The art of sharing May 30, 2010

It was only a matter of time before it started. The fighting that is. Given we have two children of the same sex and age, it was always inevitable that at some point they would start to fight over clothes, food, toys… in fact anything that one of them had, that the other one wanted.

Up until now there’s been a bit of bickering over the odd rice cake as twin 1 can devour one in less than 10 seconds whilst her sister prefers to savour her snacks. This shouldn’t be an issue, but ever since they’ve become mobile, if the rice cake isn’t safely stashed between twin 2′s jaws, then twin 1 simply swoops in and pinches it. There’s usually sobbing involved but at least it’s easily rectified with a replacement.

This week we’ve established that there is one item that both covet and that there is no practical way of sharing between them. When they tussle over a book, we simply offer another one and eventually, one of them takes the bait. The same goes for toys, and even food. But this week, we’ve reached an impasse.

We only have one toddle truck. A little four-wheeled truck full of wooden bricks that can be pushed around the house with the aim of encouraging walking. It gives them that little bit of stability and confidence to stay upright and of course it delivers that most satisfying of feelings… speed!

Every room on the ground floor of our house has marble floor tiles (quite possibly faux-marble… this is Dubai after all, appearance is everything). And wooden wheels on marble tiles glide gloriously, and silently. In fact the only sound that we hear is the thud of the truck connecting with the walls.

Twin 2 is a relatively careful driver. She slows down as she approaches an obstacle and tries to navigate her way around it. Not always successfully of course but at least the thought is there. Twin 1′s style is a lot less graceful. Walls are approached at speed and after the impact, she simply spins the wheels around and heads off in another direction, oblivious to the shreds of paint and plaster that have fluttered to the floor. She’ll make a great rally driver.

The problem is that only one of them can toddle with the truck at once. And it is this fact that has caused some of the most alarming sounds I’ve ever heard. To hear my daughters mid-struggle, you’d think they were being subjected to some form of torture. The howling, the screaming, the sobbing. There are real tears and head shaking. During one particularly fierce battle, twin 1 lay down in twin 2′s path but even that wasn’t enough to deter her. She simply tried to drive over her sibling. It didn’t go well.

Fortunately, Daddy came to the rescue. My son owns a brilliant construction set. A fabulous kit of wheels, nuts, bolts and various plastic shapes that can be used to create anything from spaceships to castles. Or, as we found out a couple of days ago, a toddle truck.

So now we have two mini ram-raiders in action and my poor son is wondering if he’ll ever get his building set back. It’s tough being the eldest.

The Sort Out May 29, 2010

In three weeks time it will be my son’s 6th birthday party. The venue has been booked, the invitations distributed and the excitement is building.

In preparation for this momentous social occasion, I suggested we have a clear out. Having invited his entire class it is fair to say that the haul of gifts will be fairly substantial. So, in order that he actually appreciates what he owns, we have started sorting through his current toys with a view to sending some of them to the charity shop.

My son takes this all in good spirits as it’s not the first time that we’ve had a purge and besides, he’s fully grasped the concept of ‘out with the old, in with the new’.

While I was having a shower this morning I armed him with a huge IKEA carrier and instructed him to fill it with anything he no longer plays with. When I joined him, he’d managed to place all his toys in a giant heap on the floor and was delighted with the spoils of his actions. “Look Mummy, I LOVE this”, he shrieked as he laid his hands on a Spiderman quad bike that hasn’t been seen in months.

We also managed to find Mr Potato Head’s ears, Lightning McQueen’s remote control and the wings to a Singapore Airlines A380 model.

The “I’m too old for these babyish toys” pile included anything to do with Bob the Builder or Fireman Sam which have been dismissed as “boring” – the ultimate put down from an almost 6-year-old boy. The girls have benefited from a few new toys too which I think is just my son’s way of making sure certain things don’t leave the building. By passing them to his sisters, it not only looks as if he is performing a selfless donation but he can sneakily pinch them back when he thinks I’m not looking.

Having filled the first carrier and agreed that we’ll have another go tomorrow, I thought the whole process had gone remarkably smoothly. We had no tears and tantrums, no prolonged debate over what stays and what goes, in fact the whole experience was pain-free.

As I sat at my laptop reflecting what a good boy he can be, my son came racing into the study armed with a Lego box. “Oh great” he says, “while you’re on the computer, shall we look at which of the new sets I can have for my birthday?”.

Stop.. or the teddy gets it! May 16, 2010

I’m becoming slightly concerned that my daughters are showing violent tendencies. Not to each other, thank goodness. At least, not yet. However, they do seem to be increasingly vicious with their toys.

I always thought that baby girls were delicate little creatures that sat around, stroking their dolly’s hair and hugging teddies. Seemingly not. They seem very keen on throwing things. Particularly twin 1. Once she’s had enough of something be it a toy, a book, or her lunch – it’s jettisoned across the room with some substantial force. Twin 2 is not quite so quick to hurl her belongings, but she’s definitely not adverse to the idea.

Where food and drink are concerned, it can become very messy. Beakers are slung over the side of the high chair, creating a wave of spray as they drop. One of us inevitably ends up looking as though we’ve been in a light shower.

Food seems to gravitate towards the walls which of course, are helpfully painted white. There are a number of stains ranging from bolognaise to crumble via yoghurt and porridge. Farrow and Ball, it ain’t!

When toys and books bear the brunt of their little fits of pique, it is both noisy and damaging. There are a few too many books with crushed spines for my liking, and Happyland is starting to look distinctly second-hand. Paint is chipped, corners are dented and most doors have been removed from their hinges.

Perhaps the most disturbing of all, is the scene which greets us every night as we creep into the nursery to kiss the girls before we head to bed. Each of them has a Miffy, given by Father Christmas; a teddy very kindly given by their older brother when they were born, and a rag doll. All three live in their cots with them and at various points during the day they are licked, sucked, chewed, and occasionally cuddled.

However, by the time we turn in, these adorable little toys have been chucked into a heap on the floor in between the two cots. Entering the room it looks like some mass suicide pact has occurred among the plush toy community.

I do hope it’s just a phase.