Psst! Santa came...
My weekly digression into the general adorableness of my children involves a photograph. Without the photograph, it just doesn't work. So until such time as my computer again decides to reconcile its differences with its own USB port and returns to speaking terms with itself, that particular post will have to wait. Instead, I shall share a bit from my past.

I am six years older than my little brother and have at times considered it a great act of mercy and grace on my part to have allowed him to survive into adulthood. He, to say the least, is annoying. And there was no privacy for the reflective, somewhat private pesron that I am so long as he was in the house. He has ADHD and those of you who doubt its existence have never met someone the likes of my brother. Within moments of meeting him, you know there is something "different" about him. The air literally zings with the energy. He also has obsessive compulsive disorder.

And he has an older sister who didn't take too well to any of this. And who wasn't always nice to him. I shan't get into the details of all of that, but here is an excerpt from a longstanding prank I played on him as a child:

(Early in the morning, I sneak into his room.)
"Chris. Santa Claus came," I whisper.
Chris, eyes not quite open, was already in the hall at a full run toward the living room. Any day of the year.

I do that to him now when he's sleeping on the couch. It only elicits a smile and perhaps a flung pillow, though.

I keep these moments in mind when my children don't get along so well. Years from now, I hope they can laugh at some of what they take so seriously now.

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