Share Warfare

Graham raked in some good loot for his birthday.  And naturally, I expect him to share his new toys with his brother who, in dramatic fashion, whined over his bum luck at being born 16 days too late.  I tried to make him realize that he was actually born 349 days earlier, but his vision and thoughts were already focused on a candy apple red remote-controlled car and the plethora of ways he could break it.  Or at least scrape up the walls a little. 

That's the worst part about birthdays.  At least at Christmas time, I can hint to Santa to label certain gifts to "Cael AND Graham" so that I can avoid the share warfare that inevitably accompanies new toys to my home.  And as much as I hate the bickering, I do have to admit that the boys are getting a little more clever in their quest for toy domination.

A little more vindictive, too, but we'll ignore that for the sake of humor, okay?  Okay.

"Mommy!  Graham has the animals and I wanted them!"

"Well, they were a birthday gift for him.  Why don't you give him five minutes and then trade?"

"No, no that won't work.  He's three."

"Yeah, that's kind of the point.  It was a birthday gift for him because he turned three."

"No, see you can't play with this toy if you're three.  Four year-olds can play, but three year-olds can't.  He's just too little.  Bummer, Graham."

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Everybody knows that, Mommy."

Just as I was about to gear up for a bigger argument, Graham proved that he grew some chutzpa when he turned a year older.

"Mommy, no!  I can play because I'm a big boy.  Cael can't play because he is wearing a red shirt."

"But so are you, Graham."
  

"Oh.  Well he can't wear a red shirt and brown shoes."

Is it wrongly that I'm strangely proud of his budding interest in fashion rules?  His may not be very accurate, but I refuse to put red with pink, so I'll let it slide.

"I think we should forget about how old you are and what you're both wearing.  I'm gonna set the timer for five minutes, and when it beeps, it will be Cael's turn."

"NO!"  "Ugh, no Mommy!"

There's simply no arguing with the microwave buzzer.  It operates using science and math and all of those things I couldn't grasp in school, while Cael and Graham revolve around rules and impossible standards.  They are SO acting like middle school girls.

Good thing they don't know about Justin Bieber yet. 

When the buzzer went off, Graham begrudgingly handed over the animals.  I was relieved that they gave in and shared, because when Cael's birthday comes around in a couple of weeks, there may be another load of toys to dominate.

"Mommy, when my five minutes is up, I'm not going to give these back to Graham."

"And why not?"

"Because his name starts with a 'G'.  And you can't do anything to change that, Mommy..."