The Better Angels of Our Nature (almost finished! anyone else reading it? don't you want to talk about it?!) tells me that 2 years old is the most violent human age. I'm really hoping that 5 and 2 is also the height of sibling squabbling because if it gets any worse... I'll be having colorful duct tape fantasies.
We arrived at the pool during break this morning, so they started off in the baby pool while I sat in the shade. Within minutes, Mr. Pants had splashed Shmoogie more than she liked, I saw her scowl at him and announce, "I'm going tell on you!" and then the race was on to scramble out of the pool and get to me first.
Mr. Pants won. "Shmoogie is saying...!" Then Shmoogie herself burst between us, "Mr. Pants spwashed me!!!!"
I looked at them sternly. They looked at me expectantly.
I said, "Children, do you want to stay at the pool?"
They looked startled. (Shmoogie's face was a fascinating sort of startled scowl, actually.) Then they looked at each other. Shmoogie said, "Le's go back to the pool, Mr. Pants," and they were off, laughing.
If only I could do that all the time. Or even most of the time. Or even some significant minority of the time!