Philosophy of War

That's a misleading title. As you may know, the last week and a half-ish have included many things, none of which are school. There is nothing I like better than spending quality time with my girls. Which is how I always anticipate these "breaks". What they are, in reality, is Mommy Exams. I learned something interesting between tests of patience and endurance. Let me tell you a quick story. Maybe you'll think I'm crazy, entirely plausible after as many days in the house with three other females (and a manic-depressive dog) as I've had, but I think I understand the psychology behind the war.

Ya-Ya is my oldest, and she's a big, honkin' healthy specimen of a girl. She's slender but powerful and tall and healthy and full of vim and vigor. Phee-Phee is my middle, and she's exactly the opposite. She's teensy and petite and delicate. But, like a little snake, her fire burns very very hot. (The baby is, oddly enough, a precise balance of the two.) Anyway. Ya-Ya lives right next door to Phee-Phee. One day, out of boredom or whatever, Ya-Ya decided to go into Phee-Phee's room and raise a little hell. She demanded that Phee-Phee give her either stuff or a dollar. Phee-Phee, sitting on her bed combing her new doll's hair, doing the things that she normally does all day, refused. Naturally, Ya-Ya felt put out that her little puny sister should refuse her, and she demanded again, your money or your stuff. So, Phee-Phee sprang off the bed and attacked her, feeling the need to protect her property and her money. Then Ya-Ya physically removed Phee-Phee from her own room and locked the door, essentially occupying a bedroom which was not her own. Meanwhile, the baby sat in the corner and ate play-dough, but that's another story for another day. I kept things fair, hollered at everyone, sent everyone back to her own property, seized the play-dough and continued making lunch. This sort of thing happens from time to time in my house, and I'm sure it's a universal scene in homes where there's enough estrogen to drown an ox. No big deal. But let's say Ya-Ya had nuclear weapons, and Phee-Phee had a white van full of cow manure and Tide. Who has the kind of home-owners policy to cover that?

Naturally I love all my girls, and understand that they each have their own agendas and personalities and rights. I rarely take sides, preferring to reprimand globally, let them calm their little tempers and then do something else in a neutral area like the playroom. Point being, maybe the world needs a great big mommy to give certain leaders a spanking (which I find oddly appealing) and send others to their rooms then set up a nice little game of dress up somewhere in New Zealand. The thought of Dick dressing in a purple fedora for tea has just cheered me immensely.