{Ha! Look at us!}

I recall the day my mom and dad informed me I’d be getting a little brother or sister. Skimming right over the brother bit, I went straight for the sister. Certainly, that’s what I’d get. It’s what I prayed for; it’s what I hoped for–it’s what I wanted.

Lucky for us, God gives us what we He knows we need.

So I got a brother.

I was not amused.

I was not amused when he tattooed my favorite doll with black permanent marker. I was not amused when he, my cousin, and the boys my mom babysat would gang up on me, when they should have been doing the homework assigned. I was not amused when he refused to clean his room when I gave strict instructions to do so.

I was not at all amused.  

But a funny thing happened. We grew up, and suddenly he wasn’t so bad. Suddenly, I found I kinda liked the fellow–depsite the fact he inherited the olive colored complexion, long eyelashes, and height. I liked him even though he understood computers and science and he could cook–from scratch! 

Like a fine wine, he only improves with age. 

He’s handsome and witty; he can figure anything out; he has a great imagination {oh, how lucky we’ll be if ever he finishes one of his fantasy novels}.

And he’s a really great dad. It’s not so much the gifts he gives or the kind words he says. It’s the way he’s there for his son. He never shied away from feedings or diaper changes (even though he has a very weak gag reflex); he never backed away from spending time alone with a toddler. He always has time to teach, and play, and explore.

You know, word on the street is today is Brothers and Sisters Day. Periodically, you’ll see it pop up on Facebook. Because I’m woefully inept at updating my status–and my brother is all the worse–I tend to ignore such things.

Perhaps it’s for the best. I mean really, how would it look if I were to go on about how wonderful my brother is? Others would no doubt pale in comparison. Yes, perhaps it’s best  I keep it to myself. Sometimes, when you’ve happened upon a bit of luck, it’s best not to rub it in . . .

ittlest lady, that’s what my cousin and his wife used to call their baby daughter. Five now, I should have not been surprised when she arrived on my doorstep in a sequined heart sweater, black jeans with sequins down the side . . . and pearls.

She’s like a mini-me–except for the fact that she can shake hands and make conversation like a pro; she’s completely at home, helping in the kitchen; and she has more energy

in one day than I’ve had in my entire existence.

Take Friday, for instance. Before arriving at my house, she and her dad had visited two parks (including one with a hill), the zoo, PoJo’s, the train depot, and Build a Bear. All that, and what did she say once her dad left? Let’s go out and run!

Like a lemming, I followed her right out the door. We ran circles around the back yard, over and over again. I thought for sure my time on earth had come to an end.

You know, before she and my cousin left  Thursday night, they had a bit of a conversation:

You’re staying over here tomorrow while I’m at work, and we’re going to lay the ground rules right now. What do you think those might be?

Don’t nag.

That’s right. What else?

Don’t hustle.

Words to live by, my friends; words to live by.

With such a spark, who knows what all the littlest lady might accomplish in her lifetime . . .

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Daily Drop Cap courtesy of Jessica Hische.