Eldest Son, Harry, my tall, strong, handsome three year old has entered big brother mode. By which I mean throwing his weight around, figuratively and literally. Second Son, William, my tall, strong, handsome 21 month old tries to defend himself, particularly when I am otherwise occupied with minor details, like preparing their food, or feeding the dogs or some other necessary triviality. It hasn’t escaped Eldest Son’s notice that sometimes my back is turned and that this is a good time to launch an attack on his little brother.
Often I just hear the resulting crying and come running in, trying to establish what has happened. There is usually a period of outright lying, followed by Harry contritely admitting that he has hit, kicked, pushed or thrown something at William. A forced apology ensues, along with a promise not to do it again (until the next time).
Today, however, Harry mis-timed his attack. I saw him hit his little brother. He saw me see him hit his little brother. There was no way he could pretend anything else had happened.
But before I can say anything, he turns to me and says, completely guilelessly, “Don’t worry, Mummy, it’s just business.”
And he’s never even seen The Godfather…
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