I wrote this whole post last night based on a whole lot of feelings. Feelings about going against my nature and trying to put myself out there to make new friends with little success. While, I felt every feeling in that post and cried most of the evening, I decided to sit on the post and edit it tonight. This morning, I got a tiny (and I mean TINY) sign, that maybe things are paying off. So, while that post was true, I have decided to keep that post to myself for now. And after that tiny sign came another great thing, and that is what I want to share with you...

Actual text messages between me and my cousin, J. :

J: Have a question for you, if you're willing to hear it?

Me: OK

J: Have you known this about yourself for a while and sure this is what you want or is it an experimental thing? And I'm not trying to get too personal. (This made me giggle just a bit.)

Me: I've known. I didn't want to bring shame to the family so I tried to be straight. I failed.

J: You didn't fail. It's who you are. Doesn't change anything. When the time is right, our family can know. If it doesn't feel right, then they can wait. Don't ever feel ashamed.

Me: Thank you. I'm not anymore.

I should explain something about my cousin. A long time ago when I dreamed of getting married (OK, fine, I still dream of that sometimes.), my dad told me that if I ever tried to make him wear a tux, he wouldn't come to my wedding. I'm not sure, but he may have been serious. When I told J this he said, "Then I'LL walk you down the aisle."

When I tell people about my family, I say I grew up with three boys. J was one of those boys. He's like a big brother to me. When I was dealing with a bully in junior high school, J drove to my house, marched me down to the kid's house and asked the older boy what his problem was. It's a funny thing that after that, the boy's problem with me magically disappeared.

When I came out to him back in the fall, I asked, "Do you still love me?"

He said, "Of course I still love you."

This? Is my biggest fear when it comes to telling people I'm closest to. J and I were raised in a family whose beliefs are that being gay is sick, not acceptable, gross. Horrible words are used to refer to people like me on a regular basis. Hearing these words over and over my whole life makes it hard for me to use anything but the word "gay" to refer to myself. (Gay was never used.) While I know that the core of these beliefs is ignorance, it still hurts. Sometimes, it hurts a lot.

The second that J told me that he still loved me, I knew that it was going to be OK. And most of the fear left me. I know some people I am related to will not change, and that's a shame, but if they can't love me because of who I love, then they don't deserve me anyway.

"You're an awesome big brother," I told him today.

And he is.

Today would have been my great-grandmother's 102nd birthday. She passed away 12 years ago from that horrible disease that robbed her of her mind.

I can't imagine not knowing who I am or who the people around me are. I'm certain that she had to be scared. In fact, I know she was because the last time I visited her, all memories of me were forgotten, and my mere presence caused her to be so uneasy, that I left her room and went and sat in the car.

My family now looks back at a few of the things that happened and now we can laugh. Time has allowed us to see the humor in some of the situations.

Like the time she tried to hit my mom over the head with a nut bowl and called her a little shit. I had no clue my great-grandmother, who went to church every Sunday, even knew those types of words.

Or the day that she forgot me completely, she looked at me through narrowed eyes, and said to everyone else in the room, "You have to be careful with that one. She's a sneaky one, she is."

Alzheimer's is a horrible, horrible disease that is hard on everyone close to the situation, and those are times I will never forget, but I have found now that her things, things she left to us are what gives me comfort.

Like her hens and chicks that sit by my feet on my front porch right now. Or the start from her lilac bush that is in my back yard. Or the few little knick knacks that I got when we cleaned out her house.

I think my most favorite of all is the fact that a few years after her death, my grandmother and I were swinging on the big front porch swing she has, and she happened to glance down at my feet. She said, "You know you have Mom's feet. Her big toe sat slightly under her 2nd toe just like yours does."

And I looked at her and smiled.

Today is my brother's 28th birthday. I did not get him a gift, did not send him a card, nor will I be calling him to wish him a happy day.

I've thought long and hard about this post. Should I write it? Should I not? I kind of feel like I'm airing my family's dirty laundry, but I realize now that this post is more about me and my feelings, and isn't that what this blog is about? What it's for?

I've mentioned before how my brother and I cannot seem to get along. Since we were teenagers, it's like we've always been at odds about something. Then a little over a year ago, something happened, and while I don't want to go into the exact details (some of you already know what happened anyway), let's just say that my brother broke my trust in the worst way possible. I trusted that he was the one man that would NEVER hurt me, and he did. To my brother, the alcohol did it. To me, whether alcohol was involved or not, he is the one that hurt me. He is the one who had such anger in his eyes.

