Forgive me, those of you I’m about to offend. But I’m going to take a moment and be grateful that I don’t have two boys. As it is, with my comparatively mellow boy/girl pairing, it’s a miracle we’ve made it this far without major injury. [knock on wood, turn around three times and spit]
My kids have gotten increasingly physical in their play in the last couple of months. Grabbing and pushing in the name of toy-stealing aside, even their made-up games have started to involve a lot more wrestling and tackling than I might have guessed.
Just the other day, we were at a local indoor playspace. The “game” they came up with was that Rebecca would go first down the (rather fast) slide, and dramatically tumble and roll when she hit the bottom. Usually with an incredibly fake “ouch!”
She’d then giggle uncontrollably, lying on the floor, calling “help, Daniel, help!” And so he flies down the slide and rolls right on top of her.
If you’ve been picking up on her personality over the last two years, I somehow think the last thing you’re going to do right now is feel sorry for her and berate her “bigger” brother for picking on her. HA! You know she’s the aggressor 95 times out of 100. Daniel might be slightly more likely to get carried away as the game snowballs on itself, but not by much. She’s definitely the one who is more likely to put him in a choke hold and wrestle him to the ground.
Oh, there is a broken something coming. I can feel it. In the meantime, I’m going to take deep breaths and focus on the calmer moments, like a shared snack in between games of full-tackle Ring Around the Rosie. Ohm…