We didn’t have brothers in our house growing up. We had a brother, who was surrounded by sisters so it wasn’t quite the same. Then, when I was thirteen my twin-nephews were born and it was lovely. All these ladies, descended upon them and soaked up all the boy they could get at regular intervals. We loved them as individuals and I know I also loved the relationship between the two. Brothers are cool.
Now I’m raising two brothers and there is such wonder in that. Yes, there are also loud noises and gross smells and an awful lot of yelling involved in raising brothers, but for every fart and subsequent giggle, there is a moment of quiet bonding whose wonder makes up for any and all stress ever invovled.
This is wonder
This is full of wonder.
Surely, no one would argue the wonder of this one
Or this one
This one too. Sorry, I can’t help myself!
And this might be the very definition of wonder.
Sure, boys can be challenging to raise. But brothers? Well, brothers are the reason for wonder.
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