Three strikes....you're out!

Judge: n. a public officer authorized to hear and decide cases in a court of law; a magistrate charged with the administration of justice.

Referee: n. one to whom something is referred, especially for decision of settlement; arbitrator; a person chosen to decide a dispute or settle differences.

So, which is it?  A mother wears many hats, but as a domestic decision maker and settler of disputes, would I best be described a judge or referee?

I like the sound of  "Judge."  It sounds official.  Robes are involved.  A judge is called "Your Honor."  I like the sound of that, too.  Decisions are based on law and reflect a high moral standard for society at large.  Precedents are established as patterns of future guidance-which means: rulings carry weight for any similar cases to come.  Plus, gavels are cool.  I could blast all decisions with the rap of a gavel and the plaintiffs and defendants alike would leave the room, slumped or vindicated without further arguments or testimony, since I would be the Supreme Court of these parts.  I would probably carry the gavel with me everywhere, so these kids know I mean business, and I would carry it under my robe with my fanny-pack of sea salt chocolate caramels, and nobody would make fun of my fanny-pack because it would be under my robe.

Let's face it:  referees don't carry the same status as a judge.  I would imagine their salaries also reflect that difference in stature.  A referee is involved in determining the adherence to rules of a game.  Some fanatics might find this of utmost importance, but let's face it: it's a game, and the rules of said game are usually nothing more than patrolling the location of a ball.  Referees wear funny costumes...oh, excuse me...uniforms.  If stripes are involved, they are usually bold and unflattering.  Referees are commonly heckled and their decisions can be overturned by a slow-motion camera.  You can't be held in contempt of court for yelling at a ref.

I'm not delusional.  I recognize who I really am.
I'm a referee.

My kids are actually great at play.  Imaginations bubble over.  Forts are built, horses are trained and hot lava is flowing.  Let me tell ya, it's not all rainbows and butterflies, though.  Regularly timed conflict arises without fail.  The most congenial of activity eventually deteriorates into screams and anguish and cries of treasonous behavior.  They either duke it out until I fear blood will be drawn, or they come seeking a settlement from me: the referee.

I feel like I'm always set up to fail this type of jurisdiction.  I haven't witnessed the crime.  They come at me hysterical, and portray their vested interests in earnest, meaning: they lie.  Raw instincts must guide me now.  I'm searching for the shifting eye and piercing the holes in their ridiculous stories with their contradictions. Is it plausible that sister was "helping" brother find his favorite toy (while hand feeding him gummy bears), and he hauled off and nailed her for no reason at all?  Hmmm...

A well-constructed series of incriminating questions leading to a "check mate" is the only jury I need, and as they stand aghast, reeling in my deductive reasoning,  I'm so tempted to quip in classic  Judge Judy manner something like: "Liar, liar, pants on fire." or "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining."

Most of the time these kids give me impossible situations to delegate:
"Mom, she hit me!"
"Why did you hit her?"
"He bit me first!"
"Why did you bite her?"
"She took my book!"
"It's not his book, it's my book!"
"How is it your  book?"
"Grammy gave it to me."
"When did Grammy give it to you?"
"I don't know, a long time ago."
"You can't share it?"
"It's special to me."

I want to scream, "I don't care!"  I don't care if your sister has a "grown up" plate set for dinner. I don't care that trinkets from the carnival were "probably" stolen or how brother looked at you like "a meanie."  I don't care which seat you choose, or "they" choose, for that matter.  Do you know how many times I have to address the fact that I only have two sides to my body and four children clambering to "sit next to mom."  Meanwhile, dad is officially chopped liver.

It's clear that the majority of disputes are simply demands that I take a side.  Someone has fallen in the pecking order and is not going down without a fight.  I like to keep them on their toes.  I don't know if they think they can determine who is the "favorite," or if the momentary pleasure of victory is complete in simply rubbing it in another child's face.

Whatever the case, I am one tired ref.  They get the minimum attention for these petty disputes as possible.  I care about them wholeheartedly; but, little by little, they will need to handle their own foolishness, because nobody else out there is going to referee their lives for them.  So, as much as I am trying to play by the rules, my days as a referee are numbered.  They will have to learn the art of settling their disputes themselves (and more importantly, avoid them in the first place) to truly be judged a winner in the game of life.