My dad and brother were here for the last couple of days. In preparation for their visit, Mike and I cleaned like never before. I gave up at about midnight on Wednesday night, but Mike? He did not. I came home on Thursday to a damn near perfectly clean house. Since our house is usually in such disarray, I tell my mom to wait in the car when she comes to pick me up, I am not above posting pictures and bragging.
My brother has always been one of my favorite people. I was eleven when he was born, and I remember him at every age, even if I only saw him a few times a year. I remember him at one, at five, at eight, at 11. He was always my sweet little brother, never too embarrassed to hug me, to tell me he loved me. He's now 14 and, well, my sweet little brother is now a teenager. It's hard seeing him grow up and become more like a normal teenager and less like the little boy I remember so well. But is he ever cute (and, trust me, he'll be the first to tell you he—indeed—is).
The rest of the pictures from their visit are here. We took in two movies, ate at a few fabulous restaurants, visited the stockyards in Fort Worth, played games (I didn't win a single round), drank margaritas (I get the love of them from my dad, it seems). It was nice to have them here. It was hard to say goodbye.
I miss them already.