Last night, I read the kids a story before bed.

The story came from a book of children’s literature from the turn of the century and was full of big words and outdated phrases. While my 7-year-old, Punky, was riveted (it was about fairies, after all, and written by one of her favorite authors, Frances Hodgson Burnett), 4-year-old Bruiser quickly dropped off to sleep.

When I was finished, I looked down at him and smiled. He’d had a rough day, complete with not one but two public meltdowns, but in sleep he looked like a rosy little angel. It was hard to imagine that the dear cherub face I gazed down on was the same one that had proclaimed, “I don’t even like you!” in the grocery when I wouldn’t buy him a Hot Wheels car. I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

“Can I kiss him, too?” Punky asked from her bed. I smiled and nodded.

“Isn’t he cute when he’s asleep?” she said after kissing him on his other cheek.

“He really is,” I agreed.

“Sometimes when he’s asleep and I’m awake,” she continued, “I whisper things in his ear that will make him have good dreams.”

“Like what?” I asked. I’d never known that she did this.

“Like, ‘Vroom vroooooom. Bruiser Ferrier, you’ve won the race!‘” she said softly.

My heart swelled.

I write a lot about the unconditional love parents have for their children, but I hadn’t really thought about the fact that siblings feel the same way. Bruiser is very often the most difficult part of his sister’s day. He’s prone to hitting her when they fight. He follows her around, insists on playing with her friends, breaks her toys, and cries when she won’t give him his way.

But at the end of the day, she’s still there, whispering sweet dreams into her little brother’s ear.

And I’m wiping away tears just thinking about it.

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