My normally placid 12-year old was a bear this morning. He got up late and was downright surly. Most of his wrath was directed at this brother, maybe because his brother was the only one without the ability to steer clear of him. They share a bathroom. I didn’t think either of them was going to be able to get ready, since they were so busy sending verbal barbs and the odd hand gesture at each other and then raising their voices even louder to let me know what the other one had just done. I didn’t actually need the play-by-play. I could hear them just fine.
After about ten minutes I hear my 15-year old say, “What are you doing now?” My 12-year-old answered, “I’m farting in your room.” Pause. Then gleefully, “And now I’m shutting the door, so the stink will stay in there.” I waited to see if my elder son was going to explode at his brother or appeal to me. Neither happened.
My 15-year old wisely noticed that in his gaseous episode, his little brother had also expelled his foul mood, and apparently decided that a stinky room might be worth the price.
They went on to school in relative peace, though they missed the bus.
© Laura Hedgecock 2009