My little brother is the baby of the family. I should probably stop calling him little, as he's over 6-feet tall and towers over his sisters. My brother has the distinct disadvantage of growing up with siblings who were old enough during his toddler years to remember his shenanigans. (You can unclench, Westy, I'm not here to share any secrets.)
I remember my little brother and my dad having the weirdest power struggles. I say weird because as a kid, I was all "little brother, why are you fighting with Dad? He's the dad! You do what he says!" but now as an adult who has parented a threenager, I'm all "Dad, why did you fight the tiny rage tornado? He was three years old! You could not win!" Hindsight is 20/20 and all that jazz.
Anyway, one day my family was sitting around the kitchen table eating dinner when one of these power struggles erupted. I don't remember what prompted him but my dad said something along the lines of "when you're in my house, you follow my rules." My little brother, bless his heart, responded with "this isn't your house." This isn't your house. You guys. If you have not yet parented a three-year-old, this is what you have to look forward to.
It was like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. No one breathed. My dad met my little brother's defiant gaze and asked, "no? Then whose house is it?"
"Mom bought the house," my brother announced, disdainfully. "You just bought the furniture."
I love my siblings more than I can properly articulate but today, on National Sibling Day, I want to say how grateful I am to have a built-in crew of people who know exactly what I'm looking for when I say I need the pumpkin pie recipe, who feel the same isolation when it comes to pop culture because none of us were allowed to watch the cool movies or tv shows growing up, and who can simultaneously put me in my place and make me howl with laughter by telling me I just bought the furniture.
