Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The Screaming

My boys sometimes play adorably well together. Their happy sounds drift down the stairs from the playroom or through the window from the backyard and my heart is content.

But usually there is squabbling and shoving and choruses of, "That's mine!" or "I had that first!" or "Give it back!" And then there's the shrieking.

They both do it.

And mama's had it.

Had. It. Said in a southern accent for dramatic effect.

One of them yells. I don't know if the yeller is yelling because he's being mutilated by the other or if the yeller is yelling because it makes him seem more fierce as he yanks a toy out of the other brother's hand. It's hard to know who the offending party is when one of them screams, is what I'm trying to say.

In this regard, Mary had it made. Don't get me wrong, this is probably the only time Mary had it easy. I mean, trying to explain a virgin pregnancy doesn't sound like a picnic in the park. Watching her son and Savior being brutally killed because of her sin--and mine--had to be the worst thing any mother has ever endured. But parenting. Well.

"Mom! Jesus hit me!"

No, he didn't.

"Jesus is lying!"

No, he's not.

"Mama, Jesus stole my toy."

James, he did not. Go sit in the corner.

"Why do you always think Jesus is so perfect?"


Sigh. It might have been difficult to be one of Jesus's siblings. But his mother, well, she always knew it wasn't Him.

I can identify the screamer but beyond that I'm at a loss. Garrett points his finger at Matthew. Matthew points his finger at Garrett. They both go to their room. Because the shrieking thing is making me insane.

Today I told them that the next time they started yelling, they were getting separated. Sure enough, several minutes later, they were both howling at each other. I told Garrett he was no longer allowed to play with his brother and to go in the backyard. "I don't want to! It's hot out*!" I gave him my most hideous glare--the one that I've fine tuned to specifically say, I mean serious business--and he started to cry. But he went outside. Matthew toddled down the stairs a moment later.

"I go owside. I go owside wih Gehwit." He went for the door.

"No," I replied. He looked at me, bewildered. "You aren't allowed to play with your brother until you can stop screaming." He burst into tears.

Garrett was in the backyard wanting to get in. Matthew stood inside wanting to get out. But they weren't yelling. And that was blessed bliss.

*I think it was about 75 degrees. I wasn't torturing him. I promise.


  1. This is too funny. Only because I can SO relate.

    Tonight I sat rocking Talia and feeding her a bottle in the dark feeling all maternal and content while Weston was in the shower and Davin was eating his treat in the kitchen. Literally 2 seconds after I heard the shower turn off the shrieking and whining began. No one was crying, so I think it was playful, but still. It kind of ruined my moment. :) Such is motherhood I suppose.

  2. I can't remember when I started this, but did not like the arguing, so if I heard unkind play they would both have to silently sit at the table. They hated it so much they learned real quick to play nice or they knew it would be right back to the table. Of course this came with teaching of how to play nice. :)