Curve Ball

 

Sometimes my kids fight. Only sometimes, of course. The local Smart and Final has a sign in the front boasting how many days the employees have been in an accident free environment. I’ve considered putting an “Argument Free” sign in the kitchen. We’d make it to at least 10 hours—if nighttime when they’re sleeping counts. And if you call my house you’ll never get your ears blown out by the screaming in the background—we have a mute button. The Mister has on occasion commented that he can hear their yells all the way out to the street—a great welcome home after a long day at work—I tell you the man deserves the badge of courage for knowingly choosing to continue to walk up the path and into the house.

I like to call them curve balls. . .that arsenal that every mother has for dealing with her children’s arguments: 1) Distraction: heading it off at the beginning with a good surprise to get their mind on something else; 2) Blanket Conviction: coming down swift and sharp no matter who is to blame; 3) Mommy Judge: listening to both sides and taking a stab at who is at fault and for how much, but of course they all think your justice is wrong and everyone usually ends up mad; 4) Perfect Momma: a soft word that silences all, (you’ve got me on this one, whenever I try it even the baby looks at me like, “Are you for real? Even I can do better.”; or 5) my personal favorite. . . Mommy-Vegetable-Mode. I think this Mode has existed for centuries, kind of a self-preservation tactic for the mom brain.

If you have two or more children, or just a strong willed toddler, chances are, you’ve been in Mommy-Vegetable-Mode. MVM occurs when all the screaming and yelling seems to dull and fade into a constant buzz in the back of one’s mind. It is still present of course, but Mom is able to set it aside and move forward, such as a complete in-depth conversation on the Pythagorean theorem, the Trachtenberg Speed System, linear v. angular magnification, or whether or not Bella really should have chosen Jacob over Edward—ahh, the power and resiliency of the mother.

But, of course, chances are she will not be in the mood to have any of these conversations. That is because while the first part of Mommy-Vegetable-Mode is to shut out the offending noise, the second part is to soothe the mommy brain—hence the simple clear message flashes through the brain: Find chocolate now.

Do not fear. Mommy is not oblivious to her children during MVM. There is one sure way to bring the children’s yelling to the forefront again—if it is suddenly punctuated by an authentic cry of pain. There is nothing that will get a mother to her feet faster than a bona fide pain cry. And every mother knows exactly how this cry sounds for each of her children. She can pick it out of a crowd of screaming children. She can hear it a mile away. She can tell you if it’s hug-and-kiss bad, or if it’s emergency-room-bad.

But I digress. The point is, I happily happened upon another tool for my “stop-quarreling-you-dear-sweet-children-before-mommy-really-loses-it” arsenal. The setting was lunch. The issue: who had more fishy crackers. As Mr. Solo and Little Big Man were warming up to a good brawl and the threat of flying fish was becoming too real, the question popped into my mind.

“So, what are you guys going to be for Halloween?”

Simple? Yes. But woweee, was that a good one! You would have thought Halloween was in ten days, not ten months. All three beasties launched into a conversation for the next half hour of what they would be and where we could possibly find such a costume.

Another favorite in my distraction arsenal: “There’s a spider!”

 

This one does need to be used with caution as it can create an instant stampede as all three come running to see the creature. And if you want the creature to have any chance of making it out of the house with all eight legs, I suggest not using this one at all. What is it with boys and dissecting God’s creations?

Of course this trick is dependent on there in fact being such a creature in the house. If not, I have been known to resort to finding a piece of lint or fuzz that can be mistaken for such. And if I really want to impress them, I swoop in before they get a chance to get a good look and scoop it up with my bare hands. This is always good for a few gasps—until they demand on seeing it up close and realize their dear mummy’s trickery.

What do you use to distract your babies?

What is a black eye, (or two), amongst brothers?

Mr. Skywalker and Little Big Man have a very good and very typical brother relationship. They are two years apart, Mr. Skywalker the elder, but because of similar sizes I’m often asked if they’re twins. Mr. Skywalker has straight dirty blond hair that would befit a surfer and Little Big Man has a thick brown bush that sticks up in the most hilarious directions every morning–if I ever need a good chuckle I just try to catch a glimpse of his hair before the Mister flattens down.

Little Big Man is very stubborn and independent. And, because he’s only four—and a four-year-old and independence don’t always come up with the safest/soundest ideas—he frequently gets frustrated. Such was the case when he got a nice shiner the other day. He and Mr. Skywalker and Miss Firecracker were happily playing a game of Uno, one of Miss Firecracker’s Christmas presents. Apparently he felt Miss Firecracker was changing the rules at whim—of course an oldest child would never do such a thing—and he decided to take action. Unfortunately, his idea of taking action is anything learned from those wonderfully child friendly role models known as Power Rangers.

Rather than waste time with negotiations and general queries, he made his best effort to karate chop Miss Firecracker. He may have made it out of the room and gotten away with it all, but for one vital mistake . . . he forgot that Mr. Skywalker has watched the same show.

Seeing Miss Firecracker in tears, Mr. Skywalker assumed his role as elder brother and tossed Little Big Man, to the ground. Thus came the collision with the face and the Playmobil pirate ship. The result was a very impressive black eye.

Where, might you ask, was their mother during all this?! Ten feet away in the kitchen making breakfast. And if you think it’s possible to cross ten feet in the time it takes for two boys, ½ a karate chop and one good shove to all occur in the next room, think again.

This is the second black eye Mr. Skywalker has dealt to Little Big Man. I cannot remember the cause behind the first – - my mother-memory has mercifully erased the details from my mind. Nevertheless, it is moments like this when I ask the Mister if he ever did such things to his younger brothers as a child. He always shakes his head in disbelief, his voice adamant, “Never.” He is the perfect husband, yet still, I can’t help but question his memory.