If you have more than one child – and both of those children are of a speaking age – you will likely understand my life.
Delaney is 5. Cooper is 3.
Apparently, their recent birthdays were the trigger for constant squabble.
He says, “I see an airplane.”
She says, “That’s not an airplane.”
“Yes it is.” “No its not”
And so on.
She sings, “The sun’ll come OUUUUUUT…..”, He sings louder.
She says, “Sttooooooppp it!!” And he turns the volume up even more.
They argue over who has seen the most imaginary tractors out their car windows, who is standing too close to whom, who gets to close the car door, the refrigerator door and the door to the house.
They battle about flushing the toilet, sitting on my lap, eating their cereal and who is ‘the tallest’.
They yank toys from each other’s hands, yell, ‘that’s mine!”, ignore requests for peace and tackle instead and have even resorted to a little pushing and shoving.
And right when I think my head might explode, I hear, “Come here, Buddy, do you want me to read to you?” or “Damey, can I sleep in your bed tonight? I love you.”
And I remember I must be doing something (small) right.