One of my least favorite mom jobs is mediator. Why? Here's a sample of the arguments I've had to mediate over the last few days:
· How much money my boys each have in their iTunes accounts. Maxon believed Ezra was lying.
· Maxon hated Ezra's outfit (a plaid button-down shirt worn over an Eagles Jersey and white long-sleeve thermal with black track pants).
· Which heating vent they get to sit on when it's cold in the house.
· Maxon read the cover of Ezra's notebook and Ezra didn't want him to.
· How long it took Ezra to run to the corner and back. Maxon says 24 seconds. Ezra says 17.
· Whether or not Maxon liked Dora the Explorer when he was little.
· How many pieces of gum Ezra has in his mouth.
· Who gets the last piece of Bubble Yum.
· Whether or not Ezra spat out the last piece of Bubble Yum that I split in half for them.
· Who gets to be Obi Wan Kenobi in Lego Star Wars Wii.
· Whether or not Ezra really read the book he says he read.
· Who controls the heat in the backseat. Maxon wants it on 90. Ezra wants it on 79.
· Who gets the helmet for the Lego Boba Fett minifigure.
· Which of the two identical stuffed manta rays is Maxon's.
· Which of the 250 long ignored Pokemon cards that Ezra found and began sorting belong to Maxon.
While these may seem like innocuous issues, within a matter of seconds these conflicts escalate into arm twisting, face scratching, name-calling, Pokemon card throwing, Wii remote tossing smackdowns. I know that part of my role as a mom is to help teach my sons how to resolve fights on their own. I must not be very good at it. Despite my desire to not get involved, I realize that I intervene during every single one of their fights.
The question I have to ask myself is this: What would happen if I didn't step in at all?
Now I am dying to find out. I am pretty confident I will get the chance within a matter of minutes.