December 8, 2011


My kids are friends.
That's not to say that they don't fight or have times when they can't stand each other, they do, of course. They are siblings, living in small quarters, sharing a room. But on the whole, they are friends. Good friends.
And I can't tell you how much I love that about them.

Push me higher Briton!
If you pump, you can make yourself go higher Evie
But I want you to stay here with me!
Ok! Here comes a big push then!

I didn't have that kind of friendship with my brother when I was a kid. That's not to say we didn't get along, we did. In fact, I don't remember ever arguing with my brother when we were little. But I was almost eight years older than him, so until we were both adults, we really lived separate lives, had separate childhoods. That came with it's own set of charms, since we both, essentially, got to be only children for a chunk of years but also had to learn to not be only children. Best of both worlds. And now a-days, we are good friends.

Climb up, Evie! Right behind me!
I can't make it!
Yes, you can! Keep trying!

I sat at the park the other day, watching them play, by choice, with each other. Despite the boys playing soccer and the girlie girls running around squealing in a pack, they chose to stick together.

Catch me Briton, catch me!
I wont' let you fall
You're turn!
Mom! look at Briton!

I wonder, often, if they will stay this way. if time and age will cause them to grow away from each other, or if, just maybe, they will stay playmates, friends, confidants, always.
I hope so.