In this household, there are many things the kids feel are worthy of fighting for. I'm not talking valiant, virtuous issues such as honoring the family name, defending the home from would-be intruders, or joining up with the military to fight for our country. I'm talking about who gets control of the remote. Who gets to use the bathroom first. How long of a turn they get on X-Box.
But my favorite of these spats is when they fight over The Good Spot. This, of course, refers to the favored spot on the sofa. The part with the extended seat so they can pretty much watch TV from a completely reclined position, as if watching TV sitting upright is just too physically taxing an activity to be endured.
Last night I had to stop making dinner, quickly don my black and white striped shirt, throw a whistle around my neck, and stride confidently into the family room to settle a heated debate over who had rightfully laid claim to The Good Spot. If I gave them each a flag with their name and crest emblazoned on it, there would be flags staked all over the GD house laying claim to various fixtures and spots. This particular debate ended up escalating into a full-on brawl, despite my best skills as seasoned referee. There were slippers being hurled through the air, whole pieces of furniture being relocated, and name-calling that would make a pirate blush.
When a peaceful resolution continued to elude us, I finally tore off my ref shirt and changed into my Mean Mom uniform. Eyes ablaze with a look they didn't want to mess with, I yelled out, "That's enough! No more TV for any of you the REST OF THE NIGHT!" They shut up then. They could tell by looking at me that it was drop it then and there or listen to me lecture (ie, rant and rave) till the sun came up. Or the cows came home. And we don't have any cows.
I remember when the term The Good Spot conjured images that involved pleasurable activities that would, um, make a pirate blush. Now it has taken on a whole new meaning.
Not at all pleasurable.