Battle of the biscuits

Just recently, the allocation of things has become a big issue in our house.

The stripyness, fluffiness and hugeness of the towel allocated to each child after the evening bath.

The colour of the monsters in the party bags (‘this one is mine Mummy, because I like orange best and it is orange event though it is not the monster that was in my bag’)

The springiness of toys.

And this morning, the battle of the biscuits raged.

Wee Man entered the bedroom first, fully clothed and joyfully proclaiming ‘I am ready with shoes on, can I have my biscuit treat now please!’

So, I let him have first pick of the two little bags with a biscuit in each.

Biscuits which, for all intents and purposes are the same. The same bag, the same size, the same flavour. The ONLY difference is that the icing on top of each biscuit is a different colour. WHY did I get two different colours? It was fairly predictable what would happen next…

‘I’ve got MY biscuit, you haven’t got yours’ the Wee Man boasted to Bubby D, waving his biscuit around in glee.

‘Mummy, biscuit please, my biscuit’ demanded Bubby D, waving her foot around so I could see she had her shoes and socks on ready too.

So, I passed her the second remaining bag, and she duly removed the biscuit nestling inside and stuck out her tongue ready to lick it.

When suddenly…

‘NOOOOO, that’s MY biscuit!’ the Wee Man erupted.

‘It isn’t, you’ve got your biscuit right there, the purple biscuit in your hand!’ I responded wearily, knowing where this was going.

‘BUT I WANTED BLUE! THE BLUE BISCUIT IS MINE!’ roared the Wee Man angrily, glaring at Bubby D and clearly about to swipe the biscuit out of her hands.

‘Bubby D, would you like to swap the blue biscuit for the purple biscuit?’ I asked.

‘No. Mine’ came the fierce response.

‘AAAAOOOOOEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA’ wailed the Wee Man, as if the world was ending, tears threatening to erupt from his rapidly reddening eyes.

Bubby D glared, and held her biscuit close.

I was beginning to regret not just scoffing the biscuits myself as a midnight feast.

‘Have you tried asking Bubby D nicely if she will swap, instead of just attempting to snatch it?’ I suggested to the Wee Man.

He eyed me suspiciously, then turned to Bubby D and asked in a fairly polite little voice ‘Bubby D, please could I have the blue biscuit and you have the purple biscuit because I really like blue?’…

‘OK’ said Bubby D reasonably, handing over calmly the by now much-licked blue biscuit, and receiving the pristine purple one in exchange. The Wee Man looked surprised, then considered the biscuit, and, realising he had the blue biscuit after all, stopped the calamitous wailing.

Calm reigned. Biscuit nibbling commenced. The cat crawled back out from under the bed.

For about two minutes, until…

‘Mummy, I don’t like blue biscuits any more, I want the PURPLE BISCUIT’…

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH

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