Vice and vitriol

As Ben and Ian grow older, each of them comes more into focus as an individual. Ben has a good grasp on right and wrong, and an innate sense of justice. Ian also understands right and wrong, but he's usually more interested in what he wants, and he has a stubborn tenacity that would challenge even the Supernanny.

Ben can be disarmingly honest at times. Unfortunately, that often makes him a terrible keeper of secrets. When he stayed home with Grandma during spring break, he revealed while we prepared dinner that he had had three treats already that day, so Ian should be allowed to have dessert, but really it wouldn't be appropriate for him to have any more. And here I thought there was no such thing as too many treats from Grandma.

I wish some of that guilt would rub off on Ian, who would happily eat nothing but sweets all day, with the occasional bagel thrown in to reset his taste buds. About a month ago we couldn't figure out why he kept going under our bed - we assumed he was just playing or hunting dust bunnies - until we discovered the empty box of cinnamon graham crackers he'd apparently stolen from the pantry. Ballsy move, hiding contraband under the parents' bed. Explains why reverse psychology doesn't work with him: he's figured it out himself.

Ben's deceitful moments are less to enrich himself than to conceal things he knows will get him in trouble. Most of the time he and Ian get along famously; they'll turn off Saturday morning cartoons to play elaborate games of make-believe that would make Mr. Rogers proud. There are mornings, though, when the bickering starts before eight o'clock and escalates to physical and psychological warfare. While Ian resorts to hitting or pinching, Ben usually sticks with verbal abuse.

The other day, after bickering led us to separate them altogether, Ben was downstairs drawing (as usual) while Ian was in their bedroom looking at books. Ben called for Ian to see what he'd drawn, but Ian wasn't interested. Ben persisted, then became furious when Ian wouldn't budge. Neither of these things (Ian's stubbornness, Ben's frustration) was anything out of the ordinary, so I thought little of it. As I walked downstairs, Ben rushed over to the easel to block my view, saying it was a secret. Again, nothing new - he often wants to save the big reveal for when his work is complete.

Fast forward a couple of hours. I'm rolling up the used paper from the easel, and something catches my eye. It suddenly dawns on me that he said "secret," not "surprise." Ben draws a lot of planets and rockets and space stuff, but this time he'd drawn an asteroid high in the sky, a stick person labeled "Ian," and the caption:

Astaroyd fall on IAN!

Complete with an arrow indicating the asteroid's path toward his head. Ben undoubtedly hoped Ian would find this suitably menacing, and to a kid who thinks Peter Pan is a documentary, it probably would be.

Ben looked sheepish when I confronted him about drawing fratricidal fantasy threats, but I couldn't bring myself to punish him for something so comical. Nonetheless, the guilt must have weighed on him to some extent, because a little while later he dragged me back to his easel. With a conciliatory grin on his face, he showed me how he'd undone whatever damage he'd hoped to inflict on Ian with a sly amendment. Now the caption read:

Astaroyd fall on IAN! AND BEN

Sometimes wishing for mutual destruction is the closest you can bring yourself to apologizing.