My boys have been in rare form that last couple of days. I had really committed to curbing my yelling. Making fewer outrageous threats of bodily harm that I'd never in a million years follow through with. We'd had a few really good weeks where I really thought I was being a more patient parent. I was thinking that the boys were really doing better and improving their behavior by leaps and bounds. Apparently the boys were just lulling me into a false sense of peace and chose the last few days to stick it to me.
The fighting. Oh the fighting! I'm ashamed to send my kid to daycare when I work because he's always got at least 2 sets of his brother's teeth marks on him. It's summer - that shit shows now! No long pants and sleeves to cover it. They gouge eyes, they twist ears, they pinch. How does a 2 year old know this stuff? Are boys born with an innate talent for inflicting pain upon their siblings? They fight over toys. They fight over whose mommy I am. They. Fight. Over. Everything.
I have yelled. I have threatened. I have spanked. Every time Thing 2 pushes over the rocking horse with Thing 1 on it. Or shoves him off the big wheel. Or when Thing 1 tries to push Thing 2 off a couch or down the stairs. I have sent them to their rooms. I make them apologize and say they love each other. And the fighting continues. I've lost track of how many times I've said the words "We do not hurt our brother. We are family. We love each other." I'm tired and I'm hoarse. At some point the fighting has to stop, doesn't it? I'm thinking I should let them work it out and go do some yoga. Or take some Xanax. Or drink a bottle of wine.