Brothers and sisters. I love mine. Adore them, actually. I know I'm lucky. I love them because they're awesome and not nut cases.
My Mum loves her sister and brother. As a kid I used to adore it when they got together, particularly Mum and her sister, they would laugh and laugh and laugh until they were just laughing at themselves laughing.
My Dad too. His sister, my aunt, has one of the warmest hugs in the world. And Dad's brother was a very beloved man who left a big gap when he died suddenly fifteen years ago. I remember when I was younger, watching Dougie, my uncle, drive into the dairy. I was about fourteen and I noticed how happy Dad was to see him. I realised they were friends. They stood by Dougie's ute and chatted for about twenty minutes.
You can't make your children be friends. We can just throw them together as often as possible and hope they form bonds independent of us.
I'm so totally blessed to be surrounded by people with heartfelt sibling relationships, it's probably a good model for the smallies. There's no one like a sister to tell it how it is, keep you in line and be the first person you feel like calling in a crisis. Or on a good day. Or with news. Or to tell them about the goat's cheese you're eating right this moment.
I hope you have a brother or a sister. And that you like them.
It's what we hope for as parents, I think: without us, they'll be pals.
And they won't tear each other to shreds the moment we're not looking.
It's the last day of the school holidays today. Made it!
And everyone's still friends.