My brother Luke was in town the weekend. Luke lives in NYC, and makes a point to come visit three or four times a year, as well as always coming up to Boston when the kids and I are there visiting my parents. Just to be clear, I am totally aware of what a blessing he is. My children love him--he has a perfect combination of gentleness, fun, and high expectations. When I came out on Friday night after putting David to bed, I found him doing the dishes and Elsa cheerfully sweeping the floor. He read to them and told them stories endlessly, and was totally content to just walk around Black Mountain, watching the children climb a flowering tree and buying us all ice cream. He was patient with the pace of a pregnant mama with two small children, and seemed to enjoy all of our company. Today we went for a run (okay, mostly walk/shuffle) and it was fun. The last hour and a half of his visit found Elsa cuddled in his lap, listening to him read and tell stories. She wept hard when he left (and tried to take his bags so he couldn't leave.)
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