“Hey! That’s mine!!”
This seems to be the most common phrase that comes out of my children’s mouths, especially right after one of them has a birthday. Kaylee’s party was on Saturday and we spent the weekend opening her gifts. That meant we also spent the weekend breaking up fights over who got to play with what. As soon as Kaylee would pick up one of her new toys, the boys would be all over her.
Brendan would start by wheedling her. “Can I have that Kaylee? Kaylee, can I have it? Let me play with it Kaylee. Don’t you want this toy over here? We should take turns. Are you sure I can’t have it. This toy over here is much cooler Kaylee. C’mon, let me have it.” To which she would always scream the same response, “No, it’s mine!!”
Cameron would be much more direct. As soon as her attention was distracted in any way, and her grasp of the toy slackened even the slightest, he would swoop in and pluck it right from her hands. To which she would always scream the same response, “No, it’s mine!!” and instantly begin to struggle with him for the toy. She almost always wins the struggle and regains possession of the toy which makes Cameron start in, “Daddy (because he’s learned mommy will have no sympathy for his plight), Kaylee took that toy from me. I had it first.” Somehow he always seems to forget that we were sitting there through the entire encounter and know that he didn’t have it first.
What I’m failing to understand, especially in this case, is why the boys feel the need to have whatever toy Kaylee is playing with. I get that they’re new, and the novelty hasn’t worn off on them yet. But there are a dozen new toys, and only three of them. One would think that there would be enough new toys to go around right? Tell that to them. But beyond that, these are GIRLS toys, you know dolly’s and frilly’s, and pretty’s. Why in the world are my boys even interested in them? I’ve asked that very question to Brendan, and I always get an “I don’t know” in response.
Worst of all, we have an entire basement filled with toys. Toys that the boys got for their last birthdays, toys they got for last Christmas. Yes, the novelty has worn off of those but you’d think I were asking them to scrub every inch of the house with a toothbrush when I tell them they need to go downstairs and play.
“It’s booooooooooooooooring. There’s nothing to doooooooooooooooooooo.”
“Really? You have a million toys.”
“But I don’t know what to plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.”
“I don’t want to. That’s boring.”
“Then play with your cars”
“I caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan’t. I don’t know where they aaaaaaaaaaaaaare.”
“They’re in the bucket with the picture of a car on it. The same one they’ve been in for 5 years.”
“Fine! But I never get to do what I want to do. I always have to do what you want me to do.”
The next sound you hear is whichever child stomping down the steps to the basement. A sound only magnified as I begin banging my head into the nearest wall. And god forbid you ask them to go down there and play together. I truly believe they would rather be forced to eat lima beans, and nothing but lima beans for a solid month than go downstairs and play together.