It hit me the other day, somewhere between breaking up the 47th argument over a single LEGO piece and cleaning yogurt off the ceiling fan (don’t ask), that Nico and Anthony are basically the same person… just in different sizes. I used to think they were total opposites—Nico, my cautious thinker; Anthony, my wild little firecracker—but lately, I’m starting to see the similarities. And it’s equal parts adorable and terrifying.
They both have Rex’s grin, that mischievous little smirk that says, “I’m about to do something you’re not going to like.” And they both have my dramatic flair. Nico can’t just say he’s tired—he has to collapse onto the couch like he’s fainting in an old movie. Anthony can’t just spill juice—he has to stare at it, horrified, like it’s the end of civilization. It’s like watching two tiny versions of me and Rex argue through time and space.
The other morning, I caught them sitting together at the breakfast table, whispering. That alone is suspicious. Then they both turned and gave me this fake innocent look that I swear they practiced. Seconds later, a pancake went flying across the room. And here’s the thing—I should’ve been mad, but I was laughing too hard. It was like déjà vu. Two little partners in crime, feeding off each other’s energy, feeding off my chaos.
It’s wild how kids can mirror you without even trying. I see Nico’s kindness when he checks on his brother after a fall, even if he was the one who caused it five minutes earlier. I see Anthony’s stubborn streak (ahem, totally from Rex, not me) when he insists on doing something his way—which usually means gluing macaroni to something that shouldn’t have macaroni on it.
Sometimes, in those little everyday moments, I realize how much of ourselves we’ve unknowingly passed on. Nico has my habit of overthinking things—he’ll sit there analyzing how tall his LEGO tower should be for maximum “coolness.” Anthony has Rex’s fearless energy—he’ll jump into the pool before anyone even mentions swimming. And both of them have our family’s unstoppable need to talk… and talk… and talk. Dinner conversations in our house sound like a live podcast that no one asked to host.
But their similarities go deeper than the funny stuff. They both want to be heard. They both want to be understood. Nico wants to explain his logic; Anthony wants to prove he can do it himself. And as much as it tests my patience (and my ability to stay calm while someone argues that dinosaurs would make great pets), it’s also kind of beautiful. They remind me that being seen—really seen—is something we all crave, no matter how small we are.
The sweetest part? The way they have each other’s backs. Sure, they bicker like it’s a sport, but if someone else messes with one of them, forget it. Nico turns into this little protector, puffing up like a guard dog, and Anthony will waddle right up next to him, tiny fists clenched, ready to “help.” It’s chaos and love all rolled into one sticky, snack-covered package.
And honestly, maybe that’s the real similarity—they love big. In their messy, loud, beautiful way, they throw their whole hearts into everything. Whether it’s building a fort, making me laugh, or making me crazy, they do it with everything they’ve got. And maybe that’s the part they got from both of us—the part I hope they never outgrow.
Sometimes I look at them and think, this is the wildest mirror I’ve ever owned. They reflect all the best and worst parts of Rex and me—our humor, our stubbornness, our soft spots—and somehow turn it into something new. Something better.
So yeah, they’re different. But they’re so much the same. Two little hurricanes spinning around the same center. And I love love love that I get to watch them collide, grow, and figure each other out… one pancake, one fight, one belly laugh at a time.