Each morning as I stand by the school door greeting kids and parents, I often relish in the open, honest dialogue that goes on between siblings, especially with parents overlooking in the background.
The other morning, brothers — one four-years old and the other six-years old — came screaming down the sidewalk on their scooters, stopping inches from my feet. With their innocent eyes looking up from under their helmets at me quizzically and without words spoken, I knew they knew that they were late. Smiling, I held my wrist up chest high with my other hand pinching my watch and said, "Four minutes late." Before I could complete the sentence, "What's the deal?" the older brother pointed his finger at his brother who was standing alongside him and said, "It's his fault." "Oh?" I asked, which was immediately followed by his statement, "He had a tantrum." Whereby both boys proceeded to make their way through the doors. Mom looked at me, rolled her eyes, and gave me a wry smile.
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