They bicker. They tiptoe up the stairs to suddenly terrify one another, argue over who put the dishes away last, snitch on who ate the last piece of cake when they got home from school (even though it’s meant to be saved for pudding after dinner), they pay huge amounts of detail to portioning food out absolutely equally between each other so that neither has more than the other (unless it's meat with the fat on in which case there's one who will happily surrender), they try and get each other in trouble in ear shot of a parent by saying things like 'I think your shoes have mud on them, you might want to clean those so it doesn't go everywhere.' And then, when I begin to think they are a little broken and that my parenting has failed I overhear things like: 'I'll go into school early with you and we can find your teacher and sort it out', You have the last one bro', 'Love you, love you too'. Of course, it's nice to look at pictures from weekends spent out and about and reflect on these daily occurrences but I can guarantee, at approximately 7.32am tomorrow I will not care one bit about the pink window at the Contemporary that offers the best backdrop or the similarities that their body language has to each other or other males in the family and I definitely will not want to hear about whose muddy shoes need a clean.
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