In the past year, I've done the best I could to tolerate being around him. For our family's sake. Then a few weeks ago, the straw was broken. I was accused of "questioning my brother's parenting skills" and yelled at and that HE couldn't stand to be around ME. First, let me say, I wasn't questioning skills. I was simply stating a fact about two year olds in general, and the fact that I've been helping take care of little kids since I was 13 qualifies me to make that general statement, I believe. But, maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut.

I know that many of you will think or even say that life is too short. I should forgive him and try to mend fences. While I work every day to try to find forgiveness, the fence isn't merely broken. It's been burned to pieces. Until my brother can learn that he needs to accept responsibility for his actions instead of blaming it on someone else or something else, I cannot waste anymore energy on him or be around him. I know this hurts my family, and for that I'm truly sorry. But I have to take care of me. I have to try to work towards forgiving him, not for his sake but for my own.

I never thought I would be in this position. Not speaking to my brother or trusting him. I realize that I probably haven't been the best of sisters in our lives, and I admit that now, but I refuse to take full responsibility for our problems. And the fact that he can't seem to admit or accept responsibility makes forgiveness that much harder. It makes me feel like I'm not good enough or important enough to him. And really, I guess I'm not.

I could be down today or sulky or sad that today is my brother's birthday and we aren't speaking. I love my brother, but I just can't be around him right now. And that kills me. It really does. But I'm not going to be down. I'm not going to allow myself or give him that control of my life. Instead, I'm going to go to a movie with friends, I'm going to maybe get some candy at that movie. I'm going to celebrate this day because today is the day that my baby brother was born and even though I told my dad to take him back because I asked God for a sister (hey. I was four.), we were great friends for a long time. I'm going to celebrate this day because I have so many people in my life that do care, that do think I'm good enough. I'm going to celebrate this day because today is beautiful (even though it's snowing). And life is good.

Most of us stop believing in Santa when we're still kids, really. And when the day comes that your whole world is ruined because you've found out that the magic that was Santa Claus was really your parents, Christmas just isn't the same. You feel like it's lost it's magic a bit.

If you have children, the magic returns when you get to play Santa. I don't have kids, but I used to help play Santa at my aunt's and uncle's house when my cousins were little.

My cousin Aaron is now 18, but when he was 4, my uncle got the bright idea to buy him a micro-machines city. (If you're unfamiliar with micro-machines, they're tiny little cars and you could (can?) buy these playsets to go with your micro-machines.)

Now, if you're a parent, I know you know how toys come with stickers. Well this city came with FIVE sheets of tiny little stickers to go onto the city. So, he doesn't have to spend all day Christmas Day putting stickers on this playset, my uncle decides that we'll ALL do it Christmas Eve.

Now, imagine two adults and two teenagers taking "shifts" going to the bathroom to put stickers on this toy. To make matters worse, you had a "map" of the city. So you had to locate where each sticker had to go. This took forever. We'd each take a while in the bathroom. (Not my idea of a fun Christmas Eve evening, by the way.)

At one point right before Aaron was to go to bed, I was headed for my third trip to the bathroom. Aaron noticed.

Aaron: April, where are you going?

Me: I have to go to the bathroom.

Aaron: AGAIN?!

Me: Yep.

Aaron: Man, ya'll sure have POOPED a lot tonight.

And he walked off.

Moral to the story: Just wait until Christmas Day to put the stickers on the toys.

As Thanksgiving weekend comes to an end, and the start of the Christmas season is now beginning, I thought I would take some time to reflect on my weekend.

I generally hate family functions. I've told you in previous posts about the aunts. They stress me out. When they're together, someone usually ends up in tears. (This year was no exception.) But while there was a lull in the chaos, something hit me and I took a moment to reflect on it...

My granddaddy (my mom's dad) is one of the most wonderful men I have ever had the priviledge of knowing. Since losing 60 lbs, every time he sees me, he tells me how good I look. When some in my family start to try to make me feel bad for still being single, he says, "April's the smartest one of all of you, if you ask me." Then he'll wink at me. One of my favorite things to do is to sit and watch science fictions shows and movies with him. And if you walk into my house, you'll see that a lot of my furniture doesn't match. I have a lot of wooden furniture mixed with the more contemporary things that tends to reflect my style. Most of the wooden furniture in my house was handmade by him. I can remember watching each piece being made. I can remember bringing each piece home. Each piece of that I have is a work of art. Made from love by a man who loves his family so much. I will treasure each piece forever.

