The Household Referee

I cannot be the only one…who is the household referee.  My four-year old son and thirty five year old husband can argue like nobody’s business.  My head volleys back and forth between the two of them, like the lowest paid tennis referee in the circuit, as they argue just about everything.  Example one, my son wants to play “smack-ball” my husband suggest something else, of course the suggestion is not up to par of the original “smack-ball” plan and thus begins the verbal sparring. Example two, my husbands starts off on a rant telling my son to pick up his dirty dishes, my son will deny any part of leaving the dishes out, and it continues back and forth with no resolution in sight.  I wait out the extent of the bickering until I’ve heard all I can and I can’t hear no more and step in the middle.  Oh the middle, the most uncomfortable place to be, Jan Brady had it right. I attempt to pacify both the men in my life but the truth is my husband is arguing with a four year old that is holding his own in the disagreement. Instead of cutting it off at the starting line my husband engages and I wonder what will he get out winning this battle, a bottle of our son’s tears? Not exactly the reward I would want.

This is my life, I try to remain in Swiss territory within our condo, stepping around land mines, and waving a white flag.  The victor of these petty arguments will gain no more territory than they had prior to the instigation of the battle but they each will continue to push against the other until one believes they have gained an ounce of terra firma.  I love my boys but sometimes they drive me crazy…I cannot be the only one who feels this way, right?