Six-year-old Greg and seven-year-old Jon will go to any lengths to find where candy is hidden. Greg, the one with the curiously red lips, has already found the red licorice, and has climbed up on the kitchen countertop to get a plate to put it on. Jon is caught red-handed on an opposing countertop.
7 comments:
Love yesterday's sunset...but the cutest of all are the boys with the hint of red on their faces.....think it'll translate into right leaning/red state politics later in life?
We can hope!
Boys will be Boys and they will have a hard time convincing anyone that they are not the guilty ones...:=)LOL
as in "I don't know", "I found it", "she gave it to me", "he made me to it",.. and the list of excuses goes on and on...
Very cute pictures!!!
They're lucky to have that bond as brothers, as sons of you. It makes me think of myself and my brother who was taken home when I was from the Children's home, they'd planned on one child and seeing us both, took us both into care and finally adopted us both.
R. was my protector. I've always hung out with "the guys". I never fit in with the the clumps of popular girls who giggled and posed and used their bodies to attract before they were even old enough to figure out what the attraction was. They clustered together in their own little gatherings in which dolls and accessories and small fluffy toys held sway. Their interests were foreign and their forced interactions with me were tinged with derision. At that age their scorn had the finality of a curse.
My best friend was my brother. We were both adopted and bonded before we could speak, though he likes to tell the story that on the drive home from the Children's Home Society he, being the larger, got a child seat and I was brought back "in a cardboard box . . . because they liked me better." We still laugh about that.
We bonded together because we were survivors of survivors, and we took on the world like the Great Santini said . . .eating life before it eats us. We played Secret Agent and Storm Trooper and Soldier, staying out until the Oregon Coast skyline was washed with charcoal and we had no strength left in our limbs. He fed me a dog biscuit once, but I stole his Rat Fink ring (he sent me a note last year that he wants it back, as it's still in my dresser at Dad's). But we never fought. There was a code between us, that we would always be there for one another, and our parents, as if we both knew how important the bond of family can be. If the girls at school were mean to me, someone put a possum in their bathroom. Not sure who, probably the same person who sent them the toad in the box. They might still not have liked me, but with my brother in tow, they respected me.
We grow up and continued as survivors, he through Operation Ivy Bells and me, building time to get hired by the airlines in an assortment of clapped out aircraft that secretly wanted to kill me.
The cord that connected us developed it's first fray when we went into lockdown at work, the images of the burning Pentagon on TV, a building in which my brother worked. It took me hours to verify his safety but he was, in another state that day, and we were strong, invincible again. But I can can't get the taste of fear out of my mouth from that day.
Then, just before Christmas two years ago, he was badly hurt in a motorcycle accident. I knew something was wrong before the phone rang. There was a coldness tickling along the back of my neck one evening, it's like I knew and I called my Dad to see what was wrong. No news, but less than 30 minutes later the call came in, he'd been badly hurt, a leg crushed and other injuries. The cold stunned shock of it flowed through me like current, sorrow rising into questions. Where is he? Does he need blood? Is he aware? And a thousand miles away, in disbelief, I lay down on the bed and felt the pain of my inability to protect him. After a round of surgeries I was able to finally see him, hugging on the parts that weren't in a cast, feeling his large body gone soft and shaky, afraid that his ribs might break, like a snow man on the first warm spring day.
Maybe now it's my turn to look after him, for if I can't be his little sister then what would I become?
God Bless you for what you are giving these kids.
webutante,
Without a doubt!
mimi,
You must be listening in on our conversations!
skywriter,
Wow! What a wonderful bond. You always have me hanging on every word you write!
They are too cute (and those looks on their faces; you just can't get angry!). I love it when my boys do things together, even if it isn't something they should be doing!
cynthia,
I love it, too. Jon and Greg can play together all day long, and really enjoy each other's company. They only have one or two squabbles per day.
Boys will be boys! I have been catching up here and have a great admiration for all you and your wife do for these dear children.
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