ovulation.
  • The realisation that the music of the 80s really is as awesome as you thought it was in the 80s.

 

Onward!

 

*that is a complete and utter lie. Do NOT get me started.

 

New Favourite

via The Bloggess

Also, if you’re anything like me and was thinking, what is a cosplayer, it is an abbreviation for costume play, which is a performance art. Good times.

And here’s the original by Pink!

Because I love her. No really. Would turn in a nano-second.