Why you should not tell lies about gypsy children.

I know there are things I should not say to the boys, but lately the fighting has escalated. They both seem hellbent on mutual annihilation. It starts almost as soon as they get up and ends, well, about the time the drift off to sleep. Every. Freakin'. Day. It is more than a sane woman can stand. And it really bothers me too.
So the other night as they are beating the stuffing out of each other, I say, against my better judgment, "You had better quit fighting or I'm going to feed you to the gypsy children." I know, I know. It is offensive to gypsy children. For that I am truly sorry. In fact, if there are gypsy children reading this blog, I'd like to give you my most sincere apology for implying that gypsy children would even consider eating my children. And it makes no sense. But for that there is a defense. I keep thinking of this Shel Silverstein poem where he advises you always sprinkle pepper in your hair. It has nothing to do with gypsy children, but that was on my mind when my children were fighting to the point they were probably going to draw blood soon. So anyhow, I say this and they look puzzled for a moment then Big Dog steps forward as spokesperson for the near-feral children in my living room.
"What's a gypsy child?"
Um, yes, I guess they probably don't have any idea what that is, so I explain, "They are a bunch of very hungry kids that roam from place to place eating kids who fight too much."
He took that answer in stride, which makes me worry about the way I've raised him if he believe there are cannibal children roaming Seattle looking for handouts.
"Both of us?" he asks.
"No, just one of you. Just to stop the fighting." I answer.
"Which one."
And for some reason, I say, "I'm not sure. You decide."
Without missing a beat, Big Dog says, "Little Dog."
"Really?" I say, seeing that he's completely missing out on the King Solomon type lesson I'm trying to give him. "You don't want your baby brother anymore? I thought you liked being a big brother."
"Yeah, it has to be Little Dog. He starts it."
"Oh," I say, kind of stunned.
Noting my uncharacteristic speechlessness he adds, "You can just have another baby," and goes on about his business.