I’ve been a frustration to my older sister pretty much all my life. I don’t eat right; I don’t exercise; I’m not motivated and am not fulfilling my *amazing* potential; I leave the same song on my blog for too long, and it drives her insane. I misspell words and can’t remember the “punctuation before quotation” rule [or is it after the quotation mark???]. For these–and a myriad of other reasons—Adell gets on my case…constantly.
Of course it’s because she loves me. Of course I know that. But the little sister inside me can’t resist getting her goat every now and then. Purposely.
And then there are times when I get her goat without really intending to at all. Like now. Nobody in my family would ever email me a decent photo of my nephew–you remember? The one who escaped that nasty womb just last week? My own flesh and blood, and I’ve only seen snapshots held up to a webcam… {Yes, that’s right. My mom and dad can work a webcam but can’t import photos to iPhoto, or email them any other way…good grief.}
So I am taking matters into my very own hands and being the first to debut his newborn photos (courtesy of Jenny Biggs, of course). I hope someday my big sister can find it in her heart to forgive me for what I am about to do…
Ladies and gentlemen of the blogging universe, please welcome to the world…Preston, fondly referred to as Gwidon (GWEE-DUHN) or P-Diddy:
I know. I can hardly contain myself either. If I could describe him in one word, it would be “serene.” Don’t you agree?
They all told me he looked like his papa, but now that I have seen a high-resolution photo of the little tyke for myself, I say he’s got quite a lot of Adell in him. Maybe someday I’ll find a baby photo of her to prove my point. But that’s not the point—the point is, he floats my boat.
Every time I call to talk with her, she holds the phone up to Gwidon’s ear so I can speak French to him (since we all know babies who hear French grow into adults who speak French…[and we want her kids to be better than everyone else’s kids, so it’s necessary for them to be bilingual.]) The only problem–and what we did not foresee–is that Gwidon doesn’t like French at all. He scowls and pushes the phone away every time I try…little uncultured scoundrel. A week old, is all!
But he’ll learn. They always do.
Pingback: Goin’ Home… | Archives of Our Lives