USSR has always been impishly cute, linguistically gifted, naturally sunny and caffeinated .(She never sleeps) She also wants to prove she can go toe to toe with her next older brother. Her older brother USA has staunchly refused all attempts at becoming “a big boy.” More on principle I think.
“He doesn’t want to get his beautiful potty dirty.” was the given explanation. Reeducation camps on what the intended use is for a mini-potty had thus far proved useless, until yesterday.
USSR had finished her shower and sat unprompted on said potty. USA was outraged. “That’s my potty!” he stomped into the closet to suck his thumb and sulk. The little Russian noticed his reaction and proceeded to sing a little song about going to the potty and make little “sssss” sounds. “I’m going potty Yankee boy.” she said several times.
Meanwhile, Captain America humpfed in the closet.
I happened to have some M&M’s in the freezer which I joyfully procured for my daughter. The little member of the Communist block eagerly ate them from my hand and squirmed in her seat. Suddenly, this wasn’t a game. We had the By-George-She’s Got-it-Let’s-sing-the-Rain-in-Spain-Hallelujah-chorus moment of truth. America could not ignore the physical evidence. He had been beaten and she had a fist full of chocolate to show for it.
Any guilt I might have felt for ruining his self esteem evaporated when I remembered, he turns four in a few months.
The next day, USA announced a new policy, “I’m a big boy.” and ate at the table using silverware. He dressed himself. He helped clear the dishes. “Is there anything else I can do for you Mom?” he asked rather archly.
Then the Cossack finished her breakfast and announced she would go to sit on the potty. His face darkened and the thumb sucking started up again as he marched out of the room, I suspect to hash out a rapid response.
Russia had the handle on the situation, she relieved herself properly, asked for her M&M’s and spontaneously did an end zone celebration that would have warranted a penalty for sure in NFL playoff season.
USA knew how to fight back though, he ran upstairs and called down, “I made my bed for you Mom!” I praised his hard work. Little Russia’s face darkened. She ran upstairs. “Me too Mom.”
“You don’t have a bed, you have a crib.” America crowed.
“I made my sister’s bed Mom.” She responded.
Game on.
America rolled up his sleeves and went to work. He made his brother’s bed. He brushed his teeth. He put the cap on the toothpaste. I don’t even do that.
Russia also tried to win in the proliferation approach. She lacked the resources but not the political will. She tried to give the baby a bottle. She also brought me a book and told her brother in a gloatingly superior voice for a two year old, “Turn off the television. It’s bad for you.”
Watching two super power toddlers duke it out via good behavior, the UN puzzled over how this would or could end. Being the UN, I didn’t mind if their little conflict profited me on the side.
Annoyed at being preached to by the enemy, USA went to the garage and got me a diet coke. He thought he had the ace in the hole. So did I. Then USSR brought me the M&M’s. USSR cuddled up to me and USA took off my shoes to rub my feet. It’s good to be the UN.
Tensions were high and likely to result in a full scale incident when I asked if it was potty time. USA manned up and used the big potty. Russia used the little one. America finished first and both of them got plenty of praise and chocolate. End zone dances all around. Just when it seemed like glastnos had broken out, they recognized something about the UN.
“Hey Mom, we should go to McDonalds to celebrate.” USA suggested.
USSR appeared with my purse and keys. “Happy meals?” she said with an unbearably cute grin.
I am in serious trouble Mom wise. They’re colluding.
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