We are now entering a phase of parenting that I don’t know a darn thing about.

Which implies, of course, that I have known things about the other phases. I haven’t. Instead I’ve been relying upon my memories of what it was like to be a kid and how my parents coped with kid, coupled with my keen-eyed observations of the other parents I come into contact with. If it sounds like I’m winging a lot of this parenthood gig, that sound would be correct.

It has turned out OK so far. I won’t say that I’d win the Mom Olympics or even the Mom Olympic Qualifying events, but we are muddling through with relative contentment and minimal heartache.

This is all about to change, however. The Diva and the Dude are entering a new stage that I haven’t any direct experience to draw from. Because I was (and am, I guess) an only child, I will have to ramp up my observations of those who have more than one kid.

I’ll admit that being the only one had its perks. I had my parents’ full attention, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. I didn’t have to share. I never had a roommate until I was in college. I didn’t have to fight with a sibling over the TV. It was a fairly cushy gig in many ways.

The downside was that being the only small person in the house is extremely lonely. It was no fun to play tag or checkers with the adults in the house because they would always win _ or, worse, throw the game so that I didn’t get discouraged. Finding someone to play with required planning.

Plus, now that I’m older, I dearly wish that I had a sibling, someone who would understand when I started talking about our parents or our extended family.

When my folks get older and creakier (should we all be so lucky), it would be nice to have someone to help out with that load.

My husband, who has an older sister, and I always knew that if we were going to have one baby, we would have to have at least two.

There was brief talk of three before the Dude arrived. Now when I think of having a third, I have to lie down until the laughing fit passes.

Until about six month ago, the whole sibling co-operation issue really wasn’t that big of a deal.

For the longest time, the Dude was a) not highly mobile and b) not interested in toys that he couldn’t eat or smash.

The rules have changed now that he has no problem with running, walking or climbing all over his sister to get what he wants.

The Dude has entered the heart of toddlerhood, where he believes every item in the universe is his. The Diva disagrees. Given that she was the alpha-kid for three years before this pint-sized interloper came along, everything in the universe is hers. You can see where the conflict is.

On some fundamental level, I don’t understand this need to have whatever your sibling might touch, even if you didn’t want it in the first place. Worse yet, I haven’t the slightest idea how to mediate between the two of them.

My first response is to try to approach the problem rationally, where I try to figure out why a 5-year-old girl, who has shown zero interest in trucks, suddenly needs to have all of the wheeled items that her brother is playing with. Down this path lies madness. She needs them because he has them and vice versa. End of story.

I’ve also tried the approach where we talk about sharing, about how if we take turns everyone gets to play. And isn’t it better when everyone gets a little bit of what they want?

You can go ahead and laugh. I didn’t expect that to work, either.

My new approach is to simply confiscate the things that they are fighting over. I have a special shelf just for contested items. My umbrella was up there for a week, because both insisted on carrying it _ fully opened, of course _ around the house. I was afraid someone would lose an eye in the resulting shoving match. So far, this seems to be working, even though I spent a couple of days getting soaked dashing through the rain sans umbrella.

It’s too bad that I can’t do the same things for the intangibles that they fight over, like space on my lap. I could gain weight, I suppose, but that really seems to be substituting problems rather than solving them.

Now that the Diva’s two favorite phrases are "Lookit" and "Watch this," I’ve also discovered that I can’t divide up my attention any further. Keeping an eye on the toddler boy who wants to run into traffic and the girl who wants to be the center of all the world while simultaneously keeping a third or fourth eye on whatever it is that I was trying to do at the time (like walk or talk or think) is nearly impossible.

If someone can figure out how to put my lap or my attentions on the shelf of confiscated items, I’d appreciate it. The question is how long they will sit there before the kids can stop fighting over them.

Adrienne Martini is freelance writer, instructor at the State University College at Oneonta and Hartwick College, mom to Maddy and Cory and wife to Scott and author of "Hillbilly Gothic," published by the Free Press.