October 6th 2011 Argy-Bargy

“Charlie, please don’t argue” protests my sister Liz.

“Don’t arg ME” he says “I want to arg!”

And then they do. ALL THE TIME. Charlie and my little one, Rachel, are like the seagulls in Finding Nemo. “Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine.” They adore each other but fight like cat and dog. I don’t know where they get it from, it is not like they see my sister and I at each other’s throats. We get along quite well.

We were at a deserted park the other day, they had the whole place to themselves, and yet they kept coming to blows about this one steering wheel and gear lever on the pirate ship. They were having fun too, there was plenty of “Ahoy my hearties” and “Aye, aye Shipmate” on their ship but when one was at the helm, the other would muscle their way in, in front of the other ‘Captain’ to take control. Amid very noisy protests from the one who’d been usurped, we’d try “You have the wheel, and you have the throttle, share it please” which worked...some of the time. We split them up again and again, insisting “now if you ask nicely instead of just taking, she’ll/he’ll let you have a turn. Once a reasonable request was made (in a low voice) the one ‘driving’ would often acquiesce and game play would resume until the next time...literally a few minutes later. Then again, would come the shoving and shouting; “My turn” “No. Mine” “I want it!” “Noooooooooo!” Their two faces would be inches apart roaring their demands. The frustration and argy bargy would culminate in a slap, push or attempted bite and my sister and I would again wade in with our endlessly patient, ask nicely suggestions, distraction techniques or good old fashioned separation, to opposite ends of the park.

It is said, when two dogs are fighting over a bone – take the bone away- although this proves rather harder when the said bone is at a fixed point in the playground. It was actually quite funny watching what space invaders they are. One child would sit on a bench at a miniature picnic table and the other would run over and squeeze in beside them, leaning across the table, moving their backside to practically sit on the other ones lap until she was altogether ousted. Finding herself pushed out of her position, she would take his hat off his head and run away with it. Cue; more tears and rage and off we’d go again. More argg-ing.

Sometimes Liz and I would just watch them fight it out, a lot of the time we’d have to intervene. There has been several bitten fingers, slapped faces, scratches, falls from an aggressive push and the imprint of a full set of teeth in recent months, and yet they think the world of each other, and many tears ensue when we have to leave because they can’t bear to be parted.