Granddaddy is in the end stages of emphysema. He's been on oxygen for at least ten years now. (It's actually more than that, but I can't remember exactly what year he went on oxygen.) The color in his cheeks has been gone for a few years now. He can't walk ten feet without getting out of breath. A few days before Thanksgiving he came down with bronchitis. Each time he has to fight bronchitis, it weakens his lungs even more. At one point on Thursday my granny said to the aunts, my mom, and I, "He's never going to get better." We all know this, yet every time we hear it, it breaks our hearts just a little bit more.

At one point, we were all in the den. My granny was in her chair, my mom and the older aunt were on the couch, and I was in my granddaddy's Hoveround. (Hey, don't judge. That thing is a freaking blast to play with, and Granddaddy gets a kick out of us playing with it.) I looked over and my grandfather was lying back in his recliner asleep.

I wish I could say that he looked so peaceful, but he didn't. Even in his sleep he was struggling to breathe.

For a few minute, while sitting in his Hoveround, I checked out of the conversation that was going on between my grandmother, mom, and aunt, and watched my grandfather sleep. In those few minutes, I remembered what it was like to watch him make those pieces of furniture. I thought he was such a strong man then, but I realize now how strong he really is. Each day is a battle for him, and we all know that he is fighting a losing battle. Yet each day, he fights. Each day, he's thankful he is still here.

So, this Thanksgiving I was thankful for my granddaddy. Thankful he still fights. Thankful that he is still here.

This is my cousin's son, HL. He's a quiet child, and rather than be mean about it (because he's only two), we'll just say he's not a people person. Most conversations with HL go like this:

Me: Hi HL!

HL: No.

My aunt had been saying how all week she tried to get him to smile for the camera. And while it's true that when you say, "Hey, HL, smile!" You get this:

I realized on Sunday that this coming week unofficially begins the holiday season for me. And I'm really dreading this Thanksgiving for one reason: my aunt.

My mom has two sisters. One a few years older; the other 16 years younger. I refer to them as "the aunts" when I have to be around both of them at the same time. They both drive me insane. The younger aunt is very unhealthy and extremely jealous that I've been successful with weight loss, but instead of fixing her problem, she insists on trying to make me feel bad. I've learned recently to "not engage the aunt". But that is a whole other story.

The older aunt and her family are visiting from Louisiana. They'll be at my grandparents' house this coming weekend through Thanksgiving. My mom and I will be going for visit #1 this weekend. I'm really annoyed with with my aunt. A few months ago, I was outright angry, but now, I'm just annoyed. Really annoyed.

Let me first pose a question to you: If someone gives you an heirloom as a gift, but gives it with the stipulation that you have to one day pass it on to the next girl born in the immediate family, does the original giver then have the right to ask for the gift back?

Now let me explain: My aunt had a daughter who passed away as a toddler from leukemia. When I was born, she gave me a baby bracelet and told my mom that it would be my job one day to pass it onto the next girl.

I remember from a very young age asking my mom to look at "my bracelet". I was so proud to own something that was my cousin's. I knew that my cousin had been special, and it made me feel special to have that bracelet. I couldn't wait for the next girl to be born so that I could give it to her. From the time I was a kid, I have been planning just the perfect way to pass this bracelet on.

The problem has been that there have been no girls born. With each pregnancy and birth, a boy has been born. But still I held out that I would maybe get to pass the bracelet on. Until...

My aunt called my mom and demanded (not really asked) for the bracelet back. For no particular reason other than the spirits told her she needed it back. (No, I'm not joking.)

Knowing her situation, I suspect that she pawned it. And that really breaks my heart. That bracelet was my prized possession my whole life, and it and my right to pass it on was just ripped from me. If she would just have been up front with me, I would have gladly paid her what the bracelet was worth.

And now I have to go see this aunt and give her a hug and act like nothing is wrong. (Because I refuse to do anything that may upset my grandparents.) Maybe I can "accidentally" step on her toes or something as I walk by? Yeah, maybe I'll do that.

I'm sitting here on my front porch this amazingly beautiful Sunday morning, and I've been reminded of something...

My great, great aunt Jack (short for Jacqueline). Aunt Jack used to scare me somewhat. Some of you who have met me may have noticed that I can be a bit reserved. Aunt Jack required hugs, which was a bummer to me because I wasn't keen on hugs. (Hugs are something I've only recently discovered that I love.)

