Vinny Jones or my son?

I have an image in my mind of an incident with Vinny Jones and the lovely Gazza several years ago where I believe Mr Jones grabbed a certain part of the fat one's anatomy and gave it a right yank. Well, although O hasn't gone quite that far yet (and F doesn't have a willy, so perhaps not the best analogy), he is displaying distinctly aggressive and footballer-like behaviour.

To wit (can't believe I have actually written that. Note to self: I am not Jane 'Could I trouble you for an interview on the lawn Mr Darcy?' Austen. Or Bridget Jones.): Oliver looks like he's going to kiss his vulnerable and cute sister. At the last moment a look of the devil passes across his face and he headbutts her. Hmm, nice.

I know this is normal and that it is a passing phase, but I can't help feeling fiercely protective towards the little lady and just fierce towards the big bruiser (relatively big of course). Ridiculous phrases pop into my head like 'He's old enough to know bettter' or 'Little shit, he's being deliberately malicious'. Of course, he is finding it difficult to share me and accept that F is here to stay. He is also very cute with her every so often and I get glimpses of how they will be together in a few months. But it's hard not to lose it with him.

So, my latest parenting tactic is to out-calm O during tantrums. I set myself the challenge of being completely unrattled the more rattled he becomes. Or making him laugh. It doesn't always work but when it does it feels good. I hate battling with my darling boy, especially when he seems not to want to battle, but at the same time can't help himself. And I could undertake a PhD in the art of distraction...