Outnumbered Two to One

At some point this evening I hear this from across the house:

“Ow you bit me you little jerk! You broke the skin!”

I’m in the kitchen making dinner and shaking my head, waiting for the next installment. The voice in question is my tween’s, it rises steadily as her indignation increases tenfold. Eventually the skirmish will travel from my bedroom where they’re watching television to the kitchen where I, judge and jury, stand with wet hands and a jar of salsa.

“What?!” I inquire as my five-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter bustle in through the entryway, both talking at the same time.

“He bit me on the leg and he broke the skin and it really really hurts.”

“She bit me too but I don’t remember where and she’s being really mean to me.”

“Nuh-uh I only bit you after you bit me…”

“Because you grabbed me…”

“But I was playing…”

In unison now… “Mooooooooooooom.”

Ugh. Down comes the gavel.

“You’re both punished, keep your hands and mouths off each other, and go cry somewhere else. No video games till Thursday.”

Obviously neither of my children was paying close enough attention to the Yo Gabba Gabba episode where Muno bites Foofa for craps and giggles, then gets chided in song until he learns this valuable lesson.

“Don’t bite your friends.”

Or your siblings for that matter, it’s just not sanitary.