A sibling rivalry is brewing at our house. My sons, ages 8 and 3, are gifted in the art of brotherly barbs.
My 3-year-old son, for example, has a doctorate in parroting.
"Dad, he's copying me again," pleaded my 8-year-old son on the drive home from school one day last week.
"Dad, he's copying me again," chirped my 3-year-old son.
"Daddy, make him stop," said my older son.
"Daddy, make him stop," said my younger son.
Later, my diversionary game of "I spy" fell apart when my older son accused his little brother of creating fictitious purple creatures.
"You guys cool it," I said. "We'll be home in a minute, and you can go your separate ways."
Once inside the house, though, they will shift to other, more physical, forms of taunting.
Unshackled from his seat belt, my older son had a tactical advantage. He found his brother's favorite stuffed toy and claimed dibs (although he would rather eat worms than been seen by his second-grade friends cuddling a teddy bear).
A chase ensued. There was weeping.
"Daddy, make him give back my bear!" my youngest demanded.
"I had it first," my older son asserted.
There is an interior wall in our house that separates the kitchen from the family room. The path around the wall forms an oval that immediately became the Talladega Superspeedway. Eventually, my older son tripped over one of his Crocs and went sprawling headlong onto the floor.
Now, it was his turn to weep. Meanwhile, the 3-year-old stepped back, amazed and amused at this fortuitous turn of events.
Later that night, while they were tangled in some form of wrestling, my younger son wandered into the television room to give me an injury report.
"Somebody has a hurt mouth," he said nonchalantly, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb.
I rushed into the bedroom to see my 8-year-old whimpering at the foot of his bed with his hand cupped over his lips.
"Let me see," I said, prying his fingers from his face.
"He head-butted me" he said, hysterically.
Miraculously, the little brother's well-placed head-butt had realigned his two front incisors.
"Wow," I said, "Instant orthodontics."
"Let me see," said little brother, looking over my shoulder.
My older son popped up and went to look at his teeth in the bathroom mirror.
The three of us exchanged high-fives and celebrated with chocolate ice cream.
"I'll miss this chaos some day," I mused to myself.
Now, if I can just hold that thought.
E-mail Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com. Follow him on Facebook.