I think the eldest one has picked up on a little of the stress I’ve been under lately.
Admittedly, never one to particularly like it when I point out his wrongdoings, especially when he is well aware that what he did was, well, fucking stupid, he does have an incredible knack of stopping the conversation before it gets out of hand and yelling begins.
Other times he’s just pissed me off far to much for me to be able to accept his suggestions for calm.
Like the time he encouraged me to Chillax. That backfiring, he know resorts to “calm your tits” which, as one can imagine, does approximately fuck all to quell my increasing rage.
Still, he does have a relatively relaxed nature about him, and although he often fails to say the right thing, it doesn’t stop him from trying to come up with ways in which he can deter me from addressing his dubious and often annoying behaviour.
Having already done the “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to my brother, I don’t understand why it upsets you?” and it failing for him – possibly because he is beating his brother over the head with a packet of biscuits and calling him an idiot and, essentially, disrupting my peace – he’s onto something new.
“What’s that noise?!” I yell from the sanctity of my downstairs space, listening to some extraordinarily loud bangs and thumps and the maniacal laughter that only has you fearing for the safety of your entire living area.
“Nothing!” comes the reply.
Which we all know is complete and utter bullshit.
“Stop whatever is you are doing, RIGHT NOW!” I say, for I know this will end in someone getting hurt.
Likely one of them.
Possibly because they have pissed me off to a point of no return. Or as a result of whatever ‘nothing’ it is they are up to. Whichever comes first, or maybe just both.
“It’s okay!” yells Monkey Boy. “No one is hurt yet, so it’s all okay!”
Which, as one can imagine, fills me with great ease. I drag myself away from my work to face whatever it is I don’t want to face … which is the larger, heavier of the couch cushions being thrown at the middlest child by the eldest child, whom is getting increasingly pissed off because middlest child keeps jumping out of the way.
I put a stop to it before anything is defenestrated; and it’s looking much more likely to be a child than a cushion.
“Can I have a biscuit?” asks Monkey Boy.
“You can take some for lunch, but not now,” is my terribly sensible reply.
“Ohh, look, it’s twelve-O’clock” says Monkey Boy, reaching in, taking one of my favourite biscuits and shoving it in his gob before I can do much about it.
“I love you, Mum,” he says, after first swallowing his illegally pilfered snack.
“Must you be naughty?” I enquire.
Yes, yes, I realise that is an extremely dumb question.
“But I said ‘I love you’, so that makes it okay,” he explains.
And off he goes, to school, before I can coordinate my thoughts.