Mrs. Referee

Being a referee is the job I least enjoy about motherhood.  Having to decide 'who fouled who', the appropriate penalty, and when they just need to get kicked out of the game. It's a nonstop job with my boys. 

 Harrison came to me complaining that Gavin wasn't sharing his ice cream with him.  I was confused, asking, "What ice cream?  I didn't give Gavin any ice cream."  Harrison responds in a super-whiny voice, "Ugh, Mom, it's pretend ice cream and he's not sharing!"  Patience having waved bye-bye, and not being able to pretend I'm someplace far, far away, I respond in a less-than-mother-of-the-year tone, "just pretend you've got your own stinkin' ice cream.  Tell 'em yours has sprinkles and syrup, too."

I have a hard enough time dealing with the real fights, toy-stealing, pushes, and punches.  When we start talking fantasy, I'm done.  Can't go there.