Looking back, there were signs they'd be pretty compatible...
When I was pregnant with my second child and we found out it was another boy, I couldn’t imagine anything besides another Kostyn. I couldn’t fathom how our genes could combine in any other way, to form any other being, than the 1-year-old toddling around the house with a block in each hand.
And then I met Evan, and I couldn’t believe how different they were, and still are. Kostyn is methodical and deliberate; he was making block towers at 9 months old but didn’t walk until 14 months (maybe 15 … the memory’s fuzzy and the baby book’s empty). Evan is haphazard and impulsive; he took his first steps at exactly 10 months old – toward Kostyn — and has been running ever since.
When Kostyn was Evan's age in this photo (1), ain't no way he'd go near a tire swing.
Kostyn picks at his food and bargains for fewer bites; Evan devours an entire chicken breast, and then finishes mine, and then asks for more bread, and then maybe some extra fruit. Evan often calls me back into their bedroom after lights out to tell me Just one more thing, Mommy: What he wants for breakfast when he wakes up.
Kostyn is interested in rainbows, forming the seven-color spectrum out of fruit and blocks and random household items. “Mommy I need something indigo!” When they color, I dump a hundred crayons and dozens of markers into a big baking pan between them on the kitchen counter so they both have ready access to a world of color. Kostyn sets to work carefully writing his name or other messages using a different color for each letter. Evan digs until he finds black, then scribbles all over his paper, sometimes until he rips right through the center. Black is his favorite color. If black can’t be found (or the tip has been obliterated from too much pressure), purple or brown will do, but they must be dark. The bolder the better for Evan.
Another masterpiece.
Kostyn is an intricate storyteller, setting up jokes and narrating elaborate tales. He uses blocks or balls or whatever’s handy, really, as living characters in the play in his mind, writing, acting and directing on the spot. And it really doesn’t matter whether or not he has an audience. Evan, on the other hand, is the class clown. He flashes a silly face or an exaggerated response to a simple question in that absurd-but-perfectly-timed way that makes you incapable of not grinning back. He contorts his face until you laugh, and then he does it again, and again, and again, always reaching for more audience approval.
Where Kostyn is a diplomat, Evan is dig-in-his-heels stubborn.
Triceratops Kostyn. You can practically see the horns.
The boys have now entered The Dinosaur Phase of their lives, which means there’s even more roaring and chasing and lumbering on all fours than there used to be. What delights me to no end is that they somehow pick perfect representations of themselves when role-playing. Kostyn always wants to be a triceratops or stegosaurus – their movements slower, their features built for defense. Evan, on the other hand, is my Tyrannosaurus Rex, with gnashing teeth and clenched fists, racing and roaring and pouncing his way through the day.
This summer I have watched them mature, both together and separately. I’ve watched Evan in Kostyn’s sandals and T-shirts from last summer, but they’re somehow distinctly Evan’s now. They’re close enough in size and age to swap shirts and shorts and pjs, snacks and toys and stories. Evan agrees to tag along with Kostyn when he’s too scared to go upstairs or downstairs alone. Kostyn follows Evan into the bathroom to help him reach the faucet and turn out the light when he’s finished. “Dry your hands, Evan,” he reminds his younger brother. “I know, Kostyn,” comes the exasperated reply.
My superheroes. (Safety first!)
They spend just about every waking minute together. Watching TV, they start on opposite ends of the couch but inevitably crowd together in the middle, jabbing and wrestling and giggling and shouting in my direction “HE’S ON MY SIDE.” They bicker and fight and make up. They lead and follow and poke and tease and chase. They make music together. They are music together.
At night after bedtime kisses and prayers, they lie in their beds making up stories with their stuffed animal friends, giggling in the dark until we scold them to quiet down, again and again. The other night after laying down the law, I listened outside the door for just a moment.
“You’re the best Evan in the whole world.”
“You’re the best Kostyn in the whole world.”
“You’re the best brother of any other brother.”
A picture is indeed worth a thousand words.
Before I had two boys, I couldn’t fathom how the second could be any different from the first; now I see how completely complementary they are, and I can’t fathom how one could be without the other. But that’s exactly where we’re headed.
Kindergarten starts Wednesday for Kostyn. He’ll be gone from about 8:30 a.m. to just before 3 p.m. I have no idea how Evan will cope. Or Kostyn. Or me. But mostly the two of them as a unit. Will Kostyn come home being interested in different things, talking about new friends? Will he be too tired to play with his little brother, too big for all the old routines and inside jokes between them?
Every single time we drove away after dropping off Kostyn at preschool last year, Evan told me how much he was going to miss his big brother. But that was just 2.5 hours, four days a week. Preschool basically lasted as long as Evan’s nap. This will be decidedly different.
I’m so glad they’ve had three and a half years to bond like this as brothers, to become inseparable. And I know they’ve got a lifetime of togetherness to go.
But it still feels like the end of something.
Making their shadows dance.