Brotherly Love

“You guys are so adorable!” I coo from behind the wheel.  My two youngest grandsons are strapped in their car seats, giggling.  We are on our way to my house for a few hours of playtime after a hearty breakfast of sugar (for them) and caffeine (for me).

They tumble out of the car as the dogs rush to lick their faces. I picture them serenely playing side by side as I flutter from one to another.

Obviously, I am going senile.  I seem to have forgotten how my two boys tormented each other.  They still do.

The youngest heads for a pink felt bucket of soldiers while the five-year-old dives for the Duplo train set.  I dash into the laundry room to throw a load of clothes in the dryer.

It was a mistake to lose focus.  In the 60 seconds It takes for me to move the laundry, the youngest commandeers the locomotive, waving it threateningly about.

“Mine!” screams the oldest.

The younger one clutches the train to his chest as if it is the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre.

“Let’s play a game!” I offer.

They’re not having it.  This is a standoff worthy of High Noon.

I usher them both outside where the younger insists on poking a pile of dog poop with a stick.  When I turn back, his brother has picked every orange that he can reach off my tree.

Back inside we go.  The older one builds a tower of wooden blocks.  “Look, Nana!” he says proudly as the younger one plows into it. 

Flashbacks of my two boys valiantly trying to maim each other remind me of how most boys really play. 

Each grandson tries to yank toys from the other.  I feel like the referee in a cage fighting match. 

“Let’s read a book!”  I settle between them and open Green Eggs and Ham.  The younger grabs the book out of my hand and runs giggling away.

“He stole your book!” the older shrieks, racing after him.  The dogs have wisely hidden in my bedroom.

As I round them up several hours later to go to lunch, I congratulate myself that no blood was spilled.  If the kids are still alive at the end of the day, I’ve done my job used to be my motto.

I strap them both in and we head out for lunch.  The boys begin giggling.

I move the rear-view mirror so I can see them both. 

“What are you two up to?” I snarl from the front seat.