On Cousins

As an only child, my cousins gave me the only semblance of any sort of sibling relationship. I was particularly close to Timbra, who was only a few months my younger.

Timbra was athletic, free-spirited and brave. Contrast this to a timid, clumsy rule-follower. She'd convince me to leave my Barbies to play outside. Usually, the coaxing had something to do with chasing me with a snake. But at least she forced me to get a little fresh air. If I convinced her to stay inside to play house, she'd change up the story line by adding a rabid dog or wild mustang. Undoubtedly, we had our differences. And there lies the beauty.

I could voice my opinion to her and she, of course, could beat me up. (She didn't usually do this. I only remember one sucker-punch in the gut during a father-arranged boxing match.) But we could be ourselves, knowing full-well we wouldn't damage our friendship. Because we were cousins. No matter how she riled me, I'd always love her.

Now, I can see the power of cousins with our own children.

Alex can share secrets, talk boys (I think she does this, but Al is not divulging) and go shopping with her dear cousin Mikayla.
Cole can talk video games and learn to boy-fight with this three older cousins, Dillon, Denny and Mitch. Yesterday he had the chance to hang out with them. Apparently, Dillon (a senior in high school) taught Cole a few tips in football. When Cole had fallen at one time, with a fairly extensive injury according to Cole, Dillon helped him to deal. "Get up. You got to be tough in football." (My hubby would've told him the same thing, but the lesson would've been futile with his mother rushing to the side of her son.)

Cousins are great. They provide a safe outlet from your everyday friends and a highly-desired retreat your immediate family.

Here's one of my first cousin Trent, teaching Alex a few riffs on the guitar.