Miss6 is a more capable parent than I am
She's
all about putting her best foot forward in the lead up to her 7th
birthday this week. She's been super helpful around the house,
particularly with keeping the twins occupied in a manner that doesn't
involve cage fighting on the trampoline.
She
actually managed to get them to say sorry to each other and hug. AND
HUG. And it even sounded like they meant it (well, Mstr3 did).
They only say sorry and hug when I threaten to ban The Wiggles, and it usually ends in Miss3 getting Mstr3 in a headlock.
It may have something to do with Miss6's calm and soothing voice as opposed to my hysterical screaming banshee self. I suspect she learnt that from her school teacher, because it certainly wasn't me.
They like each other, but only when I'm not looking
I've often bemoaned the alleged twin bond that others bang on about.
I've seriously wondered if my kids even remotely like each other, let alone share even a teeny tiny sibling bond of any sort.
I've
spent much of the first week of the school holidays doing the 'crouching tiger hidden dragon' thing, crouched down in my
kitchen, stealthly watching them play outside through the window while
spilling coffee on my collection of white T shirts.
If they see me, they pummel each other.
If they hear me, they argue.
If they sense me approaching, they scatter to the far corners of our tiny patio and yell abuse at each other:
Miss3 to Miss6: "You're a jellyfish! Ha ha!"
Miss6 to Miss3: "STOP IT! You're a mingo! So there!"
Mstr3 to his sisters: "Bitches be loco girls!"
What happens in the Toy Room, stays in the Toy Room
Buggered if I can get any of them to agree on who hit who, who took what toy, what they're chewing on in the foodless Toy Room.
Not even when I attempt to 'divide and conquer' and split them up to interrogate them individually.
Normally they're all about the dobbing, and I get three separate stories that don't correlate in any way shape or form.
Clearly the Toy Room is like Vegas. Kiddy Vegas.
And finally, the biggest and crappiest part of the first week of school holidays...
No more nap time
The twins have decided they no longer need an afternoon siesta. It's now maximum feralocity, all the time.
But
only until their father gets home from work. Then they turn into happy
and delightful children, content to amuse themselves in non-destructive
ways that have zero potential to physically harm themselves or each
other.
And so I look like the over-reacting, exaggerating, whiney mother who can't handle her kids.
Which is all true, but that's beside the point.
The little mini-bastards are screwing with me.
Right
when I think I've had enough and I'm ready to sell my
non-essential organs on Ebay to fund boarding schools for each of them,
they all jump in bed with me. Big, squeezy, sleepy, night time cuddles.
I thaw/melt all over again....dropping my guard in time for the next
day's punishment.
They are calculating little mini-bastards.
