Picture the scene.
It’s an ordinary day. Big Whingelet has returned from pre-school and I’m doing my best to let the kids amuse themselves whilst trying to cook dinner/put washing away/tell someone why they’re wrong on the internet. They seem to be doing well at it, when suddenly the silence is broken…
Mummy he took my toy/food/dirty receipt! Mummy I want it back! Mummy make him give it back to me! MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY!
Remind me, why did I have two again? Did I think it would be easier somehow, that they would keep each other amused, giving me time to relax and drink tea again? #idiot
Don’t get me wrong; when they aren’t fighting, they can be so lovely.
Angelic, almost; it makes your heart melt. She always looks out for her little buddy, and he is bereft when she’s not there. Oh yes, when they aren’t fighting, it’s like the end of a Disney movie over here. It’s just that if arguing with a sibling were a competitive sport, I would have two little champions on my hands.
But you have to share, I reply. Sharing is what nice little girls do.
And if you and your brother don’t stop fighting over the same stupid thing when you have a whole house BURSTING AT THE SEAMS with toys, I’m going to lose my bloody mind and ARRRGH PLEASE STOP.
But I don’t LIKE sharing says the big one, I don’t WANT to share.
I don’t blame her. She’s three; she doesn’t have the mental capacity to understand the concept, I realise that much. Her brain is all ‘mine mine MINE’ at the moment, just like her little bro’s, but I wouldn’t be doing my parental duty if I overlooked that fact and didn’t remind her to share each time she and her brother start smacking each other.
I get it, I do. Sharing sucks.
But guess what kid? I’m here to share (ha) with you some knowledge…
As it happens, when you’re an adult, you don’t actually have to share much. A bed maybe, but that’s usually with someone you want to share with (at least at first; until you realise they snore and you start plotting their death while they sleep rather than staring lovingly at them… where was I?), and things with ‘sharing’ in the title like starters at Zizzi, and bags of Maltesers; and then only if you feel like it. Those puddings that state they serve two-three? Knock yourself out. I’m pretty sure that’s just a joke.
Even fully functioning adults hate to share; in offices up and down the country, people have written their names on their stapler in tippex and God help anyone else that touches it. In my old job, a request by management to share bins to reduce cleaning costs was met by panic, confusion and disgust. Possibly even riots; I’d left by then though.
You don’t expect your friends to come round, grab your iPad or other prized possession and smash it repeatedly against the table leg, and then when you go to tell them to knock it off, be told by your mum to let them carry on with it.
Just because you haven’t used it in a month, or even thought about it, or you also have a phone and a laptop doesn’t make it any less yours.
People don’t like to share.
So I do; I understand completely. I don’t like sharing either.
So get your hands off of my bloody food.
You may have seen a very similar post over on The Motherload website. Please go over and take a peek at the many, many brilliant blogs which are shared over there.