Sibling Rivalry
As a mother of a pending teenager and a rather large and stubborn 9 year old, I have had to find ways and means of establishing some sort of decorum and composure before I leave my place of abode. The sibling rivalry thing had suddenly become “Not funny” as it was now a constant and tiring episode in my life. So, at times if you had the pleasure of being a fly on the wall or in the vicinity of my household you would’ve been party to myself, a woman of usually such sweet and gentle nature, behaving rather badly. To say that I sounded like a deranged skunk who’d had his sex organs removed most viciously, would be an understatement. Had Social Services been contacted at that present moment in time, then surely I would be on News at 10, with my NHS Number stamped on my forehead and a pair of handcuffs as bracelets.
This constant bickering and fighting had got to a point where I seriously wished my children were still just a broody thought and that in the throes of passion on both occasions, I’d had the common sense to claim the clichéd “headache darlink”. Since my first son turned 11, July 2002 I began to notice the great divide, forcing its stressful self between my two boys. The eldest, a boy of usually very pleasant ways and very easy going had now developed a phobia against his brother. The irritating little brother-I hate-his guts syndrome had kicked in and little brother was now going to do as much as possible to push his elder brother’s “punch me now” buttons. Had I suffered from blood pressure, I am sure I would be on a Ward down some dark corridor snorting peanuts and raging on about things like “Power to the peanuts” whilst hanging from a door frame, by my toes.
It seemed that at every possible opportunity “Bicker and Punch” would find it convenient to have a brawl, Punch being the name given to the youngest one whose temper and fist often went before rationale and reason. From, the shouting and rage that often flew between both boys, one would think they were arch enemies and many times, after physically separating them, I’d have to find a quiet spot to either do a good twenty minute workout or I’d be found a my local grocers, agitated with a handful of chocolates bars in tow. Had I taken to drink well, the rest would certainly be history.
Therefore some distance had to be put between both boys, especially on a weekend. I am glad that my eldest son was mature and sensible enough to be trusted to go out with minimum supervision. So on most weekends, he would find himself loitering in pet shops or spending time in the woods with his best friend, researching animals whilst I would be left alone to entertain the little one. Whereas once upon a time, when they were younger and sweet, innocent to the world of “rampaging hormones” they would hug and kiss each other and make up and offer each other their last sweetie things had progressed to “ hate you, can’t stand you, wish you weren’t my brother, wish you were dead.”
It’s funny, but I have had to implement severe strategies in order to cope with this trauma, most of these aimed at the younger one. I’ve often heard it said “it’s the younger child syndrome, where he feels he can push his boundaries time and time again.” To tell him to “stop tormenting his older brother” is not enough to dissuade him so it serves as little comfort to me that it is a second child syndrome, as I battle with him to do as he is told, whilst trying not to commit an act that would put me away forever in a dark cell, whilst the authorities threw away the key.
I have resorted to burning lavender oil and walking around with my little wooden stick, called “Discipline” in the hope that this may invoke some sort of fear into their lives and deter the fighting and encourage negotiation. It is also my hope that my nerves would settle, and we’d be able to sit down together to watch Tom and Jerry as they beat the brains out of each other.
Violence, it seems my lovelies, is even in the most innocent of places.
Excerpt Taken from: Laugh at Life with Me: Teenagers, By Esther Austin
ISBN No: ISBN: 9781425943875, Available End February 2007
As a mother of a pending teenager and a rather large and stubborn 9 year old, I have had to find ways and means of establishing some sort of decorum and composure before I leave my place of abode. The sibling rivalry thing had suddenly become “Not funny” as it was now a constant and tiring episode in my life. So, at times if you had the pleasure of being a fly on the wall or in the vicinity of my household you would’ve been party to myself, a woman of usually such sweet and gentle nature, behaving rather badly. To say that I sounded like a deranged skunk who’d had his sex organs removed most viciously, would be an understatement. Had Social Services been contacted at that present moment in time, then surely I would be on News at 10, with my NHS Number stamped on my forehead and a pair of handcuffs as bracelets.
This constant bickering and fighting had got to a point where I seriously wished my children were still just a broody thought and that in the throes of passion on both occasions, I’d had the common sense to claim the clichéd “headache darlink”. Since my first son turned 11, July 2002 I began to notice the great divide, forcing its stressful self between my two boys. The eldest, a boy of usually very pleasant ways and very easy going had now developed a phobia against his brother. The irritating little brother-I hate-his guts syndrome had kicked in and little brother was now going to do as much as possible to push his elder brother’s “punch me now” buttons. Had I suffered from blood pressure, I am sure I would be on a Ward down some dark corridor snorting peanuts and raging on about things like “Power to the peanuts” whilst hanging from a door frame, by my toes.
It seemed that at every possible opportunity “Bicker and Punch” would find it convenient to have a brawl, Punch being the name given to the youngest one whose temper and fist often went before rationale and reason. From, the shouting and rage that often flew between both boys, one would think they were arch enemies and many times, after physically separating them, I’d have to find a quiet spot to either do a good twenty minute workout or I’d be found a my local grocers, agitated with a handful of chocolates bars in tow. Had I taken to drink well, the rest would certainly be history.
Therefore some distance had to be put between both boys, especially on a weekend. I am glad that my eldest son was mature and sensible enough to be trusted to go out with minimum supervision. So on most weekends, he would find himself loitering in pet shops or spending time in the woods with his best friend, researching animals whilst I would be left alone to entertain the little one. Whereas once upon a time, when they were younger and sweet, innocent to the world of “rampaging hormones” they would hug and kiss each other and make up and offer each other their last sweetie things had progressed to “ hate you, can’t stand you, wish you weren’t my brother, wish you were dead.”
It’s funny, but I have had to implement severe strategies in order to cope with this trauma, most of these aimed at the younger one. I’ve often heard it said “it’s the younger child syndrome, where he feels he can push his boundaries time and time again.” To tell him to “stop tormenting his older brother” is not enough to dissuade him so it serves as little comfort to me that it is a second child syndrome, as I battle with him to do as he is told, whilst trying not to commit an act that would put me away forever in a dark cell, whilst the authorities threw away the key.
I have resorted to burning lavender oil and walking around with my little wooden stick, called “Discipline” in the hope that this may invoke some sort of fear into their lives and deter the fighting and encourage negotiation. It is also my hope that my nerves would settle, and we’d be able to sit down together to watch Tom and Jerry as they beat the brains out of each other.
Violence, it seems my lovelies, is even in the most innocent of places.
Excerpt Taken from: Laugh at Life with Me: Teenagers, By Esther Austin
ISBN No: ISBN: 9781425943875, Available End February 2007
