Mary Poppins, not so much akshully

I have certain expectations of general behavior that I expect of my children. I don’t think I’m so much a general as Mr. Banks would want, neither do I always have a cheery disposition. Sibling rivalry is as old humanity, and I know parents who, when their children are having issues, will sit everyone down, together or individually, and discuss and work things out (never, of course, being cross or cruel). Now, if my children come to me with their issues I’m more than happy to help them out with stuff, and if I’m around they both know that I’d better never hear the word STOP more than once. But — if things escalate to a certain level, there are two things that my children know beyond the shadow of a doubt …

  1. If you’re going to kill each other take it outside — don’t be killing each other in my house.
  2. I don’t care who started it.

Oh well — either I’m raising them right, or I’m giving them something to talk about in future therapy sessions.  Probably a bit of both.

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