Sisters, sisters...

Boys #1 and #2 were playing together in their fisher price kitchen this afternoon. Boy #1 was the chef, Boy #2 was his dog (of course). Boy #1 was cooking up one of his favourite delicacies ("Ladies and gentlemen! Today, I will be cooking... pancakes with chocolate ice-cream!"), whilst issuing instructions in an officious tone of voice to Boy #2.

Boy #2, crowned rakishly in a tall white chef's hat (heaven only knows how he spirited that away from his brother), wilfully ignored the instructions given by the celebrity chef, and crawled around under the dining room table, concentrating on generally getting in his brother's way whilst dancing in a reggae styley to whatever was on the radio.

Even at 2 and 4, they make a good team.

Earlier today, a friend had asked me what the gap between my two Boys actually is. I replied that it is almost exactly - less around 1 week - the same as the gap between myself and my younger sister. Whilst I hadn't planned on being quite so precise about it, that time-frame was in the back of my mind as a guideline when Husband and I were 'working on' Boy #2, because it had seemed to work out pretty well for sis and I.

And that got me thinking on my relationship with her and how, if the boys duplicate it between them, even slightly, they will be very lucky.

We've had our ups and downs, my sis and me. Whilst we were growing up we could go from inseperable to deadly enemies in the blink of an eye. If you have a same-sex sibling you probably find the same thing. There is no-one - and I mean, no-one - who can drive me insane with a tut, a blink, a look, or a curl of the lip, like my sis can. (And I like to think that compliment would be returned). Likewise, there is no-one who can pull me from the depths of despair and gloom to hysterical wet-your-pants laughter in the same millisecond.

It's amazing how shared memories can bring you together.

It's amazing, actually, that she still speaks to me at all after the tactless comments I've made to her over the years. A particular low-point was my telling her that she would be quite pretty - if it weren't for her big nose. We were around 10 and 8 at the time. (I'm not sure I would have forgiven her that one, or indeed any number of other goody-two-shoes incidents that happened subsequently between us. No prizes for guessing who was wearing the shoes; I was the oldest, it was my job - I thought...) She got her own back though, by being much cooler, and consequently having much more success with boys than me - and by having better legs. And by being blonde. And blue eyed.

God. It's no wonder we didn't get on.

But, thank heavens, we both left home, and incredibly that is when our friendship bloomed. Aside from being my sis she is now my best friend, the person I call when I really want to let rip and who I know will always understand without 'sympathising', rounding off her summing up with some tart comment that will make me snort into my tea.

Only today she rescued me again; once after fall-out with my mum, and once when I was trying to contact Husband who had, it seemed, left the planet and travelled to Mars on his rally given how contactable he was today. (Now sorted. Men and technology. Numpties...)

Thanks K. For understanding without sympathising. (I can deal with anything but sympathy...). And by the way. This does not mean you can have my brown LK Bennet boots.