Ode to a Dirty Hippie

My kids have been fighting again.  Not over anything material…just fighting.  It’s like the mere presence of one another is enough to irritate the others.  Why?  I’m sure I don’t know.  Because my own siblings and I never fought when we were growing up.  Ever.  

I’ve been leaving them to their own devices.  I am NOT getting involved!  Work it out!  I don’t want to hear it!  Zip—that means no talking to me about it!  This is not my problem!  I mean, they do need to learn to work it out amongst themselves.  It’s called conflict resolution.  Interpersonal relationship development.  Or maybe it’s just leave mommy alone.

They’re learning.  Slowly.  I think.  I hope.  

Oh, who am I kidding?

Case in point:  a biking accident was (accidentally?) (on purpose?) caused by Little Meems.  You never know with her.  She’s subtle that way and has a knack for feigning naïve oblivion while she plots her evil destruction.   Which always surprises me because it’s very passive/aggressive and not really like her.  She’s usually just aggressive/aggressive.  They had words.  Heated words.  Blame was thrown.  Innocence was feigned.  Tears were sprung.  Screaming ensued and soon progressed to a earth-shattering crescendo.  And then, my son delivered the (apparently) fatal blow…

“Shut up you dirty hippie!”


This apparently was more than my “but I’m unjustly accused” daughter could bear.  Tears and convulsions and heartbreaking (hers, not mine) sobs followed, as she relayed to me the dreadful, injurious words.  

I had to try not to laugh.  Props to Will for his unusual, yet creative comeback.  What a wordsmith.  You know, I'm grateful for dirty hippies right now.  Because it could have been butt head or fart breath or diarrhea drawers.  

And I'm sure soon it will be.


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