It's quiet here, very very quiet, disarmingly quiet. The children are on temporary release to the Grandparents this weekend, and I feel a little odd because it's over an hour since I shouted STOP IT. My little darlings are professional squabblers, and recently they've become pretty physical. Kate's room resembled a crime scene last weeked after Jack kicked her in the nose. I like to think that the fighting is some form of primeval reflex which will prepare them for life in the big bad world. I'm sure that if David Attenborough were hiding in the undergrowth in our garden, observing the little darlings, and whispering to camera he would point out that the verbal and physical sparring is quickening their reflexes, toning up their little bodies and preparing them for life in the wild. Just as the lion cub is more likely to survive the hostile world if he play fights his sibling, the twins will be better prepared for an annoying husband if they learn to moot with their irritating brother.
I try to stay out of it as much as is possible, providing there's no blood on the carpet. I've pointed out many a time that I am not the United Nations, and if they want an independent adjudication on who started it they should approach Ban ki-Moon. Is this lazy parenting, or am I encouraging them to develop their own system of conflict resolution?
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