Back when this blog started, almost 4 years ago, I’ll admit I was entertaining some rose-tinted notion that, as time went by, the ratio of getting-ready-in-the-morning to full-on-conflict-resolution would improve. I probably thought that by the time they were, say, 8 years old, they might get washed and dressed most mornings – or even just some mornings – without requiring the intervention of Nelson Mandela and a United Nations peace-keeping force.
Ha!
That 2005 version of me was an idiot. Nowadays I’m far more realistic about the scale of the task we face. If you want a picture of the future, George Orwell might have told me, imagine a small foot stamping deliberately on its sister’s foot – forever.
Last week’s case in point came from Lauren, just as I was getting out of the shower.
“Daddy, Hannah said I have breasts!”
I went into their bedroom to find them both inspecting each other’s naked chests. (This was, I should point out, after some 30 minutes of “getting dressed”.) I told them to stop being silly and get ready but instead they chose to have a discussion on the differences between:
- breasts
- boobies
- nipples
- willies
I have to admit it was all rather fascinating, even if I got a bit lost in the detail: I’m pretty clear on the difference between boobies and willies, less clear on boobies v. breasts. In any case, the consensus after a few minutes of robust debate seemed to be that they both have (or sort-of have) items 1-3, but definitely not item 4.
“Don’t we, Daddy?” said Hannah. “Don’t we?”
The path of least resistance beckoned. “Yes, girls. Now get dressed.”
“Aha!” cried Hannah, turning to Lauren with a triumphant finger in the air. “You breast my case!”