Now, of course, I wish I had hugged her more.

See, Aunt Jack had lupus. She lost a leg and an eye to that horrible disease. She was constantly sick, but every morning, she would say, "I'm alive, and that's what matters." She seriously, had the best attitude. I never saw her upset. There was always a smile on her face, even if she was lying on a hospital bed.

Why don't more of us take this attitude? I'm the first to admit I'm guilty of complaining and getting down when life seems to take a dump on me. And isn't that kind of sad?

I mean seriously. No matter what happens in our lives, no matter how hard life seems to get, we are ALIVE. And life is such a beautiful thing. Why do we waste energy worrying with the bad stuff, when there are so many good things surrounding us. There are so many things we should be enjoying, loving, and experiencing.

I know that it's going to be hard not to focus on the bad things in life. I don't know about you, but the bad things always seem to run in groups, usually 3's. When the bad things happen one right after the other, it's so hard not to throw your hands in the air and say, "screw it." But I'm making a promise to myself and you to try. Because I'm alive.

So, as I sit here on my front porch, feeling the wind against my face, listening to my wind chimes and the dog barking down the street, and watching a morning dove scuttle around my yard, I'm going to enjoy life today.

And Aunt Jack would be proud.

Yesterday afternoon-

Mom: Your dad is already trying to decide which playground to get Clay.

Me (looking up from the Target sale paper. You KNOW that's a Sunday must read.): What? A playground?

Mom: Yeah, you know like one of those big wooden playgrounds.

Me: You're kidding. He's 17 months old!

Do you know what my brother and I had as a "playground" when we were kids? One of those little metal swing sets. Not only that, but my dad refused to anchor it into the ground, so we couldn't swing high without fear of turning it over. (Which we most certainly DID NOT try.) And during hunting season, this became the place in the yard where the deer were gutted. I watched it many times. Don't get me wrong, I loved my swing set (except for the deer gutting part) but it was no big wooden playground.

Okay, let's talk this out, shall we? If you're a parent, I know some of you have witnessed the same thing that I have. It is one of the most fascinating things I've ever seen.

Let me say, that I'm not jealous in any way. I love my nephew very much and love buying him things and taking him places, but I sit and watch my dad with Clay, and I think. Who the hell is this man?

And don't let my mom fool you. She's the same way. Clay is in constant need of a new toy. You should have seen the load the kiddo got for Christmas. Oh, and did I mention he has his own room at their house?

I know they just love him and are just being good grandparents and it really is sweet to watch, but these are not the people that raised me. They've transformed into mush. I just sit there in awe while watching them with him. All I can really do sometimes is shake my head.

I'm sort of convinced that aliens came and took my parents away and replaced them with these two people called Grandma & Grandpa.

That's it...as soon as he can clearly ask for things, I'm teaching him to ask them for a pool.

Why do I let him bother me?

Why can't I just ignore the stupid comments that he makes?

How is it that he knows just which buttons to push to make me so unbelievably angry that I could bite a nail in two?

Most of the time I can treat my brother with indifference. After all that has happened between us, indifference is the best I can offer right now. But every now and then, he will push a button and it's either scream or go home.

And rather than scream, I go home.

I miss out on time with my nephew because I can't stand to be around my brother for another second.

My mom wants us to be friends so badly. She always used to say, "Please, just try to get along." Then, 8 months ago she stopped. Because of that one night. She knows that it will never be.

I love my brother (even though some days I say I don't), but I do not like him right now, and I don't know when I will be able to like him again. My heart hurts thinking about that. It leaves me raw inside.

Maybe one day I can forgive, but right now, it's just not in me. So, he gets indifference.

Today, I let him bother me. But I will not let this turn into a bad mood. I will not let him control how I feel. I will not let him ruin what is left of this day.

For now, I will go back to indifference.

A young firefighter was set to work his first fire. As he was starting to go into the burning building, his captain looked at him and said, “If you get into trouble, just hold onto my coattails.”

The young firefighter never forgot this. (And while I’m not quite certain of details through the years, I’m pretty sure that when he became a veteran firefighter, he would have said the same thing to new firefighters.)

Years passed and the young firefighter was no longer young, but a veteran firefighter. One day he went to the hospital to visit his old captain.

The captain was not old, but weak from the sickness that was so rapidly taking over his body. He spent most of his days sleeping.

