Over the summer, I walked into my office and saw this.

Normally, I’d be annoyed.

Shoes belong in the shoe rack, not scattered across the floor like someone had just evacuated the building.

But in this case, the mess made me happy.

It meant cousins.

My older niece and nephew (20 and 15) were visiting, and all four kids were off playing somewhere.

They’ve always gotten along, despite the age differences.

My nephew and son are just 16 months apart. And my daughter, despite being nine years younger than my niece, is basically her mini-me.

They’ll play hide-and-seek inside, or they’ll lounge around the living room talking about the latest trends. Somehow, the age gaps just don’t seem to matter.

If I’m being honest, I’m a little jealous.

I have two cousins, both boys, who are more than six years older than me. We didn’t see each other all that often growing up, and we were never particularly close. Seeing them always felt a little awkward.

I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I saw them.

My husband, on the other hand, comes from a big family. He has 23 first cousins, and half of them lived within three blocks of each other growing up.

There was never a shortage of playmates.

For the longest time, I figured my kids’ cousin relationships would look a lot like mine. They’d see each other, of course, but I never imagined they’d be this close. 

And then my sister had a baby earlier this year.

An even bigger age gap this time: 11 and 13 years.

And yet, these kids are absolutely obsessed with their new cousin.

My daughter is a mini-mama. She takes better care of him than his actual parents, according to my sister. (Her words, not mine.)

My son wasn’t particularly interested in the baby-baby phase. But now that my nephew is getting bigger, more interactive, and more fun to play with, he’s all in.

He’ll drop whatever device he’s holding faster than a hot potato to go play with him.

He’s holding him more. Asking to spoon-feed him. And, of course, arguing with his sister over who gets to push the stroller.

Because nothing says I love you quite like a heated debate over stroller privileges.

And it’s not like spending time together is particularly convenient. Visiting them means a six-hour drive on a good day. Seven on a bad one.  Each way.

There’s some whining, obviously. They’re kids. But considering the alternative is spending seven hours in a car listening to “Are we there yet?” on repeat, I’ll take it.

Because at the other end of that drive? More time with their baby cousin.

And apparently, that’s worth it.

Maybe it’s because my sister and I are so close.

Maybe it’s because she put in the work to become the Best Aunt Ever long before she had a kid of her own.

Maybe it’s some combination of a hundred little things that have made these relationships what they are.

I honestly don’t know.

But watching my kids love their cousins the way they do? Watching them build the kinds of relationships I always wished I’d had?

It’s beyond my wildest dreams.

And if that means I have to step over a pile of shoes in my office every now and then?

Well, I guess I can live with that.