Ah, the love. The warmth. The caring.
The desire to KILL YOUR SIBLING.
Yes, that is my life. We had birthday dinner for the Drama King last night. It was everything I could have hoped for.
We had hugs. We had "crappy homemade cards" (compliments of the Roo-girl -- this is a longstanding specialty of hers). We had birthday songs. We had friendly banter. We had bad knock-knock jokes.
Interrupting coefficient of friction.
Oh yeah, we're an esoteric bunch.
And we had poking. Oh, the poking.
It will never be possible for my children to sit in close quarters without someone putting his/her hands on someone else. And yes, two of the attending children are FULL-GROWN ADULTS, thankyouverymuch.
Please note the fear in her eyes here. She knows what is coming next.
The conversation ranged from deep to inane to "if I blog about this, someone would SURELY call Child Protective Services on me." Suffice it to say, the word "gerbil" came up. I could only shake my head in wonder and secretly kvell that my progeny are so comfortable around me that no topic is off-limits.
The only downside was that we were missing the Z-man, who comes home from faraway college land for a trimester break in a mere four days.
But otherwise, how can you resist a police lineup like this: