My boys fight, a lot. It is something that I have just come to accept and I am getting pretty good at zoning it out now and letting them tackle each other to the ground and only intervening if I actually see blood, otherwise they turn on me as if I am the bad guy for trying to keep them alive, so I was kind of dreading our annual holiday.
As I planned our holiday with my hubby I had dreams of sunbathing, swimming in the sea, relaxing and spending quality time as a family but amid these dreams I had flashes of my boys rolling around on the isle of the plane, drowning each other in the pool and causing a scene in the middle of the mini disco with their rendition of “put your right arm in (his face) put your left leg in (his belly)” and being escorted out of the hotel by the Spanish authorities. Well, we have just returned and surprisingly no we were not deported early, we were not banished from ever entering Spanish waters again and we have not left a hotel of people shocked by our wrestling duo.
It turns out our boys can actually get on, who knew! They played nicely together. They helped each other learn new things like swimming and dancing. They got each other food and drinks from the bar and basically acted like the brother I always imagined they would be for 90% of the holiday (lets ignore the other 10%).
Not only did my boys get along and somehow bond as brothers but other families commented on their behaviour and not the behind the back shocks of outrage that I was expecting but actually going out of their way to comment on how lovely our boys played, shared and their manners – well impeccable of course.
It is safe so say that I was one proud and shocked mummy.
But fear not, 24 hours back in England and my boys are back to their usual arguing and fighting, this time it is over who gets to play with lightning McQueen and who gets the match box car.
I’m off to buy wine……