After the usual Thursday – ie if anything can go wrong it will go wrong.
Or, more specifically, if the kids can find nothing to whinge about they will find something to whinge about.
And the car stalled going around the corner again (but I didn’t say ‘fuck’ this time, coz I just get into trouble for that, even if it was justified).
Muddled through the day, eventually got both of them home after two lots of swimming lessons and full school day, where they went straight to the toy room to play.
For all of 23 seconds where Godzilla did something dispicable to Monkey Boy, like accidentally touched his spare, unused Lego piece with his little toe, and Monkey Boy lost it, yelled at him, and took all the Lego away and did a “they’re mine and you’re not playing with them thing”, to which, Mr Oversensitive burst into tears and did his very good impression of a spoilt 16 year old girl, running to his room and slamming the door.
I had words to Monkey Boy, then to Godzilla, mostly pertaining to desisting from being so obnoxious and to find something worthwhile to complain about, told Monkey Boy to go sit in his room until he could a) stop being so horrible to his brother and b) stop being so rude to me. And until he could learn to control this sort of behaviour he could stay there.
Advised Godzilla to go and play, on the proviso that he not destroy the towers (city?) Monkey Boy had constructed.
After some time, I realise that Godzilla was incredibly quiet in the toy room. Far too quiet for my liking.
I peer in. He’s not there. Within seconds, I understood why. A shrill, Banshe-like shreik emitted from the bedroom, followed immediately by some kind of control-freaking demanding.
Why did he go into the bedroom?
Worse, why did he go in there, knowing that his brother was in a foul and feral mood and that his mere presence would only send Monkey Boy into a rage (at least until he’d eaten dinner).
Even worse still, I was to discover that not only had he entered the lion’s den, he’d gone and annoyed the lion himself!
How bloody stupid are kids? Why would you do that? I don’t understand.
Is it something to do with the Stockholm Syndrome, where the victim sympathises with their captor.
Is it because, according to psychology, victims like to stay close to their abusers?
Is it a weird sort of caloboration, because, despite how horrible his brother was to him, I’m still the big ugly ogre enemy?
Or are they really just idiots?