It’s a 50/50 thing, my boys getting along. A few minutes ago, I walked in from my backyard only to have my youngest walk up to me and ask if his front tooth was still planted firmly in his face. Big brother had decided to shove him against the wall.

I assured him that his tooth was fine. Satisfied with that knowledge, he decided to take revenge by absconding with the remote, much to big brother’s dislike. Big brother didn’t decide to tear after him and wrestle it away, which was good for me because he is getting too big for me to have to wrestle him off.

Now, they’re talking and getting along for the moment. Go figure. They wrinkle their noses when I tell them that they’ll be best friends when they grow up. But it’s true.

My little brothers are testimate to that. They fought worse than my boys, and I often wondered if they were going to kill each other before they had the chance to grow up. But they got through the boy thing with a few scratches and scars and came out of it being best friends. I guess this is a family tradition, but it leaves me exhausted.

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