Sid and Owen are my nephews. They are the mutt’s nuts. Couldn’t be more different. Couldn’t be more excellent.
Example. Sid’s nearly 16 and is on the high school swim team. We went to watch his meet and I couldn’t get over how awesome he was, standing there in his gawky Ron Weasley glory with his giant fucking feet – they’re like gunboats – and not wearing a cap and all shy and man-of-few words. Dives in the pool and rocks the motherfuck out of the 500 freestyle event. Wins that bitch. Then goes and sits down and acts like it was nothing.
For those of you who don’t swim, that’s 20 lengths of the pool. TWENTY LENGTHS MAN.
Meanwhile, Owen, his 12-year-old brother, is sitting on the bleachers with his nose in Hold Me Closer, Necromancer, which I bought for him. He had just rocked the junior high Geography Bee. He couldn’t be more fucking bored at a sporting event, so he’s got the classic coping mechanism of his aunt, which is to silently tell the world to hang in favor of the printed word.
My nephews are so funny. Not many people make me laugh but these two kids crack my shit up.
Sid and Owen are the preferred vendors when it comes to Matilda’s babysitters. They will also defend the Matilda to the death. They are her fake brothers. Cousin brothers, is what we call them. Matilda once danced around the question of whether one could marry a cousin, because she didn’t want Owen to ever move away from her, and figured if she married him, he’d stay put. Cuter.
Thank you, Kristin and Jeff, for having two kids.
So I could just have one kid and scrape by with my bare minimum.
So I could know what it’s like to have boys when I only have a girl.
So I could watch all three of them be good siblings to each other, like I am with my own.