Being the crazy aunt

When I was growing up, all my parents' siblings had children. So, to my mind, all my cousins were extensions of my parents and though I liked them, I was a bit scared of them too. As an adult, I have cordial, but distant, relationships with them.

This past weekend I visited my brother, who has three children--eight, six, and three. They are a fantastic mix of obedient and exuberant, polite and playful. My partner and I did races around the lawn with the kids. We practiced cartwheels and handstands and sommersaults. We played in the blow-up kid's pool, riding them around on my shoulders and falling off backwards in fits of glee. We went bike riding. We played imaginary games and tore in and out of the house at full speed. By the end of the weekend, the kids were making themselves almost sick with excitement. Of course this isn't the kind of thing to do with kids every day. That's why they need a crazy aunt, who doesn't need to be mindful of setting rules, who has saved up all her playing energy just for them, and who can lavish them with undemanding attention. I can enjoy my brother's children more, because they aren't mine to discipline and raise every day. I hope that as they grow up, I can be a mentor and a friend to them, in a way I couldn't be if I was someone else's parent. I like to think they're lucky, to have an extra set of adults with whom they come first.