Brothers Don't Shake Hands, Man

Them boys of mine - they pull at my heartstrings, those little men.

It's moments like this one, caught by sneaky ole me a few weeks ago, that I love:

Sir Screamsalot (on the left) had crawled up next to his big brother Prince Tatertot on the loveseat. They snuggled together there, peaceful for a few minutes, as they watched one of their fave TV shows, Max and Ruby.

They are so individually amazing and endearing.

Here's Sir Screamsalot from earlier tonight; despite the fact that he'd wolfed down his entire dinner not an hour before, he took it upon himself to get some snacks from the pantry. Chili -- I think the can was just wishful thinking -- and a pack of pb crackers, or lunchy-boxies as he calls them.

I dare you to tell him that they aren't really called lunchy-boxies. Just bring earplugs when you do.

And here's Prince Tatertot, sitting next to his baby brother and finishing the ink on my million dollar book advance. He's convinced that his Tater Dollars will be accompanying us on our errands tomorrow morning and will buy us great treasures at Kroger, or at least a few PushPops for him and his sibs.

He was so excited at the prospect of buying treats for everyone that I didn't have the heart to tell him that the Self-Checkouts aren't currently accepting Tater Dollars.

But with those freckles, the baby blues, and the beaming smile that he always wears, I'm betting he could charm the Express Lane lady into taking them.

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There is something magical about watching these boys, these brothers, grow up together.

First, there is the marvel that is His wisdom for there could be no better big brother to Sir Screamsalot (current reigning champion of the Public Throwdownpalooza) than Prince Tatertot who is kind, patient, and gentle.

Then there is the sheer silliness that only happens when members of the XY club get together. Tub toots with bubbles. Underpants dancing (with a hefty dose of plumber's crack showing). And, lest we forget, jockeying for pole position at the potty before bedtime.

Good times, baby, good times.

My hope, as time takes them and bends them, marking them with what changes and plans He has for them, is that they will always be like these blue-eyed boys who never really grew up:

Knute and Uncle Meatball, watching da Reds

Brothers, man.

Brothers.