My boys have been fighters their entire, short lives. It's a given in our home on any day. At any moment. So it doesn't surprise me to walk into room, filled with grunting and tears to find a tangled web of limbs.

It’s always been a combination of little touches, taunts and pushes that escalate until the physical explosion. Then, fists fly. But once the boys are separated, they cool off. It’s a break to literally wipe the sweat and tears away. By the time they come out of their rooms, the brawl and all the accompanying emotion has been put to rest.

As frustrating as the fights have been, I have accepted the fact that this behavior will continue. Forever. Isn’t that what boys do? I mean, it was only 2 years ago and about 4 states north that Really Big Guy and his older brother threw it down in a locker room. Did I mention they are both much older than 7 and 9?

I’m not complaining, for the boys were showing signs of progress. Or so I thought. They’d still attack each other, but it seemed to be happening less frequently. Then I realized it was a sham.

While the number of fights has decreased, the length of the fights has increased. Because over the summer, Big Guy and Little Guy introduced some new ammunition to their arsenal: the dreaded, ugly, insult.

Long after the physical battle has been fought, the bickering goes on. And on. Until that one victor walks away with the crown jewel: the last word.

This began a few weeks ago. The boys stood face to face, behind a chair in the living room. Arguing with each other. They were only inches apart, yet they showed remarkable restraint. Neither one touched the other.

When I observed this self control, I gave the boys the benefit of the doubt. Could it be that all those times their dad and I warned them that they only had one head, two eyes, one nose, one set of permanent teeth had finally sunk in? Maybe?

Maybe not. They eventually started swinging. I stepped in to do my usually refereeing, followed by the banishment to their respective rooms. But something was different. They were tired. They were out of breath. Yet even behind their closed doors, they continued to insult each other.

Later on, upon being let out, it only took one dirty look and one “accidental” bump in the shoulder to resume the insults. They picked up right where they had left off. As if no time had passed.

The boys have realized the power the word can yield. And they have thrived on the misery it can produce. Little Guy may think he’s won, but all it takes is one calculated, spoken, blow from Big Guy to get the fight going again.

And this is a problem. For the impact of these insults linger. Creating a vicious cycle. Keeping the boys on the edge of their seats. Just waiting for the other to say something.

When I listen to their exchanges, I am reminded of the hypocrisy of that childhood phrase “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” If this statement was true, my boys may be able to turn the other cheek. Take the high road. End the fight. But we all know that a well delivered, intentionally mean statement stings much more and for much longer than one well placed punch.

One of my wiser, more experienced mom friends said that I have entered the verbal warfare zone. The verbal sparing is normal. Unfortunately, since it comes and goes all day, without warning, with or without the fists, it will be hard for me to stop it. The boys will have to figure it out. Learn to play nice.

So I’ll try to ignore it. It may be easier than I think. When Big Guy and Little Guy sling their verbal shrapnel, they’re so fired up they can’t even hear me talk.

Instead, I can turn the radio up in the car and listen to inappropriate music that they won’t hear because they’re too busy insulting each other. I can talk on the telephone and not worry that they’re listening to my conversations because they’re too busy exchanging nasty words.

And I can giggle to myself as I think a backwards thought that only makes sense in crazed, mommy sort of way: Funny how I can wash a little blood and dirt out of a t-shirt much more easily than I can erase the word “loser” from someone’s memory.

Oh, how I yearn for the simple days of the knock down, drag out, short and sweet fight.

Illyse appears every Thursday on TriangleMom2Mom.