This morning, and I'm talkin' six fucking thirty a.m., I (along with #4 and #5) was awakened to an all out nuclear holocaust of a verbal assault between #2 and #3 regarding school uniforms. As I've mentioned in a previous post, #2 and #3 couldn't be less identical, personality wise. Case in point: #2 has been appointed personal slave of #3, and #2 obliges. After all, he is four minutes older. Those four minutes? Yeah, they make a difference.
#2 is the most self-sufficient 13 year old I've ever known. This kid rocks, and I'm not just sayin' that out of maternal admiration. He does his homework...without being told to. He's obsessively neat and organized. His future plans include working at Burger King when he turns sixteen because "it pays". He even does his own laundry. Did you hear me? He's a thirteen year old boy who washes his own clothing. That, in and of itself, has absolutely made the last thirteen years of raising him so worth it.
Suffice it to say, #3 quickly learned of this laundering of clothing done by #2, and true to his Italian heritage, found a way to take advantage of #2's hard labor and use it for his own personal gain. Yes, I'm aware of the mafia'ish stereotyping in that last statement, but then again there is no mafia. Let's proceed...
For the past several months, #3 has been strong-arming his twin to wash his school uniforms on a daily basis. Scratch that. #2 has been doing all of #3's laundry, undies and all. I've recently become aware of #2's passive aggressive tendency, but #3's dominance never really was a secret. Still, I'm surprised at #2's compliance. Maybe it's a twin thing. I suppose we'd all be a little more accommodating had we all been forced to share a womb with someone else for months.
This morning, at six fucking thirty, #2 got his anger on. Pushed to the brink by #3, he decided to put his foot down. After being berated for forty minutes as to how he could have possibly managed to overlook #3's laundry last night, he finally washed his hands of the whole ordeal. You should have heard it. I certainly did:
#3: "Where'd you put the uniforms?"
#2: "Top drawer of the second dresser."
#3: "They're not there! There's only one shirt and it's yours! I have no pants!"
#2: "Well, that's where I put them."
#3: "Where's the stuff from my hamper?"
#2: "I washed what I could find. Where were your clothes?"
#3: "Under my bed."
#2: "Well, if they weren't in the hamper, they didn't get done."
#3: "But you cleaned the bedroom yesterday! Why didn't you wash my stuff? Great! Now I don't have anything to wear today! You only care about yourself!"
#2: Ok, you know what? From now on, I'm only going to wash my own stuff. That way, if I miss something, I have only myself to blame!"
I know, right? And that last remark? It was fucking priceless. As I lay in bed listening to this exchange from across the hall, it took every ounce of willpower to keep from butting my two cents in. My mother's voice kept ringing in my ear. You'll only make it worse. And that couldn't be more true.
Eventually, #3 found a clean uniform to wear, and the war ceased. But I strongly suspect the days of #3's free housekeeping have now concluded. The young lad is on his own. Or until #2 takes pity on him once again. You know, I've thought about secretly recording their disagreements and airing them on YouTube, but that damn little voice from the great beyond just keeps getting louder. You'll only make it worse...
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