The veteran firefighter walked up to the bed and said, “Hey, Chapman, can I hold onto your coattails?”

And Chapman replied, “No. I’m going to hold onto yours.”

A few weeks later, my uncle passed away, but that story has stuck with me every single day since I heard it. (I don’t remember who told me the story. I just remember it was at the funeral home, and that it made me cry.)

My uncle was just like that. As aggravating as he could be with picking on us, he would do anything for any one of us. He loved us with every ounce of his being and I know that if I needed him for anything, I could “hold onto his coattails”.

While I know I no longer have my uncle’s coattails to hold onto, I am very lucky to have others should I need it. While it may take me a while to get to the point of grabbing on to those coattails (I can be stubborn and sometimes withdrawn.), have no doubts that I will. And I hope you would, too.

There are times when life is going to be a burning building. It’s going to be hot and dark and smoky. And it will be so easy to get lost in that hot, dark smoke. What you have to realize is that we all have a “captain” right in front of us willing to lend us his or her coattails.

All we have to do is grab them. And while your captains can’t make the hot or the dark or the smoke go away, they will be there, and they will pull you through.

“If you get into trouble, just hold onto my coattails.”

Do you know what it’s like to not be liked by a grandparent? I do. For as long as I can remember, my dad’s mother has not liked me. (I’m not joking around. Keep reading.) So, when last week my mom told me that my grandmother had actually complained to my dad that I never come to see her, my mouth dropped open.

My first thought. Is she serious?

Of course this is my first thought every time I find out she complains about things. Which is a lot. I know I should be more respectful of my elders, but I swear to you that I have bent over backwards to win over this woman’s love. And I have failed every time.

When I was 9, I hit a growth spurt. I was so proud that I was growing taller. So, I proudly went up to her and gave her a hug and asked did I look taller. Her response : “All I see you is getting wider, not taller.” I cried.

I was the ONLY girl on that side of the family. She will wait on my brother and cousins hand and foot. If I needed something as a child, I had to get it myself.

One year, I was the only person in the whole family who didn’t get a birthday card. Nice, huh?

Every Christmas gift I ever bought her, she returned back to me the next year. I quit buying her gifts and started taking her flowers. She seems pleased with this change.

I have lost 62 lbs and she has not once said that I look good. But if I gain weight, she’s the first to say something.

See why I have a hard time with this? I finally had to just separate myself from it. These things hurt too much, and I knew that by continuing to allow myself to feel these things, I would eventually become angry with her, and I don’t like feeling angry.

I’m not angry with her. I feel sad for her. It makes me incredibly sad that someone could feel such hate for a child, not to mention her only granddaughter. What a lonely and bitter existence to go out of her way to make someone feel so rotten.

I surround myself with my mom’s parents. They are THE BEST grandparents. And I think they pay more attention to me sometimes because they know the neglect I’ve received from my dad’s mom. I realize now that I don’t need my dad’s mom’s love. Because I feel loved; I am loved. And that is enough.

Going to the Peaks was not our first choice of destinations when my parents and I headed to the Blue Ridge Parkway this morning. We first started in the opposite direction heading towards North Carolina. We got to the trail we wanted to hike, and it was pouring rain. So, we needed a Plan B. We knew the sun was shining in Roanoke, so we headed back and kept on driving until we got to the Peaks of Otter. If you're ever in Virginia, this is a must see! We tried a new trail today. The Harkening Hills Trail: 3.3 miles, and while our map said "moderate" as the difficulty level, I can honestly say that the first 1.3 miles was straight up. Here are some things we saw on our hike:

I am from a family dominated by boys. On my dad’s side, only 2 out of 7 grandchildren and great-grandchildren are girls, and on my mom’s side only 4 out of 18 grandchildren and great-grandchildren are girls.

I have always, always longed for a sister. I can remember when I was 3, and my mom was pregnant with my brother, I would pray at night to be sent a sister.

That sister never came.

In college, I joined a sorority. Partly, because I knew it would piss my dad off, but partly I was still longing to have a sisterly relationship. I wanted to be able to say, I have a sister and she is wonderful.

Living at home during college made making friends hard. But what could I do when my dad wouldn’t pay for me to live on campus? Still, I made some really great friendships in my sorority, and I still keep in touch with a few of them.

But I still couldn’t call any of them my sister.

Then I re-connected with Jessie and Rachael, and I can say that I have sisters now and I love them. But then…

I found this site. A Sisterhood. And I will admit, I was shy at first. But the welcome that these girls gave me was truly amazing. I love talking with each and every one that I can each day. Some of them are my friends for life. They have become my family. And now I have more sisters. Even though we haven’t met (yet), I love them. And I hope they know that.

They are the embodiment of Sisterhood.

The prayers of a 3 year old girl have been answered. I have sisters, and they are wonderful.

If there is one person on Earth that I will never understand, it’s my brother. Honestly, most of the time he annoys the shit out of me, and there are times when it’s either leave the room or go postal. My brother is 4 years younger than me, but in his eyes, he knows so much more about everything. And I know nothing about anything. Whether or not he means it, that’s the way he comes across.

I’ve learned that when he’s in one of his know-it-all moods that it’s best to not engage. This just keeps everyone happy and my blood pressure down.

So, today my mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table eating pie. (It’s EASTER, people. Give me a break. It was a small piece, I swear!) I was also writing down some healthy recipes to share with my dear sisters. (What an oxymoron that was, eh?) My brother comes into the room to get a drink of water. He then started talking about some diet plan that he discovered and how it’s the best diet plan around. There were probably a couple of “you should” sentences in there, but I had already tuned him out. I would nod occasionally so that he didn’t know I wasn’t really listening to him.

Then I hear:

“…but shit, you know what you’re doing. Sixty pounds, that’s no joke. For real.”

And he walked out of the room.

I stopped writing, looked up at my mom, who was looking back at me and I said, “did he just say what I think he said? Did he just give me a compliment?”

Her response, “Yeah, I think he did. I wasn’t really listening.”

Well. Maybe I do know a thing or two. ;o)

My minor in college was K-8 Education. I had every intention of becoming a teacher when I entered college. Then why am I not teaching? My senior year, in my third internship (out of 4) I had to break up a fight between two 7 year old boys that left me with scratches across my face. Reports were filed, parents were called, and I left the school that day knowing that teaching was not for me.

Still, I liked most of the Education classes. My favorite was Children’s Literature. Once a week in this class, the professor would read to us. I’ll never forget the first book she pulled to read to us. It was one of her favorites, she said. And by the end of that class, it became one of mine. This was the book:

I often wonder what life would be like if my sister were here. Would I be any different? Would we have a great relationship? How would growing up have been different? Don’t get me wrong, growing up with three boys was fun, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t long to have my sister. I’ve spent countless hours being angry and sad. I have been deprived of her, and that more than sucks. I even joined a sorority in college because I thought that it would show me what it was like to have a sister. While I made some wonderful friends through the sorority, I didn’t come away from it knowing what it was like to have a sister. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I just wasn’t meant to know. And then…

I re-connected with Jessie, a friend from childhood. I started hanging out with her and her sister, Rachael. I just love to watch the two of them together. They have little inside jokes, hilarious stories about growing up, and one always seems to know what the other is thinking. They are the best of friends. You can just tell how much they mean to one another. It’s amazing. Now, I realize that all sisters may not have this type of relationship, but I choose to believe that if my sister were here, we’d be like Jess and Rach. But what’s more important than that is that in the almost two years that we’ve re-connected, I’ve been lucky enough to have been included in this relationship. We have little inside jokes, we have hilarious stories, and they know me so well, it scares me a little bit. I can’t even express how much that means to me.

There will always be a tiny little hole in my heart for the sister I never got to know. And I think a part of me will always feel deprived. I know that I’ll never know exactly what it’s like, but I’m no longer sad. I’m no longer angry. I wasn’t lucky enough to have gotten to grow up with my blood sister, but I am extremely lucky to get to grow older with two sisters of the heart. Jess and Rach, thank you and I love you.

Rock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. His eyes are staring at the wall, his face set with a look that says, “I will NOT go to sleep.” He lifts his head up, and I close my eyes and start humming “You Are My Sunshine”. He relaxes his head back and settles in for a nice snuggle. I feel his first big sigh. I peek down at him and see his eyes are getting heavy. Keep humming, April. He starts singing to himself in an attempt to keep himself awake. I smile. This has to be one of my favorite sounds. With his second big sigh, his singing gets slower and slower and eventually fades away into endless dreams of whatever babies dream of. And he is asleep. Fade out “You Are My Sunshine.“ I couldn’t help but sit there rocking my nephew just a while longer. I so rarely get him to myself anymore. The time we spent rocking were the best 20 minutes of my weekend.