The boys.
(This photo is not random. It is carefully planned foreshadowing. You just wait and see.)
Oh, the boys.
Their age difference of a little more than 2 years between each is a blessing…
and a curse.
It seemed like such a good thing at the time.
They will be friends!
We will get it all over at once!
Snips, snails and puppy dog tails!
The reality is my living room has turned into a boxing ring, but they aren’t wearing proper protection or following league rules.
And they can fight.
It starts out with a comment or a push.
It escalates into name calling and grabbing.
And then chaos ensues as three boys separate into two teams and fight for their honor.
Honor or something stupid that no one will even remember in 4.2 seconds.
In decorating, the use of odd numbers is magical. In parenting, the use of odd numbers is maniacal.
It appears nature requires every battle to be fought by two teams. Three doesn’t evenly divide into two which is why there is always an odd man out.
Lately it has been Ryan(10) and Reid(7) against Rhett(5).
Ya, it doesn’t seem fair on paper but that just means you are underestimating Rhett.
Sure, Ryan and Reid are bigger, heavier and have more education, but Rhett has a secret weapon.
He only uses this weapon when he has been unfairly backed into a corner or dog-piled for no reason. He saves it for when he needs it the most.
This weapon is so effective that 100% of the time, it sends his brothers running and screaming for their mommy.
What is it?
Two words.
Advanced name calling.
Getting their goat.
All Rhett has to say is…
Hey Poppy!
I don’t get it either, but have learned when my two eldest are tattling that Rhett called them Poppy, I know with 100% certainty that they deserved it.
Welcome to my childhood. I have 2 older brothers, and I have no idea how my mother survived our childhood. The boys are 19 months apart, and then I’m 17 months younger than one of them. And every day there were brawls. EVERY. DAY. I’m talking knock down, bloody nose, busted lips, bruises, somebody needs stitches. Specifically, I needed stitches. Especially that one time I got drop kicked off the bed and landed on the ironing board. That was fun. (not.)
Makes me wish I had a codeword like that…but then again, all I had to do was go crying (usually by forcing myself to cry…) to mom. And mom ALWAYS took my side, which was totally awesome.
Mine were all 4 years apart and they fought like cats and dogs. Now they are grow and as close as siblings can be. LOL at Rhett. I wonder what it poppy means.