A while back, I went bushwalking with these two.
Matthew is now nine and is as much my little buddy he was at one day.
Holding my mum’s hand for three hours while she screamed and strained to push him into the world gives you a kind of mental scarring that has no option but to develop into a buddyship that can never be undone.
It was forged through pain, sweat and the colour of his purple alien skin.
This girl is now the rip old age of seventeen and is my source of laughter.
When we goof off, I laugh.
When we talk, I laugh.
When I tease her, make her squirm, and embarrass her, I laugh.
When I pull out my best grandpa dance moves and she stares at me with a perplex look on her face, I laugh and cry at the same time.
I’m planning on harvesting Anna’s essence somehow, bottling it and downing it like an energy drink for the rest of my days until I die.
(Does the fact that I just used the word ‘harvesting’ make me a suspicious character?)
Time spent with these too is never dull.
It’s deliciously dramatic.
There’s lots of withies.
And ninja kicks.
And Toyota car jumps.
And despite the fact that I know these two very well, sometimes even I am taken aback when I innocently turn around…
…and see this!
‘ANNA, WHAT ARE YOU DOOOOING????!!‘
‘Is that….TREE CHARCOAL??!!!’
‘Ooookay. You’re a weirdo. There is no way we are related.’