Special Edition

No, it's not Monday and no, this post isn't about food or weight loss.  I've been a total disaster thinking about my brother and how grown up he is.  Instead of sobbing all day, I wrote him a little letter and I thought I'd post it here.  He doesn't read my blog often so he may never see it, and that's fine with me.  He knows how much I love him but I wrote it down and thought I'd share.  

Dear David-

I’m sorry I complained when you sprayed copious amounts of projectile vomit into my mouth when you were a baby.  Thanks for always falling asleep on my chest better than anyone else’s. For all the times you came around with a notepad in your toy gun holster, asking me what I wanted to eat, I would love to go back and list things to you and your sweet face and cowlicked hair for forever.  I apologize for paying you in pennies to run to the fridge for Dr. Pepper and punishing you with C-SPAN when you got on my nerves.  I sincerely ask for forgiveness when the following things happened on my watch: you broke your arm, you ate dog food, I shoved you out of my room during slumber parties, you had your toe nails painted, you climbed the TV and it fell on you and you had to witness me massacre a roach with a shovel.  Thanks for always saying I was a better blue’s clues maker than Steve.  Also, thank you for caring enough about me to cry when you found cigarettes in my purse and then threw them away.  You taught me how to love someone with my whole person.  You taught me what it would look like when someone said, “he gets that from me.”  You’re funny, caring, smart and the single most important person in my life.  I hope I have taught you something.  Come to think of it, I should have taught you the word copious because I feel you may not know that one right off.  Part of me hopes you never read this because I don’t want to embarrass you and plus, I think my tears over the past few months in preparation for your high school graduation let you know that I feel like you are my child and I helped raise you.  You’re my child, my brother and my best friend.  If it is true and I did help raise you, you are welcome…because I did a good job.  

Congratulations!

Love,

